Thursday was the last day of real practice, although on Friday there was a short session of signal work, the fellows jogging through the plays and Brooks explaining and propounding. After supper that night West House made its annual pilgrimage to East House and was entertained with lemonade and cake. It was a very merry and enjoyable evening. Cal was privileged to sit for a while in Frank Brooks’s room and hear football discussed by masters of the game; Brooks, M’Crae, the Westlake brothers, Ned and Joe Boyle. Brooks proved that he hadn’t forgotten Cal’s presence on the substitute list.

“How are you, Boland?” he asked. “Feeling ready for trouble tomorrow?”

Cal assured him that he was fine and wanted terribly to insinuate some little hint to the effect that a place in the team on the morrow wouldn’t be unacceptable.

When half-past nine came West House took its departure, but not before it had cheered East House and East House had returned the compliment and both Houses had cheered loudly for the Team. It had been a busy and exciting day and sleep didn’t come readily to either Ned or Cal that night. Even when Ned did finally drop off to slumber he was the victim of disturbing visions, and so, when, hours later, as it seemed, he awoke with the vague impression that someone was stirring in the room, he was unable at first to determine whether he was really awake or still asleep and dreaming.

But he finally convinced himself of consciousness. The room was fairly light, for in the November sky the remains of what had been a full moon was sinking westward. There was plenty of light to make easy recognition of the white-clad figure. Ned blinked a moment and then stared. Cal was lifting the lid of his trunk. Ned wanted to ask him what he was doing, but he was very sleepy. Cal fumbled about the trunk till a moment, then closed the lid again and arose. Ned expected to see him get back into bed, but he did nothing of the sort. Instead he walked leisurely around the end of the two beds, knelt in front of Ned’s bureau and opened the bottom drawer.

“Great Scott,” thought Ned, “he’s after an apple! What a joke if he got a rotten one!”

He could hear Cal pushing the apples about and grinned as he recalled the fact that, after all, they had forgotten to sort the bad ones out. Presently Cal stood upright again, turned and retraced his steps toward the farther side of his own bed. If he had found an apple to his liking, at least he was not eating it. Ned lifted himself on one elbow.

“Couldn’t you find a good one?” he asked with a chuckle.

There was no response.

“Oh, I saw you, Cal,” he said. “You’ll have tummy-ache if you eat apples at this time of night.”

Cal stepped silently into bed and pulled the clothes up. It was then that Ned realized that his roommate had been walking in his sleep! How he knew it he couldn’t have told, for he had never seen a performance of the kind before. Perhaps it was the deliberation of Cal’s movements about the room that gave him the hint. At all events, he was positive that Cal was a—a somnam—well, whatever it was! It was a little bit uncanny at first and Ned felt a creepy sensation along his spine. By that time Cal’s breathing was long and regular and Ned’s first impulse to awaken him passed. It would be a shame to spoil a sleep like that; besides, Ned had an idea that he had once read that to awaken a—a somnambulist—that was it; somnambulist!—was dangerous; dangerous to the somnambulist, that is. No, he would let Cal slumber on and tell him about it in the morning. Besides, he was sort of sleepy himself! He yawned, turned over and was soon back in dreamland.

The morning dawned bright and crisp and the breeze that stole in the open window tingled the nostrils. Cal’s bare feet—as usual he was the first out of bed—pattered hurriedly across the floor and the window closed with a crash that awoke Ned. Cal returned to his couch, sat down on the edge of it, shivering, and tried to remember what it was that he had dreamed during the night. It was a very unpleasant dream; something about burglars. That came of keeping so much money on hand, he reflected; it was enough to make any fellow uneasy and give him bad dreams! Of course that money was all right, but he cal’lated he’d have a look. So he thrust his feet into a pair of slippers and went over to the trunk.

“Hello,” said Ned, with a sigh, “what sort of a day is it?”

“Bully,” answered Cal, lifting the lid of the trunk. Ned looked across and recollection of last night came to him. He chuckled.

“I’ve got a dandy joke on you, Cal,” he announced. There was no reply for a moment. Cal was pawing anxiously at the contents of the till. At last, though,

“Is it—is it anything about my money?” he asked.

“No. What about your money?”

“It—it’s gone!”

“Oh, get out!” exclaimed Ned, sitting suddenly upright. Cal nodded, frowning perplexedly at the till.

“I’m sure it was here, Ned,” he said. “And last night I dreamed of burglars again. It’s gone where yours went, I cal’late.”

“But that’s—that’s piffle!” cried Ned. “Burglars couldn’t come in here and—” He paused, a light breaking upon him. Then he threw his feet into the air and subsided backwards on the bed, laughing at the top of his lungs. Cal stood up and viewed him at first with alarm and then with disgust.

“Mighty funny, ain’t it?” he demanded. “There was ’most six dollars there!”

“Look—look in the apple drawer!” gurgled Ned between paroxysms.

“Huh?”

“Look in—the apple—drawer, I—tell you!”

Cal viewed his writhing friend bewilderedly a moment, but then strode to Ned’s bureau and pulled the drawer open. Ned stopped laughing by a supreme effort, crawled to the foot of the bed and looked over Cal’s shoulder. Cal stared at the apples.

“What—what about it?” he asked.

“Look underneath,” advised Ned. “Pitch the apples one side.”

Cal obeyed and then gave a cry.

“Here it is!” he exclaimed.

“Sure,” said Ned. Cal was holding a little wad of bills in his hand.

“But—but—” he stammered.

“What’s wrong?” asked Ned.

“It ain’t mine!”

“Not yours! Whose is it, then? Let’s see. Gee, it’s mine, Cal!”

Ned’s grin gave way to amazement, and then for an instant suspicion returned.

“You put this in there last night, Cal,” he said soberly.

“I did! What do you mean?”

“What I say. You’re a somnambulist.”

Cal stared, doubtful.

“What—what did you say I was?” he demanded ominously.

“A somnambulist; a sleep-walker; I saw you last night! You went to your trunk and rummaged around and then came over here, opened that drawer, and I heard you fussing with the apples. I thought you wanted one to eat. Then you went back to bed and I spoke to you and you didn’t answer. I spoke twice. Did you know you were up? Do you remember it?”

“No.” Cal shook his head, his eyes wide with surprise. “I never did that before, Ned,” he said wonderingly. “Are you—sure? You didn’t just dream it?”

“Of course not! Besides, there’s the money.”

“But I didn’t have it,” said Cal, flushing. “I—I told you so, Ned.”

“By Jove, that’s so! Of course you didn’t. But where—how—”

The two boys stared at each other bewilderedly. Then, with an exclamation, Ned leaped from the bed and began fumbling amongst the apples, and a moment later there was a cry of triumph from both and Ned was holding a second folded package of money in his hand. From it a coin fell and rolled across the floor.

“That’s mine!” cried Cal.

“Yep. Take it.” Ned got to his feet and sat down on the edge of his bed, frowning thoughtfully.

“I don’t see,” began Cal. But Ned interrupted him.

“I do. It’s as plain as daylight now, Cal. Listen. Do you remember when I told you that I had eight dollars in my collar-box you said you thought it wasn’t safe there?”

Cal nodded doubtfully.

“Well, the night we went for the apples you dreamed of burglars; remember that? You were the burglar, just as you were last night. You had it on your mind that my money was in the top drawer, so you got up in your sleep, took it out of the collar-box and put it here under the apples. You probably thought that the burglars wouldn’t look there; and I guess they wouldn’t! It was you, don’t you see, that Spud saw that night standing at the bureau!”

“But—but I never knew that I walked in my sleep!” objected Cal. Ned shrugged his shoulders.

“Can’t help it, old man; you certainly do. Then last night you had another one of your burglar dreams and so you got up and saved your own coin, and put it in the same place with mine. I guess that explains that mystery, Cal.”

Cal considered a moment. Then,

“I cal’late—I guess it does,” he agreed. “But I never knew—”

“You said that before,” laughed Ned. “Well, I’m glad to get it back, Cal, but I’m a lot gladder to have it explained. Isn’t that the funniest thing you ever heard of? And won’t the fellows have a fit when they hear about it?”

“I suppose so,” muttered Cal. “Only—I wish you wouldn’t say anything about it, Ned. You see, I don’t really intend to walk around like that in my sleep and do funny things.”

“You’d rather the others didn’t know? Oh, all right. Only it does spoil a mighty good story, Cal.” Ned looked at the bills in his hand. “This is like finding money. What’ll we do with it?”

“I’m going to get a new key for my trunk,” answered Cal, “and lock mine up.”

“And I’m going to town and buy things. Only I can’t today, I guess. You can’t play good football on nut sundaes and college ices. I suppose,” he added regretfully, “I’ll have to wait until Monday. Then you and I, Cal, will go down and have a regular feast!”

“Do you remember,” asked Cal, “how Molly dreamed about me and apples that time? That was sort of—sort of funny, wasn’t it?”

“It surely was! I don’t suppose you’d like me to tell even Molly, Cal?” Cal shook his head.

“If you don’t mind,” he said apologetically.

“All right. But what shall I tell the fellows? Just say I found it? That’ll do, I guess. None of their business, anyway. Gee, what time is it getting to be? We’ll have to get a move on, chum!”