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“What’s the reason we haven’t?”

“Can you do it?”

“I might. I have taken my own yacht in a pleasure cruise around the great lakes from Oswego to Duluth,” replied Lester, with unblushing mendacity. “It was while I was in Michigan that I killed some of those bears.”

“I didn’t know you had ever killed any,” said Jones, opening his eyes in amazement.

“Oh, yes, I have. They are also abundant in Mississippi, and one day I kept one of them from chewing up Don Gordon.”

“You don’t say so. You and Kenyon ought to be chums; there he is,” said Jones, directing Lester’s attention to a tall, lank young fellow who looked a great deal more like a backwoodsman than he did like a soldier. “He is from Michigan. His father is a lumberman, and Sam had never been out of the woods until a year ago, when he was sent to this school to have a little polish put on him. But he is one of the good little boys. He says he came here to learn and has no time to fool away. Shall I introduce you?”

“By no means,” said Lester, hastily. He did not think it would be quite safe. If his friend Jones made him known to Kenyon as a renowned bear-hunter, the latter might go at him in much the same style that Huggins did, and then there would be another exposure. He could not afford to be caught in many more lies if he hoped to make himself a leader among his companions. “Since Kenyon is one of the good boys, I have no desire to become acquainted with him,” he added. “And, while I think of it, Jones, don’t repeat what I said to you.”