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THE EIGHT-OARED VICTORS

The chums were all tired enough this night to sleep, as Sid put it, without being rocked. They had retired early, for there was to be sharp practice the next day.

Lessons had been gone over, with as much attention as it was possible to concentrate on them, considering all that was going on, the alarm clock had been relieved of the "toothpick in its appendix," as Tom remarked, and it was cheerfully ticking away.

"Queer about that time the clock disappeared, when someone came in our room, and you took him for me; isn't it, Tom?" asked Sid, as he got his shaving apparatus in shape for quick use the next morning.

"It sure is. We've never had another visit from the unknown."

"And I hope we don't," put in Phil.

"Say, did you hear the latest?" asked Frank, as he untied the string of his shoe.

"No, is there going to be another shift in the varsity boat? " asked Phil.

"No, but a lot of the fellows have been missing little things from their rooms; scarf pins and the like. And the funny part of it is that it's all on the next floor of our dormitory. A regular epidemic, one of the fellows was telling me."

"Have we a kleptomaniac among us?" demanded Sid.