At all events, it helped a good deal to while away the time till Bar was able to exchange the slow-moving coach for the swiftness and comfort of the railway express train which was to carry him on towards the city. Little did Bar imagine what was or might be waiting for him on his arrival, although he “imagined” at the liveliest kind of rate. Trust a boy for that sort of thing. Even the lightning express train, at last, began to seem as if it must have been kept for awhile on some kind of “low feed.” Nothing short of a trip by telegraph would have really answered the requirements of Bar’s very natural impatience. Small blame to him, therefore, if he mystified a whole car-load of passengers by the questions he asked and the answers he obtained from poor fellows who were stealing rides under the floor and out upon the roof of the car. He couldn’t help it, you know. CHAPTER XXX THE ACADEMY “GHOST” DISCOVERED If Bar himself had passed that day in a state of ill-suppressed excitement, he had left a very volcanic state of things behind him. Before matters at the Academy had a fair chance to settle into their customary routine, the news had passed swiftly from desk to desk and bench to bench, whispered, penciled, chalked, everything but telegraphed or shouted, that “Bar Vernon’s run away,” and this was speedily followed by, “Mr. Brayton’s gone after him.” By the time the scholars were let out for the noon “recess,” the same messages, in various shapes and forms, had made the swift circle of Ogleport, and more than one boy found himself confronted, at corners of the green, by a more or less matronly inquisitor, anxious to “know about it all.” It was surprising, too, very much so, what clear and circumstantial statements of the facts those boys were prepared to give, but if any one among them faltered in his tale, that one was not named Zebedee Fuller. The amount of “faith” afloat in Ogleport was quite likely to be all called for whenever the different inquirers at Zeb’s mouth should come to compare notes. “Val,” he dolefully exclaimed, as he encountered that young gentleman, “you’ve got to help me out of this.” “Out of what?” said Val. “Why, Bar hasn’t run away and George isn’t after him, but what am I to say about it?” “Keep it up,” said Val. “Keep what up?” “Why, Bar is off!” “Bar off? You don’t mean to say he’s cut it for good?” was Zebedee’s almost breathless response. “Can’t say about that,” said Val. “All I know is that he went away this morning, and may be gone some days, if not longer. There’s a secret in it.” “Is there?” said Zeb. “That’s a great comfort. You won’t tell old Sol, will you?” “Tell him what?” “Why, the secret.” “Oh, I don’t know it myself, and I ain’t half sure that Bar does. He’s gone after it.” “And George, too, he must have a secret,” groaned Zeb. “I think I must tell Dorothy Jane to keep a sharp eye on Euphemia. Val Manning, it’ll be a bad thing for Ogleport to lose Bar Vernon just now.”