THE NEW BOY AT HILLTOP

AND OTHER STORIES

BY

RALPH HENRY BARBOUR

TO BELINDA

CONTENTS

THE NEW BOY AT HILLTOP

THE PROVING OF JERRY

MCTURKLE, THE BAND

THE TRIUMPH OF "CURLY"

PATSY

HIS FIRST ASSIGNMENT

PEMBERTON'S FLUKE

THE SEVENTH TUTOR

A RACE WITH THE WATERS

A COLLEGE SANTA CLAUS

THE TRIPLE PLAY

THE DUB

THE NEW BOY AT HILLTOP

I

Hilltop School closed its fall term with just ninety-five students; itopened again two weeks later, on the third of January, with ninety-six; andthereby hangs this tale. 

Kenneth Garwood had been booked for Hilltop in the autumn, butcircumstances had interfered with the family's plans. Instead he journeyedto Moritzville on the afternoon of the day preceding the commencement ofthe new term, a very cold and blustery January afternoon, during much ofwhich he sat curled tightly into a corner of his seat in the poorly heatedday coach, which was the best the train afforded, and wondered why theConnecticut Valley was so much colder than Cleveland, Ohio. He had taken anearly train from New York, and all the way to Moritzville had sought withnatural eagerness for sight of his future schoolmates. But he had beenunsuccessful. When Hilltop returns to school it takes the mid-afternoonexpress which reaches Moritzville just in time for dinner, whereas Kennethreached the school before it was dark, and at a quarter of five was inundisputed possession, for the time being, of Number 12, Lower House. 

"We are putting you, " the principal had said, "with Joseph Brewster, a boyof about your own age and a member of your class. He is one of our nicestboys, one of whom we are very proud. You will, I am certain, become goodfriends. Mr. Whipple here will show you to your room. Supper is at six. Afterwards, say at eight o'clock, I should like you to see me again here atthe office. If there is anything you want you will find the matron's roomat the end of the lower hall. Er--will you take him in charge, Mr. Whipple?"

On the way across the campus, between banks of purple-shadowed snow andunder leafless elms which creaked and groaned dismally in the wind, Kennethreached the firm conclusion that there were two persons at Hilltop whom hewas going to dislike cordially. One was the model Joseph Brewster, and theother was Mr. Whipple. The instructor was young, scarcely more thantwenty-three, tall, sallow, near-sighted and taciturn. He wore anunchanging smile on his thin face and spoke in a soft, silky voice thatmade Kenneth want to trip him into one of the snow banks. 

Lower House, so called to distinguish it from the other dormitory, UpperHouse, which stood a hundred yards higher on the hill, looked veryuninviting. Its windows frowned dark and inhospitable and no light shonefrom the hall as they entered. Mr. Whipple paused and searchedunsuccessfully for a match. 

"I fear I have left my match box in my study, " he said at length. "Just amoment, please, Garwood, and I will--"

"Here's a match, sir, " interrupted Kenneth. 

"Ah!" Mr. Whipple accepted the match and rubbed it carefully under thebanister rail. "Thank you, " he added as a tiny pale flame appeared at thetip of the side bracket. "I trust that the possession of matches, my boy, does not indicate a taste for tobacco on your part?" he continued, smilingdeprecatingly. 

Kenneth took up his suit case again. 

"I trust not, sir, " he said. Mr. Whipple blinked behind his glasses. 

"Smoking is, of course, prohibited at Hilltop. "

"I think it is at most schools, " Kenneth replied gravely. 

"Oh, undoubtedly! I am to understand, then, that you are not even in theleast addicted to the habit?"

"Well, sir, it isn't likely you'll ever catch me at it, " said Kennethimperturbably. The instructor flushed angrily. 

"I hope not, " he said in a silky voice, "I sincerely hope not, Garwood--foryour sake!"

He started up the stairs and Kenneth followed, smiling wickedly. He hadn'tmade a very good beginning, he told himself, but Mr. Whipple irritated himintensely. After the instructor had closed the door softly and taken hisdeparture, Kenneth sat down in an easy-chair and indulged in regrets. 

"I wish I hadn't been so fresh, " he muttered ruefully. "It doesn't do afellow any good to get the teachers down on him. Not that I'm scared ofthat old boy, though! Dr. Randall isn't so bad, but if the rest of theteachers are like Whipple I don't want to stay. Well, dad said I needn'tstay after this term if I don't like it. Guess I can stand three months, even of Whipple! I hope Brewster isn't quite as bad. Maybe, though, they'llgive me another room if I kick. Don't see why I can't have a room bymyself, anyhow. I guess I'll get dad to write and ask for it. Only maybe achap in moderate circumstances like me isn't supposed to have a room all tohimself. "

He chuckled softly and looked about him. 

Number 12 consisted of a small study and a good-sized sleeping room openingoff. The study was well furnished, even if the carpet was worn bare inspots and the green-topped table was a mass of ink blots. There were twocomfortable armchairs and two straight-backed chairs, the aforementionedtable, two bookcases, one on each side of the window, a wicker wastebasketand two or three pictures. Also there was an inviting window seat heapedwith faded cushions. On the whole, Kenneth decided, the study, seen in thesoft radiance of the droplight, had a nice "homey" look. He crossed overand examined the bedroom, drawing aside the faded brown chenille curtain tolet in the light. There wasn't much to see--two iron beds, two chiffoniers, two chairs, a trunk bearing the initials "J. A. B. " and a washstand. Thefloor was bare save for three rugs, one beside each bed and one in front ofthe washstand. The two windows had white muslin curtains and a couple ofuninteresting pictures hung on the walls. He dropped the curtain at thedoor, placed his suit case on a chair and opened it. For the next fewminutes he was busy distributing its contents. To do this it was necessaryto light the gas in the bedroom and as it flared up, its light wasreflected from the gleaming backs of a set of silver brushes which he hadplaced a moment before on the top of the chiffonier. He paused for a momentand eyed them doubtfully. 

"Gee!" he muttered. "I can't have those out. I'll have to buy somebrushes. "

He gathered them up and tumbled them back into his suit case. Finally, witheverything put away, he took off coat and vest, collar and, cuffs, andproceeded to wash up. And while he is doing it let us have a good look athim. 

He was fourteen years of age, but he looked older. Not that he was largefor his age; it was rather the expression of his face that added thatmythical year or so. He looked at once self-reliant and reserved. At firstglance one might have thought him conceited, in which case one would havedone him an injustice. Kenneth had traveled a good deal and had seen moreof the world than has the average boy of his age, and this had naturallyleft its impress on his countenance. I can't honestly say that he washandsome, and I don't think you will be disappointed to hear it. But he wasgood-looking, with nice, quiet gray eyes, an aquiline nose, a fairly broadmouth whose smiles meant more for being infrequent, and a firm, ratherpointed chin of the sort which is popularly supposed to, and in Kenneth'scase really did, denote firmness of character. His hair was brown and quiteguiltless of curl. His body was well set up and he carried himself with alittle backward thrust of the head and shoulders which might have seemedarrogant, but wasn't, any more than was his steady, level manner of lookingat one. 

Presently, having donned his clothes once more, he picked up a book fromthe study table, pulled one of the chairs toward the light and set himselfcomfortably therein, stretching his legs out and letting his elbows sinkinto the padded leather arms. And so he sat when, after twenty minutes orso, there were sounds outside the building plainly denoting the arrival ofstudents, sounds followed by steps on the stairs, shouts, laughter, happygreetings, the thumping of bags, the clinking of keys. And so he sat whenthe door of Number 12 was suddenly thrown wide open and a merry face, flushed with the cold, looked amazedly upon him from between the high, shaggy, upturned collar of a voluminous dark gray ulster and the soft visorof a rakishly tilted cap. 

II

And while Kenneth looked back, he felt his prejudices melting away. Surelyone couldn't dislike for very long such a jolly, mischievous-looking youthas this! Of Kenneth's own age was the newcomer, a little heavier, yellow-haired and blue-eyed, at once impetuous and good-humored. But atthis moment the good-humor was not greatly in evidence. Merriment gaveplace to surprise, surprise to resentment on the boy's countenance. 

"Hello!" he challenged. 

Kenneth laid the book face down on his knee and smiled politely. 

"How do you do?" he responded. 

The newcomer dragged a big valise into the room and closed the door behindhim, never for an instant taking his gaze off Kenneth. Then, apparentlyconcluding that the figure in the armchair was real flesh and blood and nota creature of the imagination, he tossed his cap to the table, revealing arumpled mass of golden yellow hair, and looked belligerently at theintruder. 

"Say, you've got the wrong room, I guess, " he announced. 

"Here's where they put me, " answered Kenneth gravely. 

"Well, you can't stay here, " was the inhospitable response. "This is myroom. "

Kenneth merely looked respectfully interested. Joe Brewster slid out of hisulster, frowning angrily. 

"You're a new boy, aren't you!" he demanded. 

"About an hour and a half old, " said Kenneth. Somehow the reply seemed toannoy Joe. He clenched his hands and stepped toward the other truculently. 

"Well, you go and see the matron; she'll find a room for you; there arelots of rooms, I guess. Anyway, I'm not going to have you butting in here. "

"You must be Joseph Brewster, " said Kenneth. The other boy growled assent. "The fact is, Brewster, they put me in here with you because you are such afine character. Dr. Whatshisname said you were the pride of the school, orsomething like that. I guess they thought association with you wouldbenefit me. "

Joe gave a roar and a rush. Over went the armchair, over went Kenneth, overwent Joe, and for a minute nothing was heard in Number 12 but the sound ofpanting and gasping and muttered words, and the colliding of feet andbodies with floor and furniture. The attack had been somewhat unexpectedand as a result, for the first moments of the battle, Kenneth occupied theuncomfortable and inglorious position of the under dog. He strove only toescape punishment, avoiding offensive tactics altogether. It was hard work, however, for Brewster pummeled like a good one, his seraphic face aflamewith the light of battle and his yellow hair seeming to stand about hishead like a golden oriflamb. And while Kenneth hugged his adversary to him, ducking his head away from the incessant jabs of a very industrious fist, he realized that he had made a mistake in his estimation of his futureroommate. He was going to like him; he was quite sure he was; providing, ofcourse that said roommate left enough of him! And then, seeing, or ratherfeeling his chance, he toppled Joe Brewster over his shoulder and in atrice the tables were turned. Now it was Kenneth who was on top, and ittook him but a moment to seize Joe's wrists in a very firm grasp, a graspwhich, in spite of all efforts, Joe found it impossible to escape. Kenneth, perched upon his stomach--uneasily, you may be sure, since Joe heaved andtossed like a boat in a tempest--offered terms. 

"Had enough?" he asked. 

"No, " growled Joe. 

"Then you'll stay here until you have, " answered Kenneth. "You and I aregoing to be roommates, so we might as well get used to each other now aslater, eh? How any fellow with a face like a little pink angel can use hisfists the way you can, gets me!"

Kenneth was almost unseated at this juncture, but managed to hold hisplace. Panting from the effects of the struggle, he went on:

"Seems to me Dr. Randall must be mistaken in you, Brewster. You don'tstrike me at all as a model of deportment. Seems to me he and you fixed upa pretty lively welcome for me, eh?"

The anger faded out of Joe's face and a smile trembled at the corners ofhis mouth. 

"Let me up, " he said quietly. 

"Behave?"

"Yep. "

"All right, " said Kenneth. But before he could struggle to his feet therewas a peremptory knock on the door, followed instantly by the appearance ofa third person on the scene, a dark-haired, sallow, tall youth of fifteenwho viewed the scene with surprise. 

"What's up?" he asked. 

Kenneth sprang to his feet and gave his hand to Joe. About them spreaddevastation. 

"I was showing him a new tackle, " explained Kenneth easily. 

Joe, somewhat red of face, shot him a look of gratitude. 

"Oh, " said the new arrival, "and who the dickens are you, kid?"

"My name's Garwood. I just came to-day. I'm to room with Brewster. "

"Is that right?" asked the other, turning to Joe. Joe nodded. 

"So he says, Graft. I think it's mighty mean, though. They let me have aroom to myself all fall, and now, just when I'm getting used to it, what dothey do? Why, they dump this chap in here. It isn't as though there weren'tplenty of other rooms!"

"Why don't you kick to the doctor?" asked Grafton Hyde. 

"Oh, it wouldn't do any good, I suppose, " said Joe. 

Grafton Hyde sat down and viewed Kenneth with frank curiosity. 

"Where are you from?" he demanded. 

"Cleveland, Ohio. "

"Any relation to John Garwood, the railroad man?"

"Ye-es, some, " said Kenneth. Grafton snorted. 

"Huh! I dare say! Most everyone tries to claim relationship with amillionaire. Bet you, he doesn't know you're alive!"

"Well, " answered Kenneth with some confusion, "maybe not, but--but I thinkhe's related to our family, just the same. "

"You do, eh?" responded Grafton sarcastically. "Well, I wouldn't try veryhard to claim relationship if I were you. I guess if the honest truth wereknown there aren't very many fellows who would want to be in John Garwood'sshoes, for all his money. "

"Why?" asked Kenneth. 

"Because he's no good. Look at the way he treated his employees in thatlast strike! Some of 'em nearly starved to death!"

"That's a--that isn't so!" answered Kenneth hotly. "It was all newspaperlies. "

"Newspapers don't lie, " said Grafton sententiously. 

"They lied then, like anything, " was the reply. 

"Well, everyone knows what John Garwood is, " said Grafton carelessly. "I'veheard my father tell about him time and again. He used to know him yearsago. "

Kenneth opened his lips, thought better of it and kept silence. 

"Ever hear of my father?" asked Grafton with a little swagger. 

"What's his name?" asked Kenneth. 

"Peter Hyde, " answered the other importantly. 

"Oh, yes! He's a big politician in Chicago, isn't he?"

"No, he isn't!" replied Grafton angrily. "He's Peter Hyde, the lumbermagnate. "

"Oh!" said Kenneth. "What--what's a lumber magnet?"

"_Magnate_, not magnet!" growled Grafton. "It's time you came to school ifyou don't know English. Where have you been going?"

"I beg pardon?"

"What school have you been to? My, you're a dummy!"

"I haven't been to any school this year. Last year I went to the grammarschool at home. "

"Then this is your first boarding school, eh?"

"Yes; and I hope I'll like it. The catalogue said it was a very fineschool. I trust I shall profit from my connection with it. "

Grafton stared bewilderedly, but the new junior's face was as innocent as acherub's. Joe Brewster stared, too, for a moment; then a smile flickeredaround his mouth and he bent his head, finding interest in a bleedingknuckle. 

"Well, I came over to talk about the team, Joe, " Grafton said after amoment. "I didn't know you had company. "

"Didn't know it myself, " muttered Joe. 

Kenneth picked up his book again and went back to his reading. But he wasnot so deeply immersed but that he caught now and then fragments of theconversation, from which he gathered that both Joe and Hyde were members ofthe Lower House Basket Ball Team, that Hyde held a very excellent opinionof his own abilities as a player, that Upper House was going to have a verystrong team and that if Lower didn't find a fellow who could throw goalsfrom fouls better than Simms could it was all up with them. SuddenlyKenneth laid down his book again. 

"I say, you fellows, couldn't I try for that team?" he asked. 

"Oh, yes, you can _try_, " laughed Grafton. "Ever play any?"

"A little. We had a team at the grammar school. I played right guard. "

"You did, eh? That's where I play, " said Grafton. "Maybe you'd like myplace?"

"Don't you want it?" asked Kenneth innocently. 

"Don't I want it! Well, you'll have to work pretty hard to get it!"

"I will, " said Kenneth very simply. Grafton stared doubtfully. 

"Candidates are called for four o'clock tomorrow afternoon, " said Joe. "You'd better come along. You're pretty light, but Jim Marble will give youa try all right. "

"Thanks, " answered Kenneth. "But would practice be likely to interfere withmy studies?"

"Say, kid, you're' a wonder!" sneered Grafton as he got up to go. "I neversaw anything so freshly green in my life! You're going to have a real nicetime here at Hilltop; I can see that. Well, see you later, Joe. Come upto-night; I want to show you some new snowshoes I brought back. Farewell, Garwood. By the way, what's your first name?"

"Kenneth. "

"Hey?"

"Kenneth; K, e, n, n, e--"

"Say, that's a peach!" laughed Grafton. "Well, bring little Kenneth withyou, Joe; I've got some picture books. "

"Thank you, " said the new junior gratefully. 

"Oh, don't mention it!" And Grafton went out chuckling. 

As the door closed behind him, Joe Brewster sank into a chair and thrustout his legs, hands in pockets, while a radiant grin slowly overspread hisangelic countenance. 

"Well, " he said finally, "you're the first fellow that ever bluffed Graft!And the way he took it!"

Kenneth smiled modestly under the admiring regard of his roommate. 

"Gee!" cried Joe, glancing at his watch. "It's after six. Come on tosupper. Maybe if we hurry they'll give you a place at our table. "

Kenneth picked up his cap and followed his new friend down the stairs. Onthe way he asked:

"Is that chap Hyde a particular friend of yours?"

"N-no, " answered Joe, "not exactly. We're on the team together, and heisn't such a bad sort. Only--he's the richest fellow in school and he can'tforget it!"

"I don't like him, " said Kenneth decidedly. 

Hilltop School stands on the top of a hill overlooking the ConnecticutValley, a cluster of half a dozen ivy-draped buildings of which only one, the new gymnasium, looks less than a hundred years old. Seventy-six feet byforty it is, built of red sandstone with freestone trimming; a fine, aristocratic-looking structure which lends quite an air to the old campus. In the basement there is a roomy baseball cage, a bowling alley, lockers, and baths. In the main hall, one end of which terminates in a fair-sizedstage, are gymnastic apparatus of all kinds. 

It was here that Kenneth found himself at four o'clock the next day. Histrunk had arrived and he had dug out his old basket-ball costume, a redsleeveless shirt, white knee pants, and canvas shoes. He wore them now ashe sat, a lithe, graceful figure, on the edge of the stage. There werenearly thirty other fellows on the floor amusing themselves in various wayswhile they waited for the captain to arrive. Several of them Kennethalready knew well enough to speak to and many others he knew by name. ForJoe had made himself Kenneth's guide and mentor, had shown him all therewas to be seen, had introduced him to a number of the fellows and pointedout others and had initiated him into many of the school manners andmethods. This morning Kenneth had made his appearance in various classrooms and had met various teachers, among them Mr. Whipple, who, Kennethdiscovered, was instructor in English. The fellows seemed a friendly lotand he was already growing to like Hilltop. 

Naturally enough, Kenneth found himself the object of much interest. He wasa new boy, the only new one in school. At Hilltop the athletic rivalry wasprincipally internal, between dormitory and dormitory. To be sure thebaseball and football teams played other schools, but nevertheless thecontests which wrought the fellows up to the highest pitch of enthusiasmwere those in which the Blue of Upper House and the Crimson of Lower met inbattle. Each dormitory had its own football, baseball, hockey, tennis, track, basket ball, and debating, team, and rivalry was always intense. Hence the arrival of a new boy in Lower House meant a good deal to bothcamps. And most fellows liked what they saw of Kenneth, even whileregretting that he wasn't old enough and big enough for football material. Kenneth bore the scrutiny without embarrassment, but nevertheless he wasglad when Joe joined him where he sat on the edge of the stage. 

"Jim hasn't come yet, " said Joe, examining a big black-and-blue spot on hisleft knee. "I guess there won't be time for much practice today, becauseUpper has the floor at five. They're going to have a dandy team this year;a whole bunch of big fellows. But they had a big heavy team year beforelast and we beat them the first two games. "

"Don't you play any outside schools?"

"No, the faculty won't let us. Perfect rot, isn't it? They let us playoutsiders at football and baseball and all that, but they won't let us takeon even the grammar school for basket ball. Randy says the game is toorough and we might get injured. Bough! I'd like to know what he callsfootball!"

"I don't understand about the classes here, " said Kenneth. "I heard thatbig chap over there say he couldn't play because he was 'advanced' orsomething. What's that!"

"Advanced senior, " answered Joe. "You see, there's the preparatory class, the junior class, the middle class and the senior class. Then if a fellowwants to fit for college, he does another year in the senior class and inorder to distinguish him from the fourth-year fellows they call him anadvanced senior. See? There are five in school this year. Faculty won't letthem play basket ball or football because they're supposed to be too bigand might hurt some of us little chaps. Huh! Hello, there's Jim. I've gotto see him a minute. "

And Joe slipped off the stage and scurried across to where a boy of aboutsixteen, a tall, athletic-looking youth with reddish-brown hair wascrossing the floor with a ball under each arm. Joe stopped him and said afew words and presently they both walked over to where Kenneth sat. Joeintroduced the captain and the new candidate. 

"Joe says you've played the game, " said Jim inquiringly in a pleasant voiceas he shook hands. Kenneth was somewhat awed by him and replied quitemodestly:

"Yes, but I don't suppose I can play with you fellows. Still, I'd like totry. "

"That's right. How are you on throwing baskets?"

"Well, I used to be pretty fair last year. "

"Good enough. If you can throw goals well, you'll stand a good show ofmaking the team as a substitute. You'd better get out there with the othersand warm up. "

III

Kenneth's first week at Hilltop passed busily and happily. There had beenno more talk on Joe's part about getting rid of his roommate. The two hadbecome fast friends. Kenneth grew to like Joe better each day; and ithadn't taken him long to discover that it was because of Joe's ability tosquirm out of scrapes or to avoid detection altogether rather than toirreproachable conduct that Dr. Randall looked upon him as a model student. 

Basket-ball practice for both the Upper and Lower House teams took placeevery week-day afternoon. Kenneth had erred, if at all, on the side ofmodesty when speaking of his basket-ball ability. To be sure, he was lightin weight for a team where the members' ages averaged almost sixteen years, but he made up for that in speed, while his prowess at shooting basketsfrom the floor or from fouls was so remarkable that after a few practicegames had been played all Lower House was discussing him with eageramazement and Upper House was sitting up and taking notice. At the end ofthe first week Kenneth secured a place on the second team at right guard, and Grafton Hyde, whose place in a similar position on the first team washis more by reason of his size and weight than because of real ability, began to work his hardest. 

The closer Kenneth pressed him for his place the more Grafton's dislike ofthe younger boy became evident. As there was the length of the floorbetween their positions in the practice games the two had few opportunitiesto "mix it up, " but once or twice they got into a scrimmage together and onthose occasions the fur flew. Grafton was a hard, rough player and hedidn't handle Kenneth with gloves. On the other hand, Kenneth asked nofavors nor gave any. Naturally Grafton's superior size and strength gavehim the advantage, and after the second of these "mix-ups, " during whichthe other players and the few spectators looked on gleefully and thereferee blew his whistle until he was purple in the face, Kenneth limpeddown to the dressing room with a badly bruised knee, a factor which kepthim out of the game for the next two days and caused Grafton to throwsarcastic asides in the direction of the bench against which Kenneth'sheels beat a disconsolate tattoo. 

Four days before the first game with Upper House--the championship shieldwent to the team winning two games out of three--Lower House held anenthusiastic meeting at which songs and cheers were practiced and at whichthe forty odd fellows in attendance pledged themselves for various sums ofmoney to defray the cost of new suits and paraphernalia for both the basketball and hockey teams. 

"How much do you give?" whispered Kenneth. 

"Five dollars, " answered Joe, his pencil poised above the little slip ofpaper. Kenneth stared. 

"But--isn't that a good bit?" he asked incredulously. 

"It seems so when you only get twenty dollars a month allowance, " answeredJoe ruefully. "But every fellow gives what he thinks he ought to, you know;Graft usually gives ten dollars, but lots of the fellows can only givefifty cents. "

"I see, " murmured Kenneth. "'What he thinks he ought to give, eh? That'seasy. "

The following afternoon Upper and Lower Houses turned out _en masse_ to seethe first of the hockey series and stood ankle-deep in the new snow whileUpper proceeded to administer a generous trouncing to her rival. 

"Eat 'em up, Upper! Eat 'em up, Upper!" gleefully shouted the supporters ofthe blue-stockinged players along the opposite barrier. 

"Oh, forget it!" growled Joe, pulling the collar of his red sweater higherabout his neck and turning a disgusted back to the rink. "That's 14 to 3, isn't it? Well, it must be pretty near over, that's one comfort! Hello, here comes Whipple. Gee, but he makes me tired! Always trying to mix withthe fellows. I wonder if he was born with that ugly smile of his. He'scoming this way, " Joe groaned. "He thinks I'm such a nice little boy andsays he hopes my heart is of gold to match my hair! Wouldn't that peevyou?"

"Ah, Brewster, " greeted Mr. Whipple, laying a hand on the boy's shoulder, "how goes it today?" He accorded Kenneth a curt nod. 

"Going bad, " growled Joe. 

"Well, well, we must take the bad with the good, " said the instructorsweetly. "Even defeat has its lesson, you know. Now--"

But Kenneth didn't hear the rest. Grafton Hyde was beside him with a slipof paper in his hand. 

"Say, Garwood, " said Grafton loudly enough to be heard by the audience nearby, "I wish you'd tell me about this. It's your subscription slip. Thesefigures look like a one and two naughts, but I guess you meant ten dollarsinstead of one, didn't you?"

"No, " answered Kenneth calmly. 

"Oh! But--only a dollar?" inquired Grafton incredulously. 

The fellows nearest at hand who had been either watching the game ordelighting in Joe's discomforture turned their attention to Grafton and thenew junior. 

"Exactly, " answered Kenneth. "The figures are perfectly plain, aren'tthey?"

Grafton shrugged his shoulders and smiled. 

"Oh, all right, " he said. "Only a dollar seemed rather little, and I wantedto be sure--"

"Didn't anyone else give a dollar?" demanded Kenneth. 

"We don't make public the amounts received, " answered Grafton with muchdignity. Kenneth smiled sarcastically. 

"What are you doing now?" he asked. 

"I merely asked--"

"And I answered. That's enough, isn't it?"

"Yes, but let me tell you that we don't take to stingy fellows in LowerHouse. You'd better get moved to Upper, Garwood; that's where you belong. You're a fresh kid, and I guess we don't have to have your subscriptionanyway. " He tore the slip up contemptuously and tossed the pieces to thesnow. Kenneth colored. 

"Just as you like, " he answered. "I subscribed what I thought proper andyou've refused to accept it. You haven't worried me. "

But a glance over the faces of the little throng showed that publicsentiment was against him. Well, that couldn't be helped now. He turned hisback and gave his attention to the game. But the incident was not yetclosed. Mr. Whipple's smooth voice sounded in its most conciliatory tones:

"We all know your generosity, Hyde. Let us hope that by next year Garwoodwill have learned from you the spirit of giving. "

Kenneth swung around and faced the instructor. 

"May I ask, sir, how much you gave?"

"Me? Why--ah--I think the teachers are not required--I should say expectedto--ah--contribute, " answered Mr. Whipple agitatedly. 

"I guess they aren't forbidden to, " answered Kenneth. "And I don't believeyou've got any right to criticise the size of my subscription until you'vegiven something yourself. "

Mr. Whipple's smile grew tremulous and almost flickered out. 

"I'm sure that the boys of the Lower House know that I am always ready andeager to aid in any way, " he replied with angry dignity, "If they willallow me to contribute--" He paused and viewed the circle smilingly. 

The idea tickled all hands hugely. 

"Yes, sir!"

"Thank you, sir!"

"About five dollars, Mr. Whipple!"

Mr. Whipple's smile grew strained and uneasy. He had not expectedacceptance of his offer. 

"Yes, yes, perhaps it is best to keep the donations confined to the studentbody, " he said. "Perhaps at another time you'll allow--"

"Right now, sir!" cried Joe. "Give us a couple of dollars, sir!"

The demand could not be disregarded. Shouts of approval arose on everyhand. On the ice, Wason of the Upper House team had hurt his knee and timehad been called; and the waiting players flocked to the barrier to see whatwas up. Mr. Whipple looked questioningly at Grafton and found that youthregarding him expectantly. With a sigh which was quickly stifled he drewforth his pocketbook and selected a two dollar note from the little roll itcontained. He handed it to Grafton who accepted it carelessly. 

"Thanks, " said Grafton. "I'll send you a receipt, sir. "

"Oh, that is not necessary, " replied Mr. Whipple. Now that the thing waspast mending he made the best of it. His smile had returned in all itsserenity. "And now, Garwood, " he said, "as I have complied with yourrequirements, allow me to say that your conduct has not been--ah--up toHilltop standards. Let me suggest that you cultivate generosity. "

Kenneth, who had kept his back turned since his last words, swung aroundwith an angry retort on his lips. But Joe's hand pulled him back. 

"Shut up, chum!" whispered Joe. "Let him go. "

Kenneth, swallowed, his anger and Mr. Whipple, with a smiling nod, followedby a quick malevolent glance at Joe, turned away from the group of grinningfaces. 

Chuckles and quiet snickers followed him. 

There was joy in the ranks of the enemy. 

Only Kenneth showed no satisfaction over the instructor's discomfiture forhe realized that the latter would hold him partly accountable for it. 

Presently, the game having come to an end with the score 18 to 7 in Upper'sfavor, he and Joe went back together up the hill. 

"I wish, " said Joe, with a frown, "you hadn't made that fuss about thesubscription. Fellows will think you're stingy, I'm afraid. "

"Well, they'll have to think so then, " responded Kenneth defiantly. "Anyhow, Hyde had no business pitching into me about it like that inpublic. "

"No, that's so, " Joe acknowledged. "He hadn't. I guess he's got it in foryou good and hard. But don't you be worried. "

"I'm not, " answered Kenneth. And he didn't look to be. 

"I'm going to see Jim Marble before Graft gets at him with a lot of yarnsabout you, " Joe continued. 

"Thanks, " said Kenneth. "I wish you would. I don't want to lose all showfor the team. "

"You bet you don't! You're getting on finely, too, aren't you? I don't seehow you work those long throws of yours. Graft says it's just your foolluck, " Joe chuckled. "I asked him why he didn't cultivate a little luckhimself! He's been playing like a baby so far; sloppy's no name for it!"

"Think Marble notices it?"

"Of course he notices it! Jim doesn't miss a thing. Why?"

"Nothing, only--well, I've made up my mind to beat Grafton out; and I'mgoing to do it!"

Two days later there was deeper gloom than ever in Lower House. Upper hadwon the first basket ball game! And the score, 14 to 6, didn't offer groundfor comfort. There was no good reason to suppose that the next game, cominga week later, would result very differently. Individually three at least ofthe five players had done brilliant work, Marble at center. Joe at leftforward and Collier at left guard having won applause time and again. ButUpper had far excelled in team work, especially on offense, and Lower'smuch-heralded speed hadn't shown up. On the defense, all things considered, Lower had done fairly well, although most of the honor belonged to Collierat left guard, Grafton Hyde having played a slow, blundering game in whichhe had apparently sought to substitute roughness for science. More thanhalf of the fouls called on the Red had been made by Grafton. And, eventhough Upper had no very certain basket thrower, still she couldn't havehelped making a fair share of those goals from fouls. 

Kenneth hadn't gone on until the last minute of play, and he had notdistinguished himself. In fact his one play had been a failure. He hadtaken Grafton's place at right guard. Carl Jones, Upper's big center, stolethe ball in the middle of the floor and succeeded in getting quite awayfrom the field. Kenneth saw the danger and gave chase, but his lack ofweight was against him. Jones brushed him aside, almost under the basket, and, while Kenneth went rolling over out of bounds, tossed the easiest sortof a goal. 

But Kenneth's lack of success on that occasion caused him to work harderthan ever in practice, and, on the following Thursday the long-expectedhappened. Grafton Hyde went to the second team and Kenneth took his placeat right guard on the first. 

IV

Grafton could scarcely believe it at first. When he discovered that JimMarble really meant that he was to go to the second team his anger almostgot the better of him, and the glance he turned from Jim to Kenneth heldnothing of affection. But he took his place at right guard on the secondand, although with ill grace, played the position while practice lasted. Kenneth took pains to keep away from him, since there was no telling whattricks he might be up to. The first team put it all over the second thatday and Jim Marble was smiling when time was called and the panting playerstumbled downstairs to the showers. On Friday practice was short. After itwas over Kenneth stopped at the library on his way back to Lower House. When he opened the door of Number 12 he found Joe with his books spreadout, studying. 

"Hello, where have you been?" asked Joe. "Graft was in here a minute agolooking for you. Said if you came in before dinner to ask you to go up tohis room a minute. Of course, " said Joe, grinning, "he may intend to throwyou out of the window or give you poison, but he talked sweetly enough. Still, maybe you'd better stay away; perhaps he's just looking for a chanceto quarrel. "

Kenneth thought a minute. Then he turned toward the door. 

"Going?" asked Joe. 

"Yes. "

"Well, if you're not back by six I'll head a rescue party. "

Grafton Hyde roomed by himself on the third floor. His two rooms, on thecorner of the building, were somewhat elaborately furnished, as befittedthe apartments of "the richest fellow in school. " He had chosen the thirdfloor because he was under surveillance less strict than were the first andsecond floor boys. The teacher on the third floor was Mr. Whipple and, ashis rooms were at the other end of the hall and as he paid little attentionat best to his charges, Grafton did about as he pleased. To-night there wasno light shining through the transom when Kenneth reached Number 21 and hedecided that Grafton was out. But he would make sure and so knocked at thedoor. To his surprise he was told to come in. As he opened the door a chilldraft swept by him, a draft at once redolent of snow and of cigarettesmoke. The room was in complete darkness, but a form was outlined againstone of the windows, the lower sash of which was fully raised, and a tinyred spark glowed there. Kenneth paused on the threshold. 

"Who is it?" asked Grafton's voice. 

"Garwood, " was the reply. "Joe said you wanted me to look you up. "

The spark suddenly dropped out of sight, evidently tossed through the openwindow. 

"Oh, " said Grafton with a trace of embarrassment. "Er--wait a moment andI'll light up. "

"Don't bother, " said Kenneth. "I can't stay but a minute. I just thoughtI'd see what you wanted. "

"Well, you'll find a chair there by the table, " said Grafton, sinking backon the window seat. "Much obliged to you for coming up. "

There was a silence during which Kenneth found the chair and Grafton pulleddown the window. Then, "Look here, Garwood, " said Grafton, "you've got my place on the team, Idon't say you didn't get it fair and square, because you did. But I wantit. You know me pretty well and I guess you know I generally get what Iwant. You're a pretty good sort, and you're a friend of Joe's, and I likeJoe, but I might make it mighty uncomfortable for you if I wanted to, whichI don't. I'll tell you what I'll do, Garwood. You get yourself back on thesecond team and I'll make it right with you. If you need a little money--"

"Is that all?" asked Kenneth, rising. 

"Hold on! Don't get waxy! Wait till I explain. I'll give you twenty-fivedollars, Garwood. You can do a whole lot with twenty-five dollars. Andthat's a mighty generous offer. All you've got to do is to play off for acouple of days. Tomorrow you could be kind of sick and not able to play. Noone would think anything about it, and you can bet I wouldn't breathe aword of it. What do you say?"

"I say you're a confounded cad!" cried Kenneth hotly. 

"Oh, you do, eh? I haven't offered enough, I suppose!" sneered Grafton. "Imight have known that a fellow who would only give a dollar to the teamswould be a hard bargainer! Well, I'm not stingy; I'll call it thirty. Now, what do you say?"

"When you get your place back it'll be by some other means than buying it, "said Kenneth contemptuously. He turned toward the door. "You haven't gotenough money to buy everything, you see; and--"

There was a sharp knock on the door. 

"If you say anything about this, " whispered Grafton hoarsely, "I'll--I'll--Come in!"

"Who is here?" asked Mr. Whipple's voice as the door swung open. 

"I, sir, and Garwood, " answered Grafton. 

"Ah! Garwood! And which one of you, may I ask, has been smokingcigarettes?"

There was a moment's silence. Then, "Nobody in here, sir, " answered Grafton. 

"That will do, Hyde. Don't attempt to shield him, " said Mr. Whipple coldly. "Light the gas, please. "

Grafton slid off the window seat and groped toward where Kenneth wasstanding. 

"Yes, sir, " he said, "as soon as I can find a match. " He brushed heavilyagainst Kenneth. 

"I beg your pardon, Garwood. I'm all turned around. Where--? Oh, here theyare. " A match flared and Grafton lighted the droplight. Mr. Whipple turnedto Kenneth, a triumphant smile on his thin features. 

"Well, what have you to say?" he asked. 

"About what, sir!" inquired Kenneth. 

"About smoking. You deny it, then. "

"Yes. "

"Ah! And what about this!" Mr. Whipple opened his hand and displayed aportion of a cigarette with charred end. "You should be more careful whereyou throw them, Garwood. This came from the window just as I was passingbelow. "

"It's not mine, " was the answer. 

"Oh, then it was you, Hyde?"

Grafton smiled and shrugged his shoulders. 

"If you can find any cigarettes in my room, sir, you--"

"Pshaw! What's the use in pretending?" interrupted the instructor, viewingKenneth balefully. "I fancy I know where to look for cigarettes, eh, Garwood? You have no objection to emptying your pockets for me?"

"None at all, Mr. Whipple. "

"Then, may I suggest that you do so?"

Kenneth dove into one pocket and brought out a handkerchief and a smallpiece of pencil, into the other and--

"Ah!" said Mr. Whipple triumphantly. 

In Kenneth's hand lay a piece of folded paper, a skate strap and--a box ofcigarettes! He stared at the latter bewilderedly for a moment. Then heglanced sharply at Grafton. That youth regarded him commiseratingly andslowly shook his head. 

"I'll take those, if you please, " said Mr. Whipple. Kenneth handed themover. 

"I never saw them before, " he said simply. 

"Oh, of course not, " jeered the instructor. "And the room rank withcigarette smoke! That's a pretty tall story, I think, Garwood. You told meonce that I would never catch you smoking cigarettes. You see you were atrifle mistaken. You may go to your room. "

"I wasn't smoking cigarettes, " protested Kenneth. "I never saw that boxbefore in my life. If Hyde won't tell, I will. I came up here and foundhim--"

He stopped. What was the use? Telling on another fellow was mean work, and, besides, Mr. Whipple wouldn't believe him. He had no proof to offer and allthe evidence was against him. He turned to the door. On the threshold helooked back at Grafton. 

"You sneak!" he said softly. 

Then, with the angry tears blinding his eyes, he hurried down to his roomto unburden his heart to Joe Brewster. 

Joe was wildly indignant and was all for dashing upstairs and "knocking thespots out of Graft!" But Kenneth refused his consent to such a procedure. 

"I'll tell them the truth when they call me up, " he said. "If they don'tbelieve me they needn't. "

Well, they didn't. Kenneth refused to incriminate Grafton and as all theevidence was strongly against him he was held guilty. The verdict was"suspension" as soon as Kenneth's parents could be communicated with. Grafton denied having smoked with Kenneth and got off with a lecture forpermitting an infraction of the rules in his study. Joe stormed andsputtered, but as Kenneth had bound him to secrecy he could do no more. 

That night Upper and Lower met in the second basket-ball game and GraftonHyde played right guard on the Lower House team. Fate was kind to the Beds. Knox, Upper's crack right forward, was out of the game with a twisted ankleand when the last whistle blew the score board declared Lower House thewinner by a score of 12 to 9. And Lower House tramped through the snow, around and around the campus, and made night hideous with songs and cheersuntil threatened by the faculty with dire punishment if they did not atonce retire to their rooms. And up in Number 12 Kenneth, feeling terriblyout of it all, heard and was glad of the victory. 

Sunday afternoon he spent in packing his trunk, for, in spite of Joe'spleadings, he was determined not to return to Hilltop when his term ofsuspension was over. He expected to hear from his father in the morning, inwhich case he would take the noon train to New York on the first stage ofhis journey. 

That night they sat up late, since it was to be their last eveningtogether, and Joe was very miserable. He begged Kenneth to go to Dr. Randall and tell just what had occurred. But Kenneth shook his head. 

"He wouldn't believe me if I did, " he said. "And, anyhow, what's the use ofstaying while Whipple's here? He'd get me fired sooner or later. No, thebest way to do is to quit now. I'm sorry, Joe; you and I were getting ontogether pretty well, weren't we?"

"Yes, " answered Joe sadly. And then he became reminiscent and asked whetherKenneth remembered the way they kicked the furniture around that firstevening and how Kenneth had joshed Grafton Hyde. 

When they at last went to bed Kenneth found himself unable to sleep. Eleveno'clock struck on the town clock. From across the room came Joe's regularbreathing and Kenneth, punching his pillow into a new shape, envied him. For a half hour longer he tossed and turned, and then slumber came to him, yet so fitfully that he was wide awake and out of bed the instant that thatfirst shrill cry of "_Fire!_" sounded in the corridor. 

V

Kenneth's first act after hearing the alarm was to awake Joe, This he didby the simple expedient of yanking the bedclothes away from him and yelling"Fire!" at the top of his lungs. Then, stumbling over the chairs, he gropedhis way to the hall door and opened it. The corridor was already filledwith excitement and confusion. Of the eighteen boys who roomed on thatfloor fully half were in evidence, standing dazedly about in pyjamas ornight shirts and shouting useless questions and absurd answers. Simms, wholived at the far end of the corridor, emerged from his room dragging asteamer trunk after him. Instantly the scantily clad youths dashed intotheir rooms intent on rescuing their belongings. Joe joined Kenneth at thedoor. 

"Where's the fire?" he gasped. 

"I don't know, " answered Kenneth, "but I can smell it. Get something on;I'm going to. Has anyone given the alarm?" he asked, as Simms hurried backtoward his study. 

"Yes! No! I don't know! Everything's on fire upstairs! You'd better getyour things out!"

"Somebody ought to give the alarm, " said Kenneth. "Who's seen Mr. Bronson?"

But none had time to answer him. Kenneth scooted down the hall and thumpedat the instructor's door. There was no answer and Kenneth unceremoniouslyshoved it open. The study was in darkness. 

"_Mr. Bronson!_" he cried. "_Mr. Bronson!_"

There was no reply, and Kenneth recollected that very frequently Mr. Bronson spent Sunday night at his home. He hurried back to his own room andfound Joe throwing their belongings out of the windows. At that moment thebell on School Hall began to clang wildly and a second afterwards the alarmwas taken up by the fire bell in the village, a mile away. 

Kenneth pulled on his trousers and shoes, looked for a coat only to findthat Joe had thrown all the coats out of the windows, and went back to thecorridor. All up and down it boys were staggering along with trunks andbags, while from the western end the smoke was volleying forth from Number19 in great billowy clouds. From the floor above raced fellows with suitcases and small trunks, shouting and laughing in the excitement of themoment. 

One of the older boys, Harris by name, came galloping upstairs with a fireextinguisher, followed by a crowd of partly dressed fellows from UpperHouse. But the smoke which filled the end of the corridor drove them backand the stream from the extinguisher wasted itself against the fastyellowing plaster of the wall. The building was rapidly becominguninhabitable and, calling Joe from the study, where he was vainly tryingto get the study table through the casement, Kenneth made for the stairs. The light at the far end of the corridor shone red and murky through thedense clouds of smoke. 

"All out of the building!" cried a voice from below, and the half dozenadventurous spirits remaining in the second floor corridor started down thestairs. 

"Do you know how it began?" asked Joe of a boy beside him. 

"Yes, " was the reply. "King, in 19, was reading in bed with a lamp he has, and he went to sleep and upset it somehow. He got burned, they say. "

"Serves him right, " muttered some one. Kenneth glanced around and foundGrafton Hyde beside him. 

"Hello, " said Kenneth. 

"Hello, " answered Grafton. "Did you save anything?"

"Yes, I guess so, " Kenneth replied. "Did you?"

For the moment animosities were forgotten, wiped out of existence by thecalamity. 

"Not much, " said Grafton. "But I don't care. I tried to get my trunk downbut the smoke was fierce and the end of the building was all in flames. SoI lit out. "

The lower hall was crowded with boys. Dr. Randall, tall and gaunt in a redflowered dressing gown, and several of the instructors were doing theirbest to clear the building. 

"All out, boys!" called the doctor. "It isn't safe here now! The firemenwill be here in a minute and you'll only be in the way! I want you all togo over to Upper House!"

"Hello!" said Kenneth. "What's the matter with you, Jasper?"

Jasper Hendricks, the youngest boy in school, was crouched in a dim cornerof the hall, sobbing and shaking as though his heart was broken. 

"What's up?" asked Grafton. 

"Don't know. Here's young Jasper crying like a good one. What's thetrouble, Jasper? Did you get hurt?"

But the boy apparently didn't even hear them. 

"Lost his things, probably, " suggested Grafton, "and feels it. Never mind, kid? you'll get some more. "

"I want every boy out of the building!" cried the doctor. But his voice wasalmost drowned in the babel of cries and shouts and laughter. 

"Come on, Jasper, " said Kenneth, trying to raise him to his feet. "We'vegot to get out. "

For the first time he caught a glimpse of the boy's face. It was white anddrawn and horror stricken. 

"What's the matter?" cried Kenneth in alarm. Young Hendrick's lips movedbut Kenneth could not distinguish the whispered words. 

"Eh? What's that? Speak louder! You're all right now! Don't be scared! Whatis it?" And Kenneth bent his head as the younger boy clung to himconvulsively. 

"_Mister Whipple!_"

Kenneth barely caught the whispered words. 

"Mr. Whipple, " he muttered. "What does he mean?" He pulled the lad's bodyaround so that he could see his face in the smoke-dimmed light. "What abouthim, Jasper? He's safe, isn't he?"

The white face shook from side to side. 

"What does he say?" cried Grafton. "Whipple? Isn't he down? Where is he?"

"He must be--!"

Kenneth paused, his own face paling, and looked fearsomely toward thestairs down which the gray-brown smoke was floating wraithlike. Then hiseyes met Grafton's and he read his own horror reflected there. 

"Jasper's room is next to Mr. Whipple's, " said Grafton hoarsely. "He musthave seen something! _Jasper, is Mr. Whipple up there now?"_

The lad's head nodded weakly. Then he broke again into great dry sobs thatshook him from head to foot. Kenneth seized him beneath the shoulders anddragged him a few yards nearer the door. There he put him down. 

"Don't cry, Jasper, " he whispered kindly. "It's all right; we'll save him!"

For an instant he looked about him. Through the doors the boys were pushingtheir way outward, protesting, laughing, excitedly. 

Of the faculty Dr. Randall alone was in sight. One other instant Kennethhesitated. Then with a bound he was halfway up the first flight. 

"Who's that going up there?" cried the doctor. "Here, come back instantly!"

But Kenneth did not hear, or, hearing, paid no heed. He was at the secondfloor, the evil-smelling smoke thick about him, blinding his eyes andsmarting his throat. Above him was a strange lurid glare and the roaring ofthe flames. For a moment his heart failed him and he leaned weak andpanting against the banister. Then a voice sounded in his ears. 

"It's no use, Garwood, " cried Grafton. "We can't get up there. "

"We'll try, " was the answer. 

Bending low, his sleeve over his mouth, Kenneth rushed the next flight. Grafton was at his heels. At the top Kenneth crouched against the last stepand squinted painfully down the corridor in the direction of Mr. Whipple'sroom and the flames. The heat was stifling and the smoke rolled toward themin great red waves. Grafton, choking, coughing, crouched at Kenneth's side. 

"We can't reach him, " he muttered. "The fire has cut him off. "

It seemed true. Mr. Whipple's room was at the far end and between his doorand the stairway the flames were rioting wildly, licking up the woodworkand playing over the lathes from which the plaster was crumbling away. Kenneth's heart sank and for an instant he thought he was going to faint. Everything grew black before him and his head settled down on hisoutstretched arm. Then Grafton was shaking him by the shoulder and hissenses returned. 

"Come on!" cried Grafton. "Let's get out of this while we can! We'll beburned alive in a minute!" There was panic in his voice and he tuggednervously at Kenneth's arm. 

At that moment a great expanse of plaster fell from the ceiling some thirtyfeet away and the flames glared luridly through the corridor, makingeverything for a brief moment as light as day. From below came calls, butKenneth did not hear them. 

"Look!" he cried, seizing Grafton's arm. "_On the floor! Do you see?_"

"Yes, " shouted Grafton. "It's Mr. Whipple! Can we get him?"

"I'm going to try, " was the calm reply. "Will you come with me?"

For a moment the two boys looked into each other's eyes, squintingpainfully in the acrid smoke. The flames crackled and roared in their ears. The strained, terror-stricken look passed from Grafton's face. His eyeslighted and he even smiled a little. 

"Come on, " he said simply. 

"Wait!" Kenneth leaned down so that his face was against the spindles andtook a deep breath. There was a current of clearer air arising from thewell and, although it smarted in his lungs, it gave him relief. Graftonfollowed his example. Then, for they realized that there was no time tolose, with one accord they rushed, stooping, down the corridor into theface of the flames. 

Mr. Whipple lay stretched face downward on the floor where he had fallenwhen overcome by the smoke and, as is more than likely, his terror. He wasin his night clothes and one hand grasped a small satchel. Behind him thefloor was afire scarcely a yard away. The thirty feet from the stairs towhere he lay seemed as many yards to the rescuers, and the heat grewfiercer at every step. But they gained the goal, fighting for breath, bending their heads against the savage onslaughts of the flames, and seizedthe instructor's arms. Whether he was alive there was no time to ascertain. There was time for nothing save to strive to drag him toward the stairway. With tightly closed eyes, from which the smarting tears rolled down theirfaces, and sobbing breaths, they struggled back. 

But if it had been hard going it was trebly hard returning. The instructorwas not a large man nor a heavy one, but now he seemed to weigh tons. Theirfeet slipped on the plaster-sprinkled boards and their hearts hammered intheir throats. Ten feet they made; and then, as though angry at beingdeprived of their prey, the flames burst with a sudden roar through themelting partition a few feet behind them and strove to conquer them with ascorching breath. Kenneth staggered to his knees under its fury and Graftongave a cry of anguish and despair. But the fiery wave receded and theystruggled desperately on, fighting now for their own lives as well as forthat of the instructor. 

Ten feet more and the worst was passed. A frenzied rush for the stairwayand safety was in sight. Half falling, half stumbling, they went down thefirst few steps to the landing at the turn, Mr. Whipple's inert bodythumping along between them. There, with faces held close to the boards, they lay drinking in grateful breaths of the smoke-poisoned air, which, after what they had been inhaling, was fresh and sweet. 

Then, above the booming of the fire, voices reached them, hoarse, anxiousvoices, and white faces peered up at them through the smoke from thecorridor below. 

"All right!" called Kenneth, but, to his surprise, his words were onlyhoarse whispers. Struggling to his knees, he seized Mr. Whipple's arm andstrove to go on. But Grafton offered no assistance. He lay motionless wherehe had thrown himself on the landing. 

"Come on!" croaked Kenneth impatiently, and tugged at his double burden. Then the crimson light went suddenly out and he subsided limply against thebanisters just as the rescuers dashed up to them. 

When Kenneth came to a few minutes later he was being carried across thecampus. Near at hand a fire engine throbbed and roared, sending showers ofsparks into the winter darkness. Behind him a red glare threw long movingshadows across the grass. In his ears were shouts and commands and a shrillwhistling. Then he lost consciousness again. 

VI

Kenneth lay in bed in Dr. Randall's spare chamber. His left hand wasbandaged and a wet cloth lay across his closed eyes. A window was open andthe lowered shade billowed softly up and down, letting into the darkenedroom quick splashes of sunlight. From without came the cheerful patter ofmelting snow upon the sill. 

Kenneth had had his breakfast--how long ago he could not say, since he hadslept since then--and had learned all the exciting news; that Lower Housewas so badly burned that there was no question of repairing it; that Mr. Whipple had been sent to the hospital at Lynnminster, seriously but notdangerously hurt; that Grafton Hyde had received no damage and was aboutthis forenoon wearing a strangely blank expression due to the loss of hiseyebrows; and that King, to whose disregard of the rules the fire had beendue, had, previous rumors to the contrary, escaped unharmed. 

Kenneth's informant had been the school doctor, who had also imparted theinformation that Kenneth's injuries were trifling, a couple of scorchedfingers and a pair of badly inflamed eyes, but that nevertheless he wouldkindly spend the day in bed, "as heroes are scarce these days and must bewell looked after when found. "

There came a soft tapping at the door and Kenneth peeked eagerly out fromunder the bandage as Grafton Hyde entered and tiptoed across the floor. Kenneth looked for a moment and grinned; then he chuckled; then he threw anarm across his face and gave way to laughter unrestrained. Grafton laughed, too, though somewhat ruefully. 

"Don't I look like a fool?" he asked. 

Kenneth regained his composure with a gasp. 

"I--I didn't mean to be rude, " he said contritely, "but--"

"Oh, I don't mind, " answered Grafton. "Besides, I'll bet you're the sameway. "

"Me?" Kenneth looked startled and passed a finger questioningly across hiseyebrows. "There's nothing here!" he gasped. Off came the bandage. "How doI look?"

A smile started at Grafton's lips and slowly overspread his face. Kennethsmiled back. 

"We must be a pair of freaks, " he said, chuckling. "Do they ever grow backagain?"

"Yes, in no time, " answered Grafton. "Besides, Joe says that all you haveto do is to take a pencil and rub it over and no one can tell. I'm going totry it. " He sat down cautiously on the edge of the bed. "How are youfeeling!" he asked. 

"All right. Kind of tired, though. How about you?"

"Fine. " There was a silence during which he played nervously with a shoestrap. At last:

"I say, Garwood, " he blurted, "it's--it's all right about--about that, youknow. I told President Randall. "

"You needn't have, " muttered Kenneth. 

"I wanted to! And I'm sorry. It was a sneaky thing that I did to you. I--Idon't know why I cared so much about staying on the team; I don't now. "

"Did he--was he mad about it?"

"Wasn't he! I am to be suspended for a month. "

"I'm sorry, " said Kenneth honestly. "It--it was decent of you to tell. "

"Decent nothing! It was decent of you not to blow on me the other day. Whydidn't you?" he asked curiously. 

"Oh, I don't know, " answered Kenneth embarrassedly. "I--I didn't like to, Isuppose. When are you going?"

"This afternoon. That's why I came to see you now, I wanted to--to tell youthat I was sorry about it and see if you wouldn't be friends. "

"That's all right, " said Kenneth. "I--I'm glad you came. "

Had they been older they would have shaken hands. As it was they merelyavoided looking at each other and maintained an embarrassed silence for amoment. It amounted to the same thing. 

The silence was broken by a knock on the door. 

"Come!" called Kenneth. 

"Look at the heroes having a convention, " said Joe gayly as he crossed thefloor. "The Society of the Singed Cats! Well, how are you feeling, chum?"

"Fine and dandy, " answered Kenneth. 

"Good! Say, we had lots of fun last night! They bunked us in with the UpperHouse fellows, and maybe there wasn't a circus! Every time we see King weask him if it's hot enough for him! I wouldn't be surprised if he foldedhis pyjamas like the Arabs--that's all he saved, you know--and as silentlystole away. We've sure got him worried!" He paused and looked inquiringlyfrom Kenneth to Grafton. "Did Graft tell you?" he asked. 

Kenneth nodded. 

"I always told you he wasn't a bad sort, didn't I? Don't you care, Graft;we'll keep a place warm for you, and a month is just a nice vacation. Wouldn't mind it myself! Say, are you going to be fit to play in Saturday'sgame, Kenneth?"

"I don't know. Will they let me?"

"Why not? They haven't anything against you now, have they? How about yourblessed eyes?"

"Oh, they'll be all right, I guess. But I wish--Graft was going to play. "

"Oh, I don't care, " declared that youth stoutly. "Go in and give 'em fits, Kenneth. And--one of you fellows might write me about the game, " he addedwistfully. 

"We'll do it, " said Joe. "We'll write a full account and send diagrams ofthe broken heads of the Uppers. Only thing I'm afraid of, " he addedsoberly, "is that now that Kenneth hasn't any eyebrows they may take hishead for the ball!" Kenneth was up the next day feeling as fit as ever, butwhen the subject of returning to basketball practice was broached to thedoctor, Kenneth met with disappointment. 

"I can't allow it, " said the doctor kindly but firmly. "I'm sorry, but youknow we're responsible for you while you're here, my boy, and I think you'dbetter keep away from violent exercise for a week or two. No, no morebasket ball this year. "

The verdict brought gloom to Lower House, or, as Upper facetiously calledthem now, the Homeless Ones. For with Grafton gone and Kenneth out of thegame the team's plight was desperate. But there was no help for it, and soJim Marble went to work to patch up the team as best he might, puttingSimms back at guard and placing Niles, a substitute, at right forward. 

The Homeless Ones were quartered wherever space could be found for them. Joe and Kenneth were so fortunate as to get together again in an improvisedbedroom, which had previously been a disused recitation room, at the top ofSchool Hall. Most of the Lower House residents had saved their principaleffects and those who had lost their clothing were reimbursed by theschool. 

Friday morning two announcements of much interest were made. 

"On Monday next, " said the doctor, "we receive a new member into theFaculty, Mr. George Howell Fair. Mr. Fair, who is a graduate of Princeton, will take the place left vacant by the resignation of Mr. Whipple, who wasso unfortunately injured in the recent disaster. Mr. Fair will take up Mr. Whipple's work where that gentleman left off. "

There was a stir throughout chapel, and murmurs of satisfaction. The doctorpicked up another slip of paper, cast his eyes over it and cleared histhroat. 

"You will also be pleased to learn, " he said, "that in our time oftribulation generous friends have come to our assistance. We have lost oneof our buildings, but money has already been provided for the erection of anew and far more suitable one. I have received from Mr. John Garwood, ofCleveland, and Mr. Peter L. Hyde, of Chicago, a draft for the sum of onehundred thousand dollars for the erection of a large dormitory capable ofhousing the entire student body. The generous gift seems to me especially, singularly appropriate, coming as it does from the fathers of those twostudents who recently so bravely distinguished themselves. With thisthought in mind the Faculty has already decided that the new dormitory whencompleted shall be known as Garwood-Hyde Hall. "

Well, Kenneth's secret was out! I hope and believe that his fellows heldhim in no higher esteem because they found out that he was the son of oneof the country's wealthiest men. But true it is that for the next few dayshe was the object of violent interest not altogether unmixed with awe. 

But Joe had to have everything explained, and as the shortest means to thatresult Kenneth produced a letter which he had received from his father theday before and gave it to Joe to read. Only portions of it interest us, however. 

"The newspaper account" (ran the letter) "says that neither of yousustained serious injuries. I trust that it is so. But I think I had bettersatisfy myself on that point, and so you may look for me at the school onSaturday next. Your mother is anxious to have you come home, but I tell herthat a little thing like pulling a professor out of the fire isn't likelyto feaze a Garwood!

"Now, another thing. You recollect that when you decided to go to Hilltopwe talked it over and thought it best to keep dark the fact that you weremy son. You wanted to stand on your own merits, and I wanted you to. Then, too, we feared that Hyde's boy, because of the misunderstanding betweenPeter Hyde and myself, might try to make it uncomfortable for you. Thatalarm seems now to have been groundless, since surely a boy who could dowhat he did--and join you in doing it--wouldn't be likely to pick onanother. But that's of no consequence now, as it happens. 

"Quite by accident I met Peter here the day after the papers published thestory of your little stunt. Well, he was so tickled about it that we shookhands and had a 'touching reconciliation, ' quite like what you see in theplays. We talked about 'those worthless kids' of ours and it ended up withhis coming home to dinner with me. So you see you did more than save aprofessor's life; you brought about a renewal of an old friendship. Afterdinner we got to talking it over and decided the least we could do was toreplace that building. So I've sent your principal a draft by this mailwhich will cover the cost of a good new hall. I'm giving half and Peter'sgiving half. I hope you and young Hyde will be good friends, just as hisfather and I are going to be hereafter. You may expect me Saturday. "

"Now, " cried Joe triumphantly when he had finished reading, "now Iunderstand about those brushes!"

"What brushes?" asked Kenneth. 

"Why, the night of the fire I threw your suit case out of the window, andwhen I went down to get it, it had bust open and was full of swellsilver-backed things. I thought at first I'd got some one else's bag, but Ifound I hadn't. And I wondered why you hadn't had those brushes out. "

"Oh, " laughed Kenneth, "I thought they looked a bit too giddy!"

VII

It was Saturday night and the gymnasium was crowded. The Faculty was thereto a man, and with them, the honored guest of the evening, sat Mr. JohnGarwood, trying hard to make out what all the fuss was about and lookingmore often toward a bench at the side of the hall than toward thestruggling players. On the bench, one of several red-shirted players, satKenneth. He was forbidden to enter the game, but there was nothing toprevent his wearing his uniform once more and sitting with the substitutes. But the fellows with him were not all subs. One was Simms, weary andpanting, nursing a twisted ankle which a moment before had put him out ofthe game. And Upper House had suffered, too, for across the floor CarlJones was viewing the last of the contest from the inglorious vantage ofthe side line. Upper and Lower were still shouting hoarsely and singingdoggedly. On the scoreboard the legend ran:

 Upper House 11--Lower House 11. 

No wonder every fellow's heart was in his throat! It had been a contest tostir the most sluggish blood. In spite of the absence of Grafton andKenneth, Lower had played a hard, fast game, and had she made a decent percent of her tries at goal would have been the winner at this moment. ButJim Marble had missed almost every goal from foul, and Collier, who hadtried his hand, had been scarcely more successful. And now the score wastied and it seemed ages agone since the timekeepers had announced oneminute to play. 

The ball hovered in the middle of the floor, passed from side to side. ThenHurd of Upper secured it, and, with a shout to Knox, sped, dribbling, downthe side line. But a red-shirted youth sprang in front of him and the twowent to the floor together, while the ball bounded into the ready hands ofJim Marble. 

"Oh, good work, Joe!" shouted Kenneth, as Joe sprang to his feet and divedagain into the play. 

Jim, taking long and desperate chances, tried for a basket from near thecenter of the floor and missed by a bare six inches. A groan went up fromthe supporters of the Red, while Upper House sighed its relief. Then therewas a mix-up under Upper's goal and the whistle shrilled. 

"Double foul!" called the referee. 

A sudden stillness fell over the hall. Not a few of the players sank to thefloor where they stood, while Knox picked up the ball and advanced to theline. Kenneth, watching with his heart in his throat, had a vagueimpression of Jim Marble bending across the rail in consultation with oneof the Faculty. Then the ball rose gently from Knox's hands, arched in itsflight and came down square on the rim of the basket. For a moment itpoised there while hearts stood still. Then it toppled gently over the sideto the floor. Knox had missed!

Lower House set up a frantic chorus of triumph. If only Marble or Colliercould succeed where Knox had failed! But neither Jim nor the left guard wasgoing to try, it seemed. For over at the Red's bench a lithe form waspeeling off his sweater, and in a moment the cry swept the hall:

"Garwood's going to throw! Garwood! Garwood!"

"It's all right, " Jim had whispered. "I asked the doc. Do your best. If youmake it we win, Garwood!"

Kenneth, his pulses far from calm, walked out on the floor and picked upthe ball. The shouting died away and the sudden stillness seemed appalling. He toed the black streak across the boards and measured the distance to thebasket. Then, his legs astraddle, his knees slightly bent, he swung theball once--twice--

There was a moment of suspense, and then--

Then pandemonium broke loose! The ball dropped to the floor unheeded, butabove it the tattered meshes of the netting swayed where it had struck themgoing through! It was the cleanest kind of a basket, and it won the gameand the series and the Shield for Lower House!

Kenneth, fighting off the howling fellows who would have perched him ontheir shoulders, caught a glimpse of his father's amused face, and brokefor the stairway. 

THE PROVING OF JERRY

"I'm awfully sorry, " said Ned Gaynor earnestly, "but it isn't as though youhad been blackballed, Jerry. "

"I don't see what difference it makes, " replied Gerald Huttondisconsolately. "I don't get taken in, do I?"

"No, but when a fellow's name is 'postponed' he can try again any time. Ifhe's blackballed, he's a goner until next year. "

"Oh, well, I don't want to join the old Lyceum, anyhow, " said his roommatewith a scowl. 

"Yes, you do, " responded Ned, "and I want you to. And I'm going to bringyour name up again just as soon as I think there's a chance of getting youelected. "

"When will that be?" asked Jerry dubiously. Ned hesitated. 

"I don't just know, Jerry, " he answered finally. "You see, it's like this;the Lyceum is the only society we have here at Winthrop, and it's small, only thirty members, you know, while there are over seventy fellows inschool this year. So of course there are lots of chaps who want to get in. And when it comes to selecting members the society naturally tries to getthe best. "

"Which means I'm not one of the best, " said Jerry with a grin. 

"No, it doesn't, " replied his roommate. "It just means that you aren't verywell known yet; you haven't proved yourself. "

"Shucks! I've been here ever since school opened in September, and I knowalmost every fellow here to speak to. "

"Well, but that isn't quite what I mean, " replied Ned. "You--you haven'tproved yourself. "

"What do you mean by 'proved myself'?" asked Jerry. 

"Well, you haven't done anything to--to show what you are. I can't explainvery well, but--"

"What the dickens do you want me to do? Burn down Academy Hall or chuck oneof the Faculty in the river?" inquired Jerry sarcastically. 

"Oh, you know what I mean, " answered Ned a trifle impatiently. "Sooner orlater a fellow does something worth while, like getting a scholarship ormaking the Eleven or the Baseball Team. Then he's proved himself. You'vebeen here only half a year, and, of course, yon haven't made yourselfknown. "

"I've done my best, " replied Jerry disconsolately. "I worked like a slavefor two weeks trying to get on the Football Team, and I almost broke myneck learning to skate well enough so I'd have a show for the Hockey Team. "

"Maybe you'll make the Nine, " said Ned hopefully. "I guess if you do thatthere won't be any trouble about the Lyceum. "

"I'll never get on the Nine while Herb Welch is captain, " said Jerry with ashake of his head. "He doesn't care for me much. "

"Well, I guess that's so, " answered Ned thoughtfully. "The fact is, Jerry, it was Herb who objected to your election to the Lyceum. "

"I guessed as much, " Jerry replied dryly. "I knew he'd keep me out if hecould. Just as he will keep me off the Nine. "

"Oh, come now, Herb isn't that bad. He's sort of rough and bossy, but he'sstraight, Jerry. He was very decent at the election. He simply said--"

"I don't want to hear what he said, " interrupted Jerry peevishly. "He's abig bully. He's hated me ever since I interfered the time he was duckingyoung Gordon. Gordon couldn't swim, and he was so scared that his face wasas white as that block of paper. "

"Well, it was pretty cheeky for a Sophomore to lay down the law to aSenior, you know, " said Ned. 

"And it was pretty mean of a Senior to haze a Freshman, wasn't it?" Jerrydemanded. "Anyhow, I spoiled his fun for him. "

"And got ducked yourself, " laughed the other. 

"That was all right. I could swim and wasn't afraid. I was better able totake it than young Gordon was. Ever since then Welch has had it in for me. I dare say that if I went and licked his boots he'd let me into the Lyceumand give me a fair show for the Nine, but I'm not going to do it. I canplay baseball, and I'd like to make the team, but if it depends on mytoadying to Welch, why, I'll stay off, that's all. "

"Oh, come now, it isn't as bad as that, " responded Ned. "Don't you bother. I'll get you elected before Class Day, Jerry. Grab your skates and come ondown to the river. "

"Skates!" exclaimed Jerry. "Why, you can't skate to-day. The ice is allbreaking up. Look at it!"

From the dormitory window the river was visible for a quarter of a mile asit curved slowly to the south between Winthrop Academy and the town bridge. It was late February, and for two days the mercury had lingered aroundfifty degrees. Along the nearest shore the ice still held, but in midstreamand across by the Peterboro side the river, swollen by melting snow andice, flowed in a turbid, ice-strewn torrent. For a while at noon the sunhad shone, but now, at four o'clock, the clouds had gathered and the moistair coming in at the open window of the room suggested rain. 

"There's plenty of ice along this bank, " answered Ned cheerfully, "and asit may be the last chance I'll get to skate I'm going to make the most ofit. I promised Tom Thurber and Herb Welch I'd meet them at four. I must geta move on. " He closed the book before him and arose from the study table. "You'd better come along, Jerry. "

But Jerry shook his head, staring moodily out over the dreary prospect ofwet campus and slushy road. A mile away the little town of Peterboro laystraggling along the river, the chimneys of its three or four factoriesspouting thick black smoke into the heavy air. Jerry was disappointed. Itmeant a good deal to win election to the Lyceum, and, in spite of what hehad told Ned, he had all along entertained a sneaking idea that he wouldmake it, Welch or no Welch. He wondered whether Ned couldn't have got himin if he had tried real hard. Ned and he were very good friends, eventhough they had never met until they had been roomed together in the fall, but Jerry was a new boy still, while Ned was a Junior and had known HerbWelch three years. 

"I suppose, " he thought, "Ned didn't want to offend Welch. Much he careswhether I'm elected or not!"

"Coming?" asked Ned, pausing at the door. Jerry shook his head. 

"No, I guess not. I think I'll walk over to town and get some things. "

"Well, buy me half a dozen blue books, will you?" asked Ned eagerly. Hetossed a coin across and Jerry caught it deftly and dropped it into hispocket with a nod. Ned slammed the door behind him and went clatteringdownstairs. Jerry watched him emerge below, jump a miniature rivuletflowing beside the board walk and disappear around the corner of thedormitory. Then he got into his sweater, put his cap on, and in turndescended the stairs. 

It was a good twenty-minutes walk to the village. By keeping along theriver path to the bridge he might have saved something in time anddistance, but the river path was ankle-deep in slush and mud, while theroad, although longer, gave firmer foothold. When he reached the old woodenbridge he paused and watched the water rushing under between the stonepillars. He had never seen the stream so high. The surface appearedscarcely eight feet beneath the floor of the bridge. Huge cakes of ice, broken loose upstream, went tearing by, grinding against each other andhurling themselves at the worn stones. And between the fragments of ice thesurface was almost covered with a layer of slush. Jerry flattened himselfagainst the wooden railing while a team of sweating horses, tugging a greatload of hay, went creaking by him. Then he followed it across and turned tothe right at the end of the bridge into the main street of the town. 

His purchases didn't take him long, and soon he was back at the bridgeagain. Upstream, on the Academy side of the river, he could see theskaters. Apparently half the school had decided to seize this last chancefor indulging in the sport, for the long and narrow strip of ice remainingwas quite black with figures. At the end of the bridge Jerry decided totake the river path, for a glance at his shoes and stockings convinced himthat it was no longer necessary to consider them; they were already as wetand muddy as it was possible for them to be. He felt rather more cheerfulafter his tramp, and told himself that if there was time he would run up tothe room, leave his purchases, get his skates, and join the group on theice. By the time he had covered half the distance between bridge andAcademy he could distinguish several of the skaters. There was Morris, withhis blue sweater, and the tall fellow was, of course, Jim Kennedy; andthere was Burns, and young Gordon; Gordon, even if he couldn't swim, was adandy skater. 

"Only, " thought Jerry, "if he got into the river it would be a bad outlookfor him. "

He had left the bridge a full quarter of a mile behind when a suddencommotion among the skaters attracted his attention. There was a scurryingtogether and the skating stopped. Jerry paused and watched intently, butfor a moment saw nothing to account for the actions of the fellows. Theywere lined up along the edge of the ice in little groups. Then several ofthem turned and skated frantically toward the bank. Jerry's first thoughtnow was that some one had fallen into the water, that the ice had givenway, as it was quite likely to do in its present half-rotten state, and helooked anxiously for young Gordon's slight figure. He couldn't see him, butthat signified little, since the fellows were packed together and the lightwas failing. 

But in another instant Jerry saw that his surmise was wrong. For suddenly asingle figure came into view, a figure huddled on hands and knees a fullfifty feet away from his companions. For an instant Jerry couldn'tunderstand. Then the huddled figure was swept farther away toward theopposite shore and a clear expanse of angry river showed between it andthose on the ice. One of the fellows had ventured too far, the ice hadbroken away, and now he was being borne swiftly down the stream! Alreadythe current had swept him away from all hope of assistance from hiscompanions, for up there the channel ran close to the Peterboro shore. Thefragment of ice to which he clung seemed to be fairly large, perhaps tenfeet long by half that in width, but Jerry knew that the chance of itsremaining unbroken for long was very slim. If the fellows had gone for aboat they might have saved themselves the effort, for no boat could bemanaged in that seething mass of broken ice. And a rope would be quite asuseless, since the current would keep the boy along the farther shore andno one on earth could throw a coil of rope half the distance. 

Jerry had already broken into a run, but now he pulled himself up andglanced behind him toward the bridge. He could be of no more use up therethan were the fellows grouped helplessly at the edge of the ice. If the boywas to be rescued it must be downstream somewhere, always supposing thecake of ice hung together and that he managed to retain his place on it. Jerry thought rapidly with fast-beating heart. Already the boy on the icehad covered half the distance to where Jerry stood, and the fellows upthere where the accident had happened were leaving the ice, franticallyfreeing themselves from their skates and running down the path. Jerryturned and ran back the way he had come. If he could reach the bridge firstthere might be a chance!

His feet slipped in the ice and slush of the path and it was slow going. Once he fell flat on his face, but was up again in a twinkling, wet andbruised. A glance over his shoulder told him that the pitching, whirlingslag of ice with its human burden was gaining on him. If only he hadstarted before! he thought. But he ran on, sliding and tripping, his breathcoming hard and his heart pounding agonizedly against his ribs. He wasalmost there now; only another hundred yards or so remained between him andthe end of the bridge. He prayed for strength to keep on as he glancedagain over his shoulder. The boy had thrown himself face down on the iceand Jerry saw with a sinking heart that already the cake had diminished insize. If it struck one of the stone pillars of the bridge it would go topieces without a doubt, and it would be a hard task for the strongestswimmer to battle his way clear of that rushing current. 

With his breath almost failing him, Jerry reached the bridge and ran outupon it. He was none too soon. Close to the farther shore the jaggedfragment still held together as it dipped and turned, glancing from thejutting points of the shore ice and grinding between its fellows in theugly green torrent. Face down lay the boy, limp, his hands outthrown besidehim. Under the bridge the river rushed with a loud rushing sound, swift andrelentless. 

Jerry ran with aching limbs to the third span, toward which the current wasbearing the helpless, huddled figure. In the brief moment of time left himJerry noted two things. One was that those in the van of the stragglingline hurrying toward him along the river path were but a couple of hundredyards distant. The other was that his left shoulder was aching dully. Hemust, he thought, have struck on it when he fell. Then his gaze was on themotionless form sweeping toward him, and he was leaning over the woodenrail, his hands at his mouth. 

"Stand up!" he cried with all his might. 

But there was no answering movement from the boy. Jerry's heart sank, butonce more he shouted, putting, as it seemed to him, every remaining bit ofbreath into his call:

"_Stand up and I'll save you_!"

The head raised and a white face gazed up at him as the narrowing currentseized the ice fragment. With a gasp of surprise Jerry looked down into thehorror-stricken eyes of Herbert Welch! Then he had thrown himself down onthe floor of the bridge, his head and shoulders over the water. 

"_Stand up_!" he called again. And Welch staggered weakly to his knees, theice beneath him tilting perilously. Jerry's hands stretched down over therushing water. 

"_Catch hold!_" he cried. 

A momentary return of hope and courage came to Welch, and as histreacherous craft shot, crushing and grinding, into the maelstrom, he foundhis feet for a moment, and threw his arms above his head, his fingersclutching hungrily at the empty air. Then a corner of the ice fragmentstruck against the left-hand pillar and he lost his balance. But in thatbrief moment Jerry's left hand had grasped one of Welch's wrists, and nowthe latter hung between bridge and water, swinging slowly and limply. ThenJerry's right hand found a hold below his left, and he set his teeth andclosed his eyes, praying, as he had done before on the river path, forstrength and endurance. The strain was terrible. He felt the blood rushingto his head and throbbing there mightily. 

His left shoulder hurt worse every moment. But he could hold on a momentlonger. Surely the others would be here in just a second. He thought heheard cries, but the roar of the water beneath and the throbbing in hishead made it uncertain. Then he heard a voice. It was Herb Welch speaking. 

"Let me go, Hutton, " said Welch quietly. "You can't hold me here. "

Jerry tried to answer, but the pressure against his chest was too severe. His left hand began to slip from Welch's wrist; the fingers wouldn't hold;there was a strange numbness from hand to shoulder. With a smothered groanhe tried to tighten his clasp again. Then help came. Eager hands took hisburden, and he felt himself being pulled back from the edge. He glanced uponce and had a glimpse of somber twilight sky and Ned's brown eyes. .. . 

When he opened his eyes again he was lying on a couch in a cottage at theedge of the village. There were several figures about him, and one wasNed's. He smiled and tried to rise, but was glad to lay back again and lookcuriously at his bandaged shoulder. 

"It's only a busted collarbone, " said Ned. "Doctor says it will be allright in two or three weeks. We're going to take you back in a minute. Thecarriage is coming now. "

"That's nice, " said Jerry drowsily. "How's Welch?"

"Not hurt a bit. He walked home. And say, Jerry, " Ned went on, dropping hisvoice, "it's all right about the Lyceum. Herb says he's going to bring yourname up himself at the next meeting. You--you proved yourself to-day, oldchum!"

McTURKLE, THE BAND

We had had hard luck at Harvard all that fall. First Phinney, our 208-poundleft guard, dislocated his shoulder in the Indian game; then Hobb, fullback, got a swat on the head that sent him to the Infirmary for two weeks;then Jones, our best half, hurt his leg. Those were the principal troubles, but there were lots of smaller ones besides. Every team that came toCambridge did something to us; if they didn't beat us they scored; if theydidn't score they laid up one or two of our men just to show that there wasno hard feeling. Then Penn rubbed it into us good and hard--which wasn'tthe way it was written--and about half the college began writing letters tothe _Crimson_. 

To make matters look worse, Yale had the best team she had had in severalyears; in fact, since the Gordon Browne aggregation. And our chance ofwinning from her was about one in one hundred. But we were a daffy lot thatfall, and every time fate smote us we grinned harder and hitched up theenthusiasm another peg. On the Thursday before the game we had our fourthmass meeting in the Union. The captain, very much embarrassed, assured usthat every man on the team was ready to do his level best and lay down hislife for the honor of the Crimson--a fact which we knew before, but whichwe applauded wildly. Then the trainer told us that every "mon on the tame"was in the best physical condition, something which we seriously doubted, but which we also applauded wildly. Then the head coach informed us that itwas a great sight to see the college get together in this way and that ifwe stood loyally behind the team on Saturday the team would do its part andfight to the last breath--or ditch, I forget which. We applauded _that_more wildly. Then the captain of the Nine got up, brushed the perspirationfrom his marble brow, and started the singing. The University Band, elevenstrong, got together after a fashion and we pretty near lifted the roof. After that we cheered and sung some more and the enthusiasm kept onbubbling up. Finally, a lot of us in the back of the room yelled in unison:

"We--want--another--meeting--to-morrow-night!"

"So-do-we!" yelled the others. 

And we kept that up until the leader told us we could have it. Andpresently we stood up and sang "Fair Harvard"--or as much as we knew ofit--and broke up. 

In the morning the _Crimson_ contained a notice which said that there wouldbe no meeting that night. But we didn't believe it, because the meeting hadbeen agreed upon. At least, a good many of us didn't. Some did, though, Iguess, for at eight the room wasn't more than half full. We sat there andwaited a while and did a little singing and cheering. But no one got on theplatform to talk to us, and the band didn't show up. So about a quarter tonine we moseyed outside. But we were still full of enthusiasm, and wewanted to work it off. So we stood around, about eight hundred of us, andinformed the world at large that we wanted the band. No one seemed to care. But, of course, every minute the crowd got bigger, just as it always willif you get out and yell something. After a bit we decided to do without theband, and so we formed in fours and marched over to the yard, singing andcheering like mad. 

After we'd marched around twice we had depopulated the buildings. Fellowsput their heads out of windows, had a look, yelled enthusiastically, turnedthe gas up high, and tumbled downstairs and into line. By a quarter pastnine we had easily two thousand fellows in the procession. And when you getthat many together something simply _has_ to happen. 

"What we need, " said Bud, "is a band. "

"But we can't get one, " answered Withey. 

"Then let's get part of a band. "

"Where?"

"McTurkle, " answered Bud, with a grin. 

"A-a-aye!" we yelled. "McTurkle! We want McTurkle!"

So we left the gang yelling themselves hoarse in front of the universityand scooted over to our dormitory. McTurkle was in. He was sitting at histable with a green drop light casting a wan glow over his classic features. The table was piled high with all sorts of books, and you could just hearMcTurkle's wheels go round. When we walked in he slipped the glasses fromhis nose by wriggling his eyebrows and turned around and looked at usblinking. 

McTurkle was a funny genius. He was forever grinding. When he wasn'tgrinding he was causing strange, painful sounds to emanate from his room. For a good while we had puzzled over those sounds. Then, finally, onefateful night, we had descended upon McTurkle in force and learned thetruth. McTurkle performed on the French horn. A French horn is aninstrument which is wound up in a knot like a morning-glory vine, and thenotes have such a hard time getting out that they get all balled up andconfused and are never the same afterwards. I'm not musical, and don'tpretend to be, but I'll bet a hat that the man who invented the French hornwas the same chap who invented French verbs. Well, we made McTurkle take asolemn oath never to practice after seven o'clock, because it was simplyimpossible to remember anything with those sounds sobbing along the entry. He was frightfully apologetic and promised at once. 

When we went in Bud winked at us to leave the negotiations in his hands. Wedid so, drawing up in a semicircle behind him and looking very grave. 

"McTurkle, " said Bud, "we have come to you on behalf of the university. "

McTurkle blinked harder than ever and looked a bit scared. 

"Out there"--Bud waved his hand toward the window--"out there ourcollege--your college--the college we all love awaits you. "

McTurkle gasped and tried to find his glasses, which were hanging over theback of his chair at the end of a black cord which he wore around his neck. 

"McTurkle, " continued Bud, tensely, "as you know, we are on the eve of agreat conflict. Tomorrow the pick of our athletic young manhood does battlewith the brawny horde of Yale. Defeat looms ominous above--upon thehorizon, but the unconquerable spirit of Harvard arises triumphantand--er--flaps its flaming pinions!"

"A-a-aye!" murmured Withey. 

McTurkle found his glasses, fixed them on his lean nose, and regarded Budwith genuine alarm. 

"Not for a moment do we acknowledge defeat, sir! Not until the pall ofevening settles over the trampled field of battle shall we abandon hope. The university stands firm and undismayed behind her loyal warriors. Listen, McTurkey--McTurkle, I mean!"

Bud held up a hand imperiously and we all listened, McTurkle with his mouthwide open and his near-sighted eyes fixed in fascination upon the speaker'sface. From outside came a long, impatient wail from two thousand throats:

"We-want-to-go-to-the-Stadium!"

"What of that, McTurkle!" demanded Bud, sternly. "The spirit of Harvardspeaks! Her sons demand to be led to the scene of the conflict that withmighty voices they may--er--consecrate the field to victory!"

"But--but--what is it you wish me to do?" stammered the dazed McTurkle, visibly affected. 

"To lead them!" thundered Bud. 

"Lead them?" cried McTurkle. "Who? Me? Me--ah--lead?"

"Ah! You, McTurkle! You, with your French horn!"

"You--you want me to play it?"

"We do. The college calls for you. Your duty, McTurkle, your duty to thatcollege, to your fellows, summons you. Listen, McTurkle, to the voice ofDuty and Patriotism!"

Apparently McTurkle's manner of listening was to hold his mouth open. Heheld it open now, wide open. Also his eyes. At last he said:

"But--but--I'm afraid I don't know any of the--ah--the college airs. "

"What of that! It is your leadership we want; that and the inspiringstrains of your dulcet horn. Play what you will, McTurkle, only play. Remember that the success of the team may depend upon you! That to-night itis our duty and pleasure to show the team that the whole college is behindthem, eager and loyal in its support!"

Never before in three years of college life had any one ever wantedMcTurkle to do anything. And now the knowledge that the whole universitydemanded his aid, his leadership, was too much for McTurkle. His faceglowed; he leaped to his feet; a Greek lexicon crashed to the floor;McTurkle was transformed. 

"I'll go!" he said, with majestic simplicity. 

We cheered. 

McTurkle feverishly wrested his French horn from its green bag, settled hisglasses upon his aquiline nose, turned up the collar of his plaid loungingcoat, and strode to the door. 

We followed in triumph. 

Over in front of the university they had cheered every one and everything, and now they were forming again into line of march. 

"On to Soldier's Field!" they cried. 

We hurried across to the head of the procession, McTurkle's long legsmaking us work hard to keep up with him. Arrived, Bud waved an arm forsilence. 

"Fellows!" he shouted. "Fellows!"

And when silence had fallen about us he swept his hand dramatically towardMcTurkle. 

"Gentlemen, " he cried, "the band!"

"A-a-a-aye!" they cheered. "Band! band!"

"Where's the band?" called those further down the line, and the newstraveled fast until from far down by Thayer came wild paeans of delight. 

"Where'd they get it? . .. Where is it? . .. We want 'On Soldier'sField'! . .. We want 'Veritas'! . .. Strike up! Move on, there! . .. 'Ray for the band! . .. A-a-a-aye! Band! band!"

Up at the head of the line we were all laughing and shouting for fair. McTurkle, beaming delightedly through his glasses, his head held backinspiritingly and the folds of his plaid jacket waving in the Novemberwind, placed the French horn to his lips, took a mighty breath and--theprocession moved forward to the strains of "Annie Laurie!"

Now, I've heard since then that the French horn has a compass of only fouroctaves and is principally useful as an orchestral adjunct; that, in short, its ability is limited and its use as a solo instrument slight. All I cansay is that the person who said that doesn't know a French horn; anyway, hedoesn't know McTurkle's French horn. Four octaves be blowed! McTurkle wentfourteen, or I'll eat my hat! Why, the way he put that thing through itspaces was a caution! And as for--er--variations and such!--well, you oughtto have heard him, that's all I've got to say!

Out into the avenue we turned, through the Square and down Boylston Street. The line was so long that the cars were held up for ten minutes, and Budwas for circling back and holding them up ten minutes more. And all thewhile McTurkle, thin, gaunt, but impressive, marched at the head andinformed us startlingly and with convincing emphasis that for Bonnie AnnieLaurie he'd lay him down and dee. And we took up the refrain, and hurled itback to the gray November sky. Further along they were singing, "Hard luckfor poor old Eli, " and still further down the line they were informing thedark front of the post office that the sun would set in Crimson as the sunhad set before. And way, way back they were cheering like Sam Hill. 

Oh, that was a glorious night! Talk about enthusiasm! We had it and toburn. We exuded it at every step. Enthusiasm was a drug on the market. Downby the river McTurkle gave Annie Laurie her final death blow and started inon the overture to "Martha. " That carried us as far as the Locker Building, and we marched on to Soldiers' Field to the inspiriting strains of aselection from "Traviata. " McTurkle told me what they were afterwards;that's how I know. Around the gridiron we marched once, the band stillclinging to "Traviata" and the fellows singing whatever pleased them, generally "Up the Street. " Then we had a snake dance, a wonder of a snakedance! The band got lost in the shuffle, but later on we found him standingserene and undismayed under the shadow of the west stand spouting "AuldLang Syne" till you couldn't see. 

Then Bud climbed up on to the edge of the Stadium and we did some morecheering, and when he called for "a regular cheer for the band" the way wehit it up was a caution. 

Back in the Square, Bud led us over in front of the "Coop, " mainly, Iguess, so we would stop the cars for a while. We had some more cheeringthen, and then Bud leaped up on the steps and announced "Speech byMcTurkle!"

Nobody except a few of us knew who McTurkle was, but everyone cheeredgloriously. We conducted McTurkle gently but firmly up the steps, and whenthe crowd got a good look at him they simply went crazy. McTurkle wasdeeply affected. So was the crowd. 

"Speech! speech!" they yelled. "Spe-e-eech!" McTurkle, embarrassed butcourageous, his voice faint and tremulous with emotion, spoke. 

"Gentlemen, " he began. 

"Apologize! . .. Take it back! . .. Who is he? . .. It's the band! . .. 'Rayfor the band! . .. Go on! Say it!"

"Fellows, " prompted Bud. 

"Fellows, " repeated McTurkle. 

Deafening applause. 

"I wish to thank you for this--ah--this flattering evidence of--shall I sayesteem?"

"Don't say it if it hurts you, old man, " some one advised. 

"What's he talking about?" asked another. 

"I appreciate the honor you have done me, " continued McTurkle, warming tohis work. "And it has been a pleasure, a great pleasure, as well as aprivilege, to lead you this evening in your interesting--ah--exercises. "

"A-a-a-aye!" yelled the audience. 

"There is to be, I understand, " said McTurkle, "a game to-morrow, a contestbetween this college and--ah--Yale. "

Laughter and deafening applause. 

"While lack of opportunity has kept me from a personal participation inyour games and sports, yet I am heartily in sympathy with them. Physicalexercise is, I am convinced, of great benefit. In conclusion let me saythat I trust that in tomorrow's game of baseball--"

"Football, you blamed fool!" whispered Bud, hoarsely. 

"Ah--I should say football--the mantle of victory will fall upon theshoulders of our--ah--representatives. I thank you. "

McTurkle bowed with gentle dignity. 

"What's his name?" cried a chap below. 

"McTurkle, " answered Bud. 

"Wha-a-at?"

"McTurkle!"

"Cheer for McTurkey!" demanded the questioner. 

"A-a-aye!" cried the throng. 

Bud leaped to the top step. 

"Regular cheer, fellows, for McTurkle!" he cried. And it came. 

"Har-_vard!_ Har-_vard!_ Har-_vard!_ Rah, rah, rah! Rah, rah, rah! Rah, rah, rah! The Turkey! The Turkey! The Turkey!"

Then we went home. 

I suppose this isn't much of a story, especially as there is no climax; andI've taken enough English to know that there ought to be some sort of aclimax somewhere. Maybe, though, what happened next day will serve for one. 

I got halfway over to the field and found I had forgotten my ticket, andhad to go back to the room for it. McTurkle's door was ajar and through itcame those awful sounds. I kicked it open and stuck my head in. 

"Hello, " I said. "Do you know what time it is? You'll be late. "

McTurkle took the French horn from his face and wiped the mouthpiece gentlywith a silk handkerchief. 

"Late?" he asked. 

"Yes, for the game. You're going, of course, McTurkle?"

He shook his head, beaming affably through his glasses. 

"No, no, I'm not going to attend the--ah--game. " He waved a hand toward thebook-covered table. "I shall be quite busy this afternoon, quite busy. Butyou have my--my best wishes. May the--ah--the mantle of victory fall uponthe shoulders--"

Well, we got licked that day. But, say, honest now, it wasn't McTurkle'sfault, was it?

THE TRIUMPH OF "CURLY"

"Curly" sat with head in hands, elbows on desk, and eyes fixed unseeinglyon the half-opened door. The afternoon sunlight made golden shafts acrossthe rows of empty seats. The windows were open, and with the sunlight camethe songs of birds, the incessant hum of insects, and occasionally a quick, rattling cheer. 

On the playground, under the bluest of blue skies, with a fresh, clover-perfumed breeze fanning their dripping brows, the boys of Willard'sSchool were playing the third and deciding game of baseball with the nineof Durham Academy. But Curly neither heard the cheering nor had thought forthe contest. 

Curly's real name was Isaac Newton Stone. He had taken the "A. M. " degreethe preceding June at a Western university, and had entered his name in thelong list of those wishing to be teachers. 

As the summer had advanced his hope had waned. September found him withouta position. During the fall and early winter he waited with what philosophyhe could summon, and had studied doggedly, having in view the attainment ofa Ph. D. 

Then, in February, an unforeseen vacancy at Willard's School had given himhis place as instructor in Greek and German. 

It is a matter of principle at Willard's to haze new teachers. No exceptionwas made in the case of Isaac Newton Stone, A. M. 

He was twenty-three years old, but looked several years younger. He wassmall, slight and wiry, with pale blue eyes, a tip-tilted nose and a freshpink-and-white complexion. His hair was of an indeterminate shade betweenbrown and sand-color, and it curled closely over his head like a baby's. Three days after his advent at Willard's he had become universally known asCurly. 

Former teachers at Willard's, with experience to guide them, had toleratedthe hazing process, if not with enjoyment, at least with apparent goodhumor. But Curly, a novice, thought he saw his authority endangered, hisdignity assailed. The ringleaders in the affair, five in number, wereplaced upon probation in exactly two seconds. 

The class gasped. Such a thing had never happened before. The hazing died aviolent death, and Curly sprang into sudden fame as a tyrant. 

The role of iron-heeled despot was least of all suited to Curly or desiredby him, but having momentarily adopted it, he had to continue it. He darednot take the frown from his face for a moment; intimidation was his onlycourse. 

Meanwhile the faculty viewed events with dissatisfaction. Once or twiceCurly's punishments were not upheld. In May he was informed that unless hecould maintain discipline without such severity the faculty would be forcedto the painful necessity of asking his resignation. His election, theprincipal explained kindly, had been in the nature of an experiment, andunsuccessful experiments must of course be terminated. 

The experiment was unsuccessful. It was June now, and class day was but twoweeks distant. This morning there had been trouble in the German class, andas a result, two students had been placed on probation. The fact that oneof them, Rogers, was the best pitcher in school, and that the loss of hisservices would in all likelihood mean the defeat of Willard's nine in thisdecisive game was most unfortunate. To be sure, Rogers had merited hispunishment, but the school failed to consider that, and indignation ranhigh. 

Curly himself, seated in the silent class room, acknowledged failure atlast. He looked at his watch. It was quarter past three. With a sigh hedrew paper toward him, dipped pen in ink and began to write. 

The letter was brief, yet it took him nearly ten minutes. When at last itwas finished, lacking only the signature, he read it over. He had made noattempt at explanation or extenuation, but had thanked the faculty fortheir kindness and patience, regretted their disappointment, and beggedthem to accept his resignation. He subscribed himself "Respectfully yours, Isaac Newton Stone, " sealed the letter and addressed it to the principal. 

This done, he gathered his books, took up his hat and stepped from theplatform. Footsteps sounded in the echoing corridor, and a flushed, perspiring face peered into the room. Then a boy of sixteen hurried up theaisle. 

"Mr. Stone, sir, " he cried, "will you help us? It's the beginning of thesixth inning, and the score's eight to six in our favor. They've knockedWillings out of the box, sir, and we haven't anyone else. Apthorpe's cousinsays you can pitch, and--and we want to know if you won't play for us, sir?" He ended with a gasp for breath. 

"But--I don't quite understand!"

"Why, sir, we held 'em down until the fifth, and then they made six runs. Maybe they've scored some more. If you could only come right away!"

"But who said I could pitch, Turner?"

"Tom Apthorpe's cousin, sir; he's down for Sunday. "

"But how did he know?"

"Why, sir, he knew you at college, and--"

"What's his name?"

"Harris, sir. He said--"

"Jack Harris!" The instructor's eyes lighted. He tossed the books on thedesk. "Run back and tell them I'll come as soon as I leave this note at Dr. Willard's. "

There came a cheer from the playground. It was not a Willard cheer. 

Turner listened dismayed. "Couldn't you come now, sir?" he begged. "It maybe too late. They're batting like anything. Couldn't you leave the noteafterwards, sir!"

"Well, may be I could, " said Curly. He dropped it into his pocket, put onhis hat and strode down the aisle. "Come on, Turner!" he cried. 

Along the terrace of the playground, under the elms, were gathered thespectators--the boys of both schools and their friends. At the foot of theterrace, just back of first base, a striped awning warded off the sunlightfrom a little group of professors and their families. On the field theblue-stockinged players of Willard's were scattered about, and on a benchbehind third base a row of boys wearing the red of Durham Academy awaitedtheir turns at bat. This much Curly saw as he crossed the terrace. 

Then a tall, broad-shouldered man came toward him with a pleasant smile andoutstretched hand. Curly recognized Harris, and sprang down the steps tomeet him. At college they had been hardly more than acquaintances, yetto-day they met almost like fast friends. 

"I never thought to find you in this part of the world, Stone, " saidHarris. "I'm awfully glad to see you again. You're badly needed. TomApthorpe, my cousin, was bewailing the fact that he hadn't anyone to pitch. I saw that Durham was playing her professor of mathematics on first base, and asked him if there wasn't anyone in the faculty who could takeWillings's place. Willings is used up, as you can see. Tom said there wasno one unless "--Harris paused and grinned--"unless it was Curly. He didn'tknow whether you could play or not. Inquiries elicited the astounding factthat 'Curly' was none other than Newt Stone, pitcher and star batsman onour old class nine. I told him to hurry up and get you out. And so, forgoodness' sake, Stone, get into the box and strike out some of those boysfrom Durham! The score's eight to eight now, and if they get that man onsecond in they'll have a good grip on the game and championship. "

"I'm afraid I'm all out of practice, " objected Curly. "I haven't handled aball for two years, but I'll do what I can. I wish you'd come round to myroom afterwards and have a talk, if you've nothing better to do. "

Time had been called, and Apthorpe, who was both captain and catcher, ranacross to them. 

"It's good of you, Mr. Stone, " he said, wiping the perspiration from hisface. "I don't think we fellows have much right to ask you to help us out, but if you'll do it for the school, sir, everyone will be mighty glad. "

"For the school!" Curly wondered rather bitterly what the school had donefor him that he should come to her rescue. But he only answered gravely:

"I'll do what I can, Apthorpe. "

He threw aside his coat and waistcoat and tightened his belt. Then hewalked across the diamond and picked the ball from the ground. 

On the terrace bank a boy armed with a blue and white flag jumped to hisfeet, and amidst a ripple of clapping from the audience above, called for"three times three for Curl--for Mr. Stone!" There was a burst of laughter, but the cheer that followed was hearty. 

The batsman stepped out of the box and Curly delivered half a dozen ballsto Apthorpe to get his hand in. Then the two met and agreed on a few simplesignals, the umpire called, "Play!" and the game went on again. 

It was the first half of the sixth inning; the score was eight to eight;there was one man out, a runner on second, and Durham's left fielder atbat. 

Curly looked over the field, glanced carelessly at the runner, turned, andsent a swift, straight ball over the plate. Durham's players were eager forjust that sort, and the batsman made a long, clean hit into the outfieldbetween first and second. 

When the new pitcher got the ball again the man on second had gone tothird, and Durham's left fielder was jumping about on first. 

Durham's next man up was her catcher. Curly strove to wipe out theintervening two years and to imagine himself back at college, pitching forhis class in the final championship game. But alas! his arm was stiff andmuscle-bound, and creaked in the socket every time he threw. 

There was a wild pitch that was just saved from being a passed ball by abrilliant stop of Apthorpe's; then the batsman hit an infield fly and wascaught out. 

"Two gone, fellows!" shouted the captain. 

The runner on first took second unmolested, and the Durham coaches yelledthemselves hoarse. But Curly was not to be rattled in that way; andbesides, the stiffness was wearing out of his arm. He set his lips togetherand pitched the ball. 

"Strike!" cried the umpire. Willard's cheered vociferously. Then came aball. Then another strike. Then the batter swung with all his might at aslow, curving ball--and missed it. 

"Striker's out!" called the umpire. 

Willard's rose as one man and cheered to the echo. In the tent theprincipal and his associates forgot their dignity for an instant, and addedtheir shouts to the general acclaim. The new pitcher, his eyes sparkling, retired to the bench. 

The fielders, as they joined him, shot curious and admiring glances towardhim. Harris leaned over the bench and talked with him about the incidentsof old college games. And the boys near by listened, while the curly-hairedinstructor grew before their eyes into an athletic hero. 

The last of the sixth inning ended without a score. Pretty as it was towatch, the first of the seventh would make tame history. Not a Durhamplayer reached first base. One--two--three was the way they struck out. 

Curly's arm worked now like a well-lubricated piece of machinery, and theoutshoots and incurves and drops which he sent with varying speed intoApthorpe's hands puzzled the enemy to distraction. 

Nor was the second half of the inning much more exciting. To be sure, Apthorpe put a fly where the Durham right fielder could not reach it, andso got to first base, and Riding advanced him by a neat sacrifice; but hehad no chance to score. 

Durham's best hitter was Mansfield, the instructor, who played first base. Just when or how the peculiar custom of recruiting baseball and footballplayers from the faculty originated at Willard's and Durham is not known;but it was a privilege that each enjoyed and made use of whenever possible. 

This year, for almost the first time, Willard's team had been, untilto-day, composed entirely of students. On the other hand, Mansfield hadbeen playing with Durham all spring, and to his excellent fielding andhitting was largely due the fact that she had won the second of the threegames. 

He was a player of much experience, and in the eighth inning, when he cameto bat, he made a three-base hit. The little knot of Durhamites shriekedjoyfully and waved their cherry-and-white banners. 

Curly faced the next batsman, tried him with a "drop, " at which he promptlystruck and failed to hit, and then gave his attention to Mansfield onthird. Curly watched him out of the corner of his eye and pitched again. The umpire called another strike. 

Apthorpe threw back the ball to the pitcher; Curly dropped it, recoveredit, and threw swiftly to third base. 

Large bodies move slowly. Mansfield was caught a yard from the base. Heretired in chagrin, while Willard's cheered ecstatically. Then the batsmanstruck out on a slow drop ball. 

The third man made a leisurely hit and was thrown out at first. 

During the next half inning Curly held his court on the players' bench. Little by little timidity wore away, and the boys gave voice to theirenthusiasm. They wished they had known he was such a ball player early inthe spring. Next year he would play on the team, would he not?

Curly remembered the letter in his pocket and sighed. 

Again Willard's failed to get a man over the plate, although at one timethere was a player on third. The ninth inning began with the score stilleight to eight. The spectators suggested ten innings, and fell to recallingformer long-drawn contests. 

Curly had found his pace, as Harris put it. His white shirt was stainedwith the dust of battle; his shoes were gray and scuffed; his curly lockswere damp and clung to his forehead; but his blue eyes were bright, and ashe poised the ball in air, balancing himself before the throw, he no longerlooked ridiculous. 

Harris, observing him from the bench, rendered ungrudging admiration. 

"Good old 'Newt' Stone!" he muttered. "It's the little chaps, after all, who have the pluck!"

But pluck alone would not have succeeded in shutting Durham out in thatinning. Science was necessary, and science Curly had. He had not forgottenthe old knack of "sizing up" the batsman. He found, in fact, that he hadforgotten nothing. 

Durham made the supreme effort of the contest in that first half of theninth inning. It might be the last chance to score. The first man struckout as ingloriously as his predecessors; but the second batsman, afterknocking innumerable fouls, made a slow bunt and reached his base. 

At that Durham's supporters found encouragement, and her cheers rose oncemore. Then fate threw a sop to the wearers of the cherry and white. 

The third man up was struck on the elbow with the ball, and trottedgleefully to first, the player ahead going to second. But Curly caught therunner on first napping, and the next batsman struck out. Theblue-stockinged players came in from the field. 

"Stone at bat!" called the scorer. "Brown on deck!"

"A run would do it, sir, " said Apthorpe, eagerly. 

"One of those old-fashioned home runs, Newt, " laughed Harris. 

Curly walked to the plate, and stood there, swinging the bat back of hisshoulder in a way that suggested discretion to the wearied Durham pitcher. 

From the bank came encouraging cheers for "Mr. Stone. " He made no offer atthe first ball, which was out of reach. Then came a strike. 

The spectators fidgeted in their seats; the field was almost quiet. Thenbat and ball met with a sharp crack, and Curly sped toward first. 

Across that base he sped, swung in a quick curve, and made for second. Thecenter fielder had picked up the ball and was about to throw it in. 

It was a narrow chance, but when Curly scrambled to his feet after hisslide, the umpire dropped his hand. Curly was safe. From the bank and alongthe base line came loud cheers for Willard's. 

But the following batsman struck out miserably. The next attempted asacrifice, and not only went out himself, but failed to advance the runner. 

Then Curly, seeing no help forthcoming, advanced himself, starting like ashot with the pitcher's arm and rising safe from a cloud of dust at third. 

Apthorpe went to bat, weary but determined. Curly, on third, shot back andforth like a shuttle with every motion of the pitcher's arm. With two ballsin his favor, Apthorpe thought he saw his chance, and struck swiftly at anoutshoot. 

The result--he swung through empty air--appeared to unnerve him. He struckagain at the next ball, and again missed. 

But he found the next ball, and drove it swift and straight at the pitcher. 

Curly was ten feet from the base when ball met bat. He stopped, poised togo on or to scuttle back, and saw the pitcher attempt the catch, drop theball as if it were a red-hot cinder, and stoop for it. 

Then Curly settled his chin on his breast, worked his arms like pistons andhis legs like driving shafts, and flew along the line. 

Beside him scuttled a coach, shouting shrill, useless words. All about himwere cries, commands, entreaties, confused, meaningless. Ten feet from theplate he launched himself through space, with arms outstretched. The dustwas in his eyes and nostrils. 

He felt a corner of the plate. At the same instant he heard the thud of theball against the catcher's glove overhead, the swish of the down-swingingarm, and----

"Safe at the plate!" cried the umpire. 

At second Apthorpe was sitting on the bag, joyfully kicking his heels intothe earth. On the bench the scorer made big, trembling dots on the page. Everywhere pandemonium reigned. The home nine had won game andchampionship. 

Curly jumped to his feet, dusted his bedraggled clothes, and walked intothe arms of Harris. 

"The best steal you ever made!" cried Harris, thumping him on the back. Ashe went to the bench he heard an excited and perspiring youth exclaimproudly, "I have him in Greek, you know!"

Two minutes later the cherry-colored banners of Durham departed, flauntingbravely in the face of defeat. 

Willard's danced across the terrace, shouting and singing. In theirpossession was a soiled and battered ball, which on the morrow would beinscribed with the figures "9 to 8, " and proudly suspended behind a glasscase in the trophy room. 

Curly and Harris sat together in the former's study. Supper was over. Curlyheld a sealed and addressed letter in his hands, which he turned over andover undecidedly. 

"Then--if you were in my place--under the circumstances--you--you wouldn'thand this in?" he asked. 

"Let me have it, please, " said Harris, with decision. He tore the letteracross, and tossed the pieces into the waste basket. 

"That's the only thing to do with that, " he said. And in the successful twoyears of teaching since then Curly has come to feel that Harris was quiteright. 

PATSY

He made his first appearance one afternoon a week or so before the FallHandicap Meeting. Mosher, Fosgill, Alien, Ronimus, and several more of uswere down at the end of the field putting the shot. Fosgill, who wasscratch man that year, had just done an even forty feet and the shot hadtrickled away toward the cinder path. Whereupon a small bit of humanityappeared from somewhere, picked up the sixteen pounds of lead with muchdifficulty, and staggered back to the circle with it. 

"Hello, kid, " said Fosgill; "that's pretty heavy for you, isn't it?"

"Naw, " was the superb reply; "that ain't nothin'!"

We laughed, and the youngster grinned around at us in a companionable waythat won us on the spot. 

"What's your name?" asked Ronimus. 

"Patsy. "

"Patsy what?"

"Burns. "

"How old are you?"

"'Leven. "

"You're a Frenchman, aren't yon?"

"Naw. "

"You're not?" Ronimus pretended intense surprise. 

"He's a Dutchman, aren't you, Patsy?" said Mosher. 

"Naw. "

"What are you then?"

"Mucker, " answered Patsy with a grin. 

For the rest of that day and for many days afterwards Patsy honored us withhis presence. After each put he ambled forth, lifted the metal ball fromthe ground with two dirty little hands, snuggled it against the front ofhis dirty little shirt, and labored back with it. At the end of the weekPatsy had become official helper. 

He was a diminutive wisp of humanity, a starved, slender elf with afreckled face, wizened and peaked, which at times looked a thousand yearsold. It reminded you of the face of one of those preternaturally agedmonkeys that sit motionless in a dark corner of the cage, oppressed withthe sins and sorrows of a hundred centuries. And yet it mustn't be supposedthat Patsy was either a pessimist or a misanthrope. Patsy's gray Irish eyecould sparkle merrily and his thin little Irish mouth usually wore awhimsical smile. It was as though he realized that life was but a hollowmockery and yet had bravely resolved to pretend otherwise, that we, youngand innocent, might still preserve our cherished illusions. 

We made a good deal of Patsy. We pretended that he was very, very old andsophisticated--not a difficult task--and deferred to his judgment on alloccasions. But in spite of this Patsy never became "fresh. " To be sure, hespeedily began calling Fosgill "Bull, " but I don't think he meant theslightest disrespect; everyone called the big fellow "Bull, " and it isquite possible that Patsy believed it to be a title of honor. He wasattentive to all of us, but his heart was Fosgill's. He used to waitoutside the Locker Building until we came out after dressing and then walkbeside Fosgill until he reached the Square. Then Patsy would say:

"Good night, Bull. "

And Fosgill would answer gravely:

"Good night, Patsy. "

And Patsy would disappear. 

But the evening of the Handicaps we took him back to the boarding housewith us, and he sat beside Fosgill and ate ravenously of everything placedbefore him. We learned Patsy's life story that evening. He went toschool--generally. He lived with Brian. Brian was his brother, eighteenyears old, and a man of business; Brian drove for Connors, the teamster. Patsy wasn't sure that he had ever had a mother, but he was absolutelycertain about his father. He still had vivid recollections of the nightthey broke down the door and put the handcuffs on father after father hadlaid out the lieutenant with a chair. Patsy didn't know just what fatherhad done, but he had an idea it was something regarding the disappearanceof numerous suits of clothes from a tailor's shop. Patsy was going intobusiness himself just as soon as they let him stop school; he was going tosell papers. He had tried several times to wean himself from education, buteach time they haled him back to the schoolhouse. Patsy thought the thingwas terribly wrong. 

When the snow covered the field we saw Patsy only occasionally. In thespring we got to work early. We believed we had a good show to win the Dualthat year and a fighting chance at the Intercollegiate. We were strong onthe sprints and distances, fair at the jumps and hurdles, and rather weakat the weights. We had a good man in Fosgill at the shot put, but that'sabout all. Along in May we had it doped out that if we could get first inthe shot put we could win out by a point or two. But there wasn't anythingcertain about it, for our opponent was strong on second, near-"second, " andthird-place men. 

Patsy appeared with the first warm day, looking thinner and littler andolder than ever. That first day the assistant manager was holding the tapefor us, and it occurred to him to pick up the shot and toss it back. But hedid it only once. The next time Patsy was astraddle of that sixteen-poundlump and was looking the assistant manager sternly in the eye. 

"I'm doin' this, " said Patsy. 

After that he did it and no one disputed his right. When the gates wereclosed and fellows had to show their H. A. A. Tickets to get in, Patsy wasadmitted without question. When all the other youngsters for miles aroundwere gluing their faces to the iron fence watching the baseball games, Patsy's allegiance never faltered. He was somewhere around Fosgill, regarding that hero with worshiping gaze. It was in May, I think, thatPatsy made his Great Resolution. He confided it to us on the steps of theLocker Building when we were waiting for one of the crowd. 

"I've decided not to go into business, " said Patsy. 

"What are you going to do?" asked Billy Allen. 

"I'm going to college, " replied Patsy easily. "I'm goin' to be a shotputter. "

"Good for you, kid!" said Billy. "What college you going to?"

Billy winked at us and we watched eagerly while Patsy's countenance took onits expression of lofty contempt. 

"Huh!" said Patsy. That was all, but that eloquent monosyllable consignedall other colleges than ours to the nethermost regions. 

"But you'll have to go to school a long time, Patsy, " said I, "if youexpect to get into college. "

"Yep, I know. It's tough, but I guess I can do it. Was--was it hard foryou?"

I was forced to acknowledge that it had been. 

"An' you ain't much of a shot putter, either, " said Patsy reflectively. 

Fosgill had done forty-two, eight and a half that afternoon and we werefeeling pretty hopeful and good-natured after dinner. Some, one mentionedPatsy, and Mosher spoke up:

"Say, fellows, let's see that that little cuss does get into college. Whatdo you say?"

"I'll go you!" cried Fosgill. "He's an all-right kid, is Patsy, and hedeserves something better than spending his life on the streets. We'lladopt him. "

"Sure thing, " said Allen. "But we'll have our hands full. And what's tohappen when we leave college?"

"We'll get some one to look after him We'll have a talk with Brother Brianabout it. But, say, Bull, imagine Patsy putting the shot!"

We laughed at that--which we wouldn't have done if Patsy had been there. 

"Well, I guess he won't make much of a show at athletics, " said I, "but ifwe keep him off the streets we'll be doing a whole lot. And I like Patsy. "

We all did. And before we left the table that night we had the thing mappedout. Patsy was to be cared for and looked after. He was to finish grammarschool, go to Latin school, and then to Harvard. And there were to be fundswhere they'd do good. Yes, we had it all fixed up for Patsy and we'd havedone it just as planned if Patsy hadn't gone and spoiled it all. And ithappened like this:

When the Dual Meet came along in June we were all to the good. We couldn'tsee how we were to lose first in anything except the quarter, the highhurdles, the hammer throw and the broad jump. And we had enough seconds andthirds in sight to make good. If Bull Fosgill could beat Tanner with theshot we were it. 

That's the way we had the situation sized up, but of course things don'thappen just as expected; they seldom do in athletics. Some of the firsts wehad claimed went glimmering and we took in seconds and thirds where wehadn't expected them. But the final result was just about what we hadfigured it, and along toward five o'clock the meet depended on the outcomeof one event, and that event was the shot put. To be sure, they were stillfussing with the pole vault, but we were certain of first and third placesand so could discount that. 

By some freak of fortune I had managed to qualify with a put ofthirty-eight, one and a half. There were four of us in the finals, Fosgill, Tanner and Burt of the enemy, and I. Of course Patsy was there, and heworked like a Trojan. You could see, though, that it went against the grainwith him to fetch for our opponents; Patsy had a good deal of the primevalleft in him. And it's safe to say that no one there was more interested. Idon't think he doubted for a moment that Fosgill would win, and I fancy hethought me pretty cheeky for aspiring so far as the final round. 

Fosgill was ahead with forty-one, ten and a half, Tanner had done threeinches under that, and Burt and I were fighting along for third place, doing around thirty-eight, six. It was pretty close work, and even theofficials were excited. We had finished one round when the accidentoccurred. 

Tanner was in the circle. Fosgill was down near the end of the tape andPatsy was close behind him. Tanner hopped across the circle, overstepped--fouling the put--and sent the shot away at a tangent. Fosgillhad turned his head to speak to the measurer and never saw his danger. Tanner let out a shout of warning, and others echoed it. But it was Patsywho acted. He threw himself like a little catapult at Fosgill and sent himstaggering across the turf. Then Patsy and the shot went down together. 

It was all beastly sudden and nasty. When we bent over that poor little kidhe was sort of greenish-white and I'll never forget the way his frecklesstood out. The shot had struck him on the breast and Patsy's weak littlebones had just crushed in. Well, we did all we could; put him in a carriageat the gate and rushed him to the hospital. He was still breathing, but thedoctor said he never knew anything after the shot struck him--not untilevening. Well, we were all frightfully cut up, and Tanner sat down on theground and nearly fainted. Fosgill kept saying "Poor little Patsy! Poorlittle kid!" half aloud and walking around in circles. He wanted to go tothe hospital with him, but we told him he could do no good, and we eachstill had two puts. 

After a while we got our nerve back after a fashion, and went on, but, thunder! not one of us was worth a hang. I did thirty-six and thirty-seven, eleven, and won third place at that. Neither Fosgill nor Tanner equaled hisfirst records and the event went to Bull at the ridiculous figures offorty-one, ten and a half. We got the meet by four and a half points. Itwas almost six o'clock by that time, and Fosgill and I and three otherspiled into Alien's auto and raced up to the hospital. 

They had just taken Patsy off the operating table and put him to bed. Thedoctor told us that the examination showed that there was nothing to bedone; the heart had been injured and was liable to stop work any moment. Fosgill got the doctor to promise to call him up on the 'phone if Patsyshowed any signs of consciousness. And he left orders that everythingpossible was to be done. Tanner had begged us to look after the kid and lethim pay everything, but though we promised, we hadn't any idea of doing it;Patsy was our kid. We went back to training table, but we were alow-spirited lot. And just when we were finishing dinner the call came fromthe hospital. 

We made a record trip in Billy's machine and when we tiptoed into theaccident ward the nurse smiled at us. And so did Patsy. He was apathetic-looking little wisp as he lay there with the bedclothes liftedaway from his body, but he smiled and moved his head a bit on the pillow. Fosgill sat down at the head of the cot and leaned over, his mouth allatremble. 

"Hello, Bull!" whispered Patsy. 

"Hello, Patsy!" answered Fosgill, trying to smile. 

"Did you--beat him?"

"Yes, Patsy. "

"I knew--you would. I told--him so. " He glanced at me: "Didyou--beat--that--other chap?"

I nodded and Patsy looked at me with a new respect. 

"Good--for you, " he whispered. 

"Are you--does it hurt much, Patsy?" asked Fosgill. 

"No, not much. "

"That's good. We'll have you out before long. "

Patsy grinned. 

"Shut up!" he whispered. "You can't--fool me, Bull. I'm--a goner. "

Fosgill muttered something and Patsy's eyes brightened. 

"Bull, " he whispered, "do you--think I--had a mother--like--other kids?"

"I know you did, Patsy. "

"That's good, " sighed the kid happily. "I guess--may be--I'll seeher--where--I'm goin'. "

"You saved my life, Patsy, " muttered Fosgill, "and there isn't a thing Ican do for you. I wish--oh, it's a shame, kid!"

"Huh! I'm glad--Bull. I'd--'a' done most anything--for you, Bull. You'vebeen good--to me; so's the--others. " He closed his eyes wearily for amoment. Then, "Do you think, " he asked slowly, "I could--have learned--toput--the shot, Bull--some day?"

"Yes, " answered Fosgill sturdily. "You had the making of a great shotputter, Patsy. You'd have made a record for yourself, I'll bet!"

"Are you--kiddin'--me, Bull?"

"No, Patsy. I'll leave it to the others. Isn't it so, fellows?"

We nodded vehemently, and Patsy closed his eyes with a smile of ineffablecontent on his little face. Presently the eyes flickered open again. 

"Anyhow, " he said quite strongly and with an approach to his old air ofself-importance, "anyhow--I guess I won--for Harvard--to-day. Huh?"

"Yes, you did, Patsy, " answered Fosgill. "We've got you to thank for it, dear little kid. "

Patsy smiled. Then:

"Good-by--Bull, " he said very softly. His eyes half closed. 

We waited in silence while the moments crept by, but Patsy didn't speakagain. 

HIS FIRST ASSIGNMENT

Tom Collins read again the inscription on the directory at the foot of thestairs:

 Room 36 _City Editor and Reporters_

glanced again toward the elevator, again drew his letter of introductionfrom his pocket, and--again retreated to the doorway. Once more his hearthad failed him. 

The result of the impending interview with the city editor of theWashington Evening World meant so much to him that he feared to meet it. Another failure and--what? Surely not starvation. To a youth of nineteen, normally healthy and hopeful, the idea of starvation in a great city, surrounded by thousands of human beings, seems preposterous. And yet whenthe few coins yet remaining in his pocket were gone he would be absolutelyat the end of his resources; unless--unless fortune favored him in the nextfew minutes. He had tried every newspaper office in the city withdisheartening results; every office save this one. He reread, perhaps forthe twentieth time, the letter he held, then placed it back in its envelopewith a sigh. The words sounded so empty and perfunctory, the _World_ wassuch a big paper, his own ignorance was so great, and--and he wasdiscouraged. However--

He thrust the letter back into his pocket, jammed his cap resolutely ontohis head, and strode determinedly to the elevator. 

"City editor, " he announced gruffly. 

Room 36 seemed acres big to Tom as he closed the door behind him. Somedozen men and youths occupied the apartments and to the nearest of theseTom applied. He was not much over Tom's age and was busily engaged incutting a newspaper into shreds with a pair of extraordinarily largeshears. When interrupted he looked up carelessly but good naturedly andpointed to a far corner of the room. 

"That's the city ed; the fellow with the glasses. "

Tom thanked him and went on. 

The man with the glasses took no notice of his approach but continued hiswriting, puffing the while on a very black briar pipe. He was apparentlyabout thirty-five years of age, had a fierce and bristling mustache, andrushed his pencil vindictively across the copy paper as though he werewriting the death sentence of his worst enemy. 

"Well?"

Tom started. The voice was as savage as the man's appearance, and Tom'sheart sank within him. 

"What do you want?" The editor's forehead was a mass of wrinkles and hiseyes glared threateningly from behind his glasses. Tom found his voice andlaid the letter on the desk. 

"Humph, " said the editor. He read the short message and tossed it aside. "Ever done newspaper work?" he asked. 

"No, sir, " Tom replied. 

"Then what do you want to begin for?"

"To make a living. "

"Oh, " sneered the editor, "thought perhaps you wanted to elevate the press. You're a college graduate, of course?"

"I went to college for a year and a half, sir; I had to leave then. "

The editor's face brightened. 

"Did they throw you out?"

"No, I--I had no money left; my father died very suddenly, and--and so Ihad to leave. "

"Too bad; if you'd been fired there might have been some hope for you. " Tomtried to detect a smile somewhere on the frowning face; there was none. "Soyou think you can do newspaper reporting, do you?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Of course you do! I never found a college boy yet that wasn't plumb surehe could start right in on fifteen minutes' notice and beat Horace Greeleyor old man Dana. It's so easy!"

"I don't think that, " answered Tom, "but I think I could do reporting--after a day or two. I'm ignorant as to the exact duties of a reporter, butI can learn, and I can write English. "

"But can you find out what other reporters can't? Can you interview thelast new senator in town and make him tell you what he wouldn't haveprinted for a year's salary? Can you do that?" Tom hesitated; but he wasgaining courage, and the other's gibes were slowly arousing his resentment. 

"If those things can be done by other fellows, I can do them. "

"Well, you've got confidence, " acknowledged the editor, grudgingly. "But wedon't break new men in here on the _World_; we wait until they have learnedsomewhere else, then we offer them a better salary; those are our methods. You go to work on the _Despatch_ or the _Star_, or somewhere, and when youprove that you can do as good work as three or four men on our staff you'llhear from us. "

The city editor went back to his pencil. Plainly the interview was at anend. Tom turned away. "Good day, sir, " he muttered. There was a lump in histhroat and his hand, seeking refuge in his pocket, closed on the half dozencoins. He turned suddenly and faced the city editor again. 

"Look here, " he said doggedly, "I've got a right to better treatment thanyou have given me. I handed you a letter of introduction that ought to havea little weight, and--and even if it hasn't, it entitles me to commoncourtesy from you. I'm not a beggar asking for alms. All I want is a chanceto show that I can do your work decently. I don't even ask any pay, I--I--"

Tom's words died away. After all, what was the use? He had his answer andthere could be no benefit gained from prolonging the interview. But thecity editor was looking at him curiously now. 

"Here, hold on there, " he commanded, and when Tom again faced him: "Ifyou'd brought me a letter from Queen Victoria or the Angel Gabriel you'dhave gotten the same treatment. I talk to an average of ten men like youevery day of my life; young chaps who don't know what a newspaper's runfor; who don't care, either. They think reporting or editing is a nice easyway to make a living, and so they come here expecting to fall into aposition. They don't get it. But when a fellow shows sense I give him achance. And I'll give you one. Hold on, " he continued as Tom opened hismouth to thank him, "I'm not offering you a place; I'm not even giving youa fair deal. "

He paused and took a card from a drawer, scowling more than ever. 

"Write your name there and send it up to Senator August at the HotelTorrence. If he sees you, interview him on the decision of last night'sconference; find out whether they agreed on a nominee. You read the papers?Then you'll know what we're after. Now there's your chance, just a barefighting chance; do you want it?" The card held the single line "For _TheWashington Evening World. "_ Tom put it in his pocket. 

"I know how desperate the chance is, sir, and I'll take it. And--and thankyou. "

"All right. And remember that the last edition goes to press at fiveo'clock, " he added grimly. 

As Tom passed out the youth by the railing had stopped cutting upnewspapers and was writing as though his very life depended upon it. Whenhe reached the street Tom remembered that he might have used the elevator. 

"Senator August left ten minutes ago, " said the hotel clerk affably as hecaught sight of the inscription on the card which Tom Collins held. "A newreporter, " he added to himself. 

"Left?" echoed Tom in dismay. "Where has he gone?"

"New York, I think. Went to the depot for the 2. 20. "

Tom glanced at the clock. Another moment and he was boarding a passing car. He had six minutes to catch the 2. 20. His chances of success were slim. Forthat matter, thought Tom, the whole undertaking was the merest forlornhope; not even the fighting chance that the city editor of the _World_ hadcalled it. For supposing that he found Senator August and got speech withhim, was it likely that he would tell an inexperienced chap like Tom whatthe best reporters in Washington had failed to worm out of him?

The Democratic National Convention to nominate a candidate for thepresidency was but a month away. On the preceding evening, in a little roomin the Hotel Torrence, Senator August, representing the sentiment of theEastern democracy, and Senator Goodman, possessing full power to act forhis party in the great West, had met to decide on a Democratic nominee. Dissension threatened. The East favored a man of moderate views on thesubject of currency reform; the West and the greater portion of the Southstood unanimous for a politician whose success in the coming battle wouldpresage the most radical of measures. Final disagreement between theDemocrats of East and West meant certain victory for the Republican Party. And to-day all the country was asking: Have the leaders agreed on anominee; if so, which one? Senator Groodman, as uncommunicative as astatue, was already speeding back to the far West; and Senator August, equally silent, was on his way home. The newspapers were hysterical intheir demands for information; all day the wires leading to Washington hadborne message after message imploring news, but only baseless rumors hadsped back. And Tom Collins, knowing all this, realized the hopelessness ofhis task. 

At the depot he left the car at a jump and dashed into the station. A trainon the further track was already crawling from the shed. There was no timefor inquiries. He ran for it and swung himself onto the platform of thePullman. A porter was just closing the vestibule door. 

"Is Senator August on board?" gasped Tom. The porter didn't know. But heassured Tom that that was the train for New York and so the latter enteredthe Pullman. The car held seven men and an elderly lady. Tom's idea of asenator was a big man dressed in a black frock coat, a black string tie anda tall silk hat. But there was no one in sight attired in such fashion andTom paused at a loss. Perhaps it was chance that led him halfway down theaisle and caused him to question a military, middle-aged gentleman who worea quiet suit of gray tweeds and was deep in a magazine. The face thatlooked up was shrewd but kindly, albeit it frowned a little at theinterruption. 

"I am Senator August, " was the unexpected reply. 

"Oh!" exclaimed Tom blankly. Then he pushed aside a small valise on theopposite seat and took its place. The frown on the senator's face grew. 

"Reporter?" he asked laconically. 

"Yes, " answered Tom. "I'm from the Washington _World. _ I just missed you atthe hotel so I took the liberty of following you to the train. " Tom thoughtthat sounded pretty well and paused to see what impression it had created. The result was disappointing. 

"Well?" asked the senator coldly. 

"The _World_ would like to know what decision was reached at last night'sconference, senator. "

"I don't doubt it, " answered the senator dryly. "Look here, " he continuedwith asperity, "I've refused to talk to at least two dozen reporters andcorrespondents to-day. The results of last night's conference will be madepublic by Senator Goodman and myself at the proper time and place; and notuntil then. And that is all that I can tell you. "

"But--" began Tom. 

"Understand me, please; I will say nothing more on the subject. "

"Will you give me some idea as to when the proper time will be?" asked Tomrespectfully. 

"No, I can't do that either. Perhaps to-morrow; perhaps not for severaldays. "

"Are you going to New York, sir?"

"I am on my way to my home in Massachusetts. "

"Thank you. Have you any objection to my accompanying you on the sametrain?" Senator August opened his eyes a little. 

"Is that necessary? The announcement will be made to the Associated Pressand, unless I am mistaken, the _World_ is a member of it. "

"Very true, sir, but I was assigned to get the result of the conference andI've got to do it--that is, if I can. "

"Very well, I have no objection to your traveling on the same train withme, just as long as you don't bother me. Will that do?"

"Yes, sir, thank you. I am sorry that I have troubled you. "

"You're what?" asked the other. 

"Sorry to have troubled you, sir. "

"Hm; you're the first one to-day that has expressed such a feeling. Youmust be new at the business. "

"I am, " answered Tom. "I've been a reporter only half an hour. In fact I'mnot certain that I am one at all. "

"How's that?" asked the senator, turning his magazine face down on the seatbeside him. 

And Tom told him. Told about his three weeks of dreary search for aposition, of his interview with the city editor of the _Evening World_, andof the forlorn hope upon which he was entered. And when he had finished hisstory, Senator August was no longer frowning; the boy's tale had interestedhim. 

"Well, he did put you up against a hard task; doesn't seem to me to havebeen quite fair. He knew that every reporter had failed and he must haveknown that you would fail as well. Seems to have been merely a neat way ofgetting rid of you. What do you think?"

Tom hesitated a moment. 

"I don't think it was quite that. And, anyhow, I knew what I was doing, andso it was fair enough, I guess. "

"But surely you had no idea of success?"

"I ought not to have, " answered Tom hesitatingly, "but I'm afraid I did. "

The senator looked out of the window and was silent for a moment while theexpress sped on through the afternoon sunlight. When he turned his facetoward Tom again he was smiling. 

"Well, you appear to have pluck, my lad, and that is pretty certain to landyou somewhere in the end even if you miss it this time. I'm very sorry thatI am obliged to be the means of destroying your chance with the _World_;but I have no choice in the matter, I----"

"Tickets, please. "

Blank dismay overspread Tom's countenance as he looked up at the conductor. 

"I--I haven't any. "

"Where do you want to go?"

Tom put his hand into his pocket and brought out all his money; less thantwo dollars. He held it out to the gaze of the conductor. 

"How far can I go for that?" he asked. 

"Is that all you have?" asked the senator. Tom nodded. "All rightconductor; we'll arrange this; come around again later, will you?" Theconductor went on. Tom stared helplessly at his few coins and SenatorAugust looked smilingly at Tom. 

"How about following me home?" he asked. 

"I--I'd forgotten, " stammered Tom. 

"Well, never mind. I'll loan you enough to reach the first stop and toreturn to Washington. Nonsense, " he continued, as Tom began a weakobjection, "I haven't offered to give it to you; you may repay it someday. " He pressed a bill into the boy's hand. "At Blankville Junction youcan get a train back before long, I guess. Never mind that cold-bloodededitor on the _World_; try the other papers again; keep at it; that's whatI did; and it pays in the end. Hello, are we stopping here?"

The train had slowed down and now it paused for an instant beside a littlebox of a station. Then it started on again and a train man appeared at thefar end of the car holding a buff envelope in his hand. 

"Senator August in this car?" he asked. 

The telegram was delivered and its recipient, excusing himself to thesad-hearted youth on the opposite seat, read the contents hurriedly. Thenhe glanced queerly at Tom, while a little smile stole out from under theends of his grizzled mustache. 

"You are lucky, " he said. Tom looked a question, and the senator thrust themessage into his hands. "Read that, " he said; "it is from my secretary inWashington. " He pressed the electric button between the windows and waitedimpatiently for the porter. Tom was staring hard at the yellow sheet beforehim; he reread it slowly, carefully, that there might be no mistake. It wasas follows:

 "_Senator Harrison M. August, "On train 36, Waverly, Md. _

"Following telegram just received: 'Chicago, 8, 1. 45 P. M. Have just learnedreliable source Republican managers using our silence regarding conferenceto advance W's candidacy in Middle West and have published report that wehave agreed on compromise candidate. If report goes undenied many voteswill be lost, especially in Iowa and Wisconsin. Advise immediatepublication of our statement to press. Answer Auditorium, Chicago. Goodman. ' Have advised Goodman of delay in reaching you. 

"_Billings_. "

"Do you understand what that means?" asked Senator August. Tom could onlynod; he was too astounded to speak. The senator handed a message to theporter. "Get that off as soon as we reach Baltimore and bring me a receiptfor it. " Then he turned again to Tom and thrust the pad of Western Unionmessage blanks toward him. 

"We reach Blankville Junction in eight minutes. Write what I dictate to youas fast as you can. You know shorthand? All the better. "

The senator leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he began tospeak, rapidly but distinctly, and Tom's pencil flew over the pages, whilethe train sped on toward the junction. 

The hands of the office clock pointed to twenty minutes after five when Tomreached the _World_ building. There was no hesitancy now; he pushed openthe little gate and hurried toward the city editor, who had already placedhis hat on his head and was bundling up some papers to carry home. He metTom's advance with a frown. 

"Well?" he asked coldly. 

For answer Tom placed a little package of copy before him. 

"What's this?" he demanded. But there was no necessity for reply for he wasalready reading the sheets. Halfway through he paused and lifted a tube tohis mouth. "Brown? Say, Joe, get a plate ready for an extra in a hurry;about half a column of stuff going right up. " Then he turned again to hisreading. At the end he gathered the copy together and placed it on hisdesk. 

"Where'd you get this?"

"On the New York express. "

"What station?"

"I left the train at Blankville Junction. "

The city editor dated the copy with a big black pencil, ran three strokesthe length of each sheet, wrote a very long and startling head over it andthrust it into the hands of a waiting boy. 

"Copy-cutter, " he said. And as the boy sped off the editor turned to Tom. "How'd you do it?" he asked, frowning tremendously. 

But the city editor's frowns no longer struck terror into Tom's heart, andhe told the story briefly, while his hearer puffed rapidly at his pipe. Only once was he interrupted. 

"Hold on there, " said the editor. "Are you certain he said he'd not giveout the statement again until he reached New York?"

"Quite certain, " was the reply. Something almost resembling pleasureappeared on the city editor's face. 

"He'll not get there until 8. 30; too late for the evening papers. Thebiggest beat of the year, by George!" For a moment the glasses and thefrown were lost in a cloud of smoke. Then "Go on, " he commanded. 

Tom finished his story in a few words; told how he had found a trainalready waiting at the Junction, how he had written out his copy on the wayback to Washington; and how, had it not been for a long delay just outsidethe city, he would have reached the office in time for the regular edition. And when he had finished he waited for a word of commendation. But nonecame. Instead, the city editor nodded his head once or twice, thoughtfully, frowningly, and said: "Well, you needn't wait around any longer; there'snothing else to be done. "

Tom arose, looking blankly at the speaker. Had he failed after all! Surelyhe was not being turned away? But the city editor's next words dispelledall doubt. 

"We go to work on this paper at eight o'clock, Mr. Collins; and by eight Imean eight, and not ten minutes past. I can't have any man working for mewho cannot be prompt. You understand?"

As Tom clattered happily downstairs a deep reverberation that shook thebuilding from top to bottom told him that the presses were already printingthe result of his first assignment. 

PEMBERTON'S FLUKE

For an hour and a half Yale and Princeton had been battling on thegridiron; for an hour and a half the struggling lines had advanced andretreated from goal line to goal line; for an hour and a half the ball hadgone arching up against the blue November sky, had been carried in short, desperate plunges or brilliant runs to and fro over the trampled whitelines of Yale Field; for an hour and a half twenty-five thousand personshad watched the varying fortunes of the contest with fast-beating hearts, had waved their flags, sang their songs and shouted their cheers; and now, with the last half drawing toward its close, the score board stillproclaimed: "Yale, 0; Opponents, 0. "

Pemberton had found the contest exciting, breathlessly so at moments, butdisappointing. Being a freshman, as well as a 'varsity substitute of aweek's standing, he was intensely patriotic, and the thought of a tie gamewas unbearable; to a youth of his enthusiasm a tie was virtually a defeatfor the Blue; and a defeat for the Blue was something tragic, inconceivable! Pemberton was a sandy-haired, blue-eyed, round-faced chap ofeighteen; in height, five feet nine; in weight, one hundred andsixty-eight; neither large nor heavy, but speedy as they make them, abundle of nerves, endowed with a fanatical enthusiasm and a kind ofbrilliant, dashing recklessness that often wins where larger courage fails. 

At Exeter he hadn't gone in for football until his senior year; thePhysical Director couldn't see the thing from Pemberton's viewpoint;physical directors are narrow-minded souls; Pemberton will tell you so anyday. With three years of lost time to make up, Pemberton had put his wholemind into football with the result that he had made the team in time toplay for five short, mad minutes against Andover. This fall he haddistinguished himself on the Freshmen Eleven, and the game with the Harvardyoungsters, if it hadn't resulted in a victory for Yale, had, at least, made the reputation of Pemberton, left half back. In that somewhatone-sided contest he had shown such dash and pluck, had eeled himselfthrough the Crimson's line, or shot like a small streak of lightning aroundthe ends so frequently that he had been called to the 'varsity bench. Andon the 'varsity bench, one, and quite the smallest one, of a long line ofsubstitutes, he had sat since the beginning of the Princeton game, with anexcellent chance of staying there until the whistle blew. 

He wasn't a fellow to accept inactivity with gracefulness. That "they alsoserve who only stand and wait, " he was willing to accept as true; but thatwasn't the kind of serving he hankered for; Pemberton's ideal of usefulnesswas getting busy and doing things--and doing them hard. 

On opposite sides of the field rival bands were blaring out two-steps, thestrains leaking now and then through the deep, thundering cheers. Down onYale's thirty-five-yard line Princeton was hammering at right guard forshort gains, edging nearer and nearer the goal, and thousands of eyes fixedthemselves expectantly on Princeton's left half back, dreading or hoping tosee him fall back for a kick. On the thirty yards Yale's line braced andheld. Princeton tried a run outside of left tackle and got a yard. The ballwas directly in front of goal. 

"Sturgis is a dub if he doesn't try it now, " said the big fellow onPemberton's left. 

"But he couldn't do it from the forty-yard line, could he?" askedPemberton. 

"Search me; but from what he's done so far to-day I guess he could kick agoal from the other end of the field. Nothing doing, though; they're tryingright guard again. There goes Crocker. "

Yale's line gave at the center and a Princeton tackle fell through for twoyards. The Princeton cheers rang out redoubled in intensity, sharp, entreating, only to be met with the defiant slogan of Yale. Pembertonshuffled his scarred brown leather shoes uneasily and gnawed harder at hisknuckles. Princeton was playing desperately, fighting for the twenty-yardline. A play that looked like a tandem at right guard resolved itself intoa plunge at left tackle and gave them their distance. The Yale stands heldstaring, troubled faces. The Princeton stands were on their feet, shouting, waving, swaying excitedly; score cards were sailing and fluttering throughthe air; pandemonium reigned over there. Pemberton scowled fiercely across. His left-hand neighbor whistled a tune softly. Princeton piled her backsthrough again for a yard. 

"Oh, thunder!" muttered Pemberton. 

The other nodded sympathetically. 

"Here's where Old Nassau scores, " he said. 

A last desperate plunge carried the little army of the Orange and Blackover the coveted mark. The left half walked back; there were cries, entreaties, commands; the cheering died away and gave place to the intensesilence of suspense; Pemberton could hear the little Princeton quarterback's signals quite plainly. Then, after a moment of breathless delay, theball sped back, was caught breast high by the left half, was dropped on theinstant and shot forward from his foot, and went rising toward the goal. The Yale forwards broke through, leaping with upstretched hands into thepath of the ball, yet never reaching it. The field was a confusion ofwrithing, struggling bodies, but the ball was sailing straight and true, turning lazily on its shorter axis, over the cross bar. 

Over on the Princeton side of the field hats were in flight, slicing up anddown and back and forth across the face of the long slope of yellow andblack; flags were gyrating crazily; the space between seats and barrier wasfilled with a leaping, howling mass of humanity, and all the while thecheers crashed and hurtled through the air. Well, Princeton had somethingto cheer for; even Pemberton grudgingly acknowledged that. 

"Have we time to score?" he asked despondently. 

His neighbor turned, stretching out his long, blue-stockinged legs. 

"There's about five or six minutes left, I guess, " he answered. "We've got_time_ to score, but will we?"

Pemberton didn't think they would. Life seemed very cruel just then. 

"Hello, " continued the other, "Webster's coming out! I guess here's whereyour Uncle Tom gets a whack at Old Nassau--maybe. " He sat up and watchedthe head coach alertly. The next moment Pemberton was peeling off hissweater for him. 

Princeton ran Yale's kick-off back to her forty yards. The Blue's rightguard was taken out, white and wretched, after the first scrimmage. Princeton started at her battering again, content now to make onlysufficient gains to keep the ball. But with a yard to gain on the thirddown a canvas clad streak broke through and nailed her tackle behind theline. Pemberton, shouting ecstatically, saw that the streak was hiserstwhile neighbor, and was proud of the acquaintance. Then Yale, with theball once more in possession, started to wake things up. Past the fortyyards again she went, throwing tackles and full back at every point in theTiger's line for short gains, and showing no preference. But, all said, itwas slow work and unpromising with the score board announcing five minutesto play. The Yale supporters, however, found cause for rejoicing, andcheered gloriously until there was a fumble and the Blue lost four yards onthe recovery. Time was called and the trainers and water carriers trottedon the field. The head coach and an assistant came toward the bench, talking earnestly, the former's sharp eyes darting hither and thithersearchingly. Pemberton watched, with his heart fluttering up into histhroat. The head coach's gaze fixed itself upon him, passed on up the line, came back to him and stayed. Pemberton dropped his eyes. It isn't good formto stare Fate in the face. Was it a second later or an age that his namewas called?"

"Go in at left half; tell Haker to come out. And--er--Pemberton, here's apretty good chance to show what you can do. "

Pemberton peeled off his white jersey with the faded "E" and raced into thefield. Haker looked down uncomprehendingly at him from the superior heightof six feet when he delivered his message. Pemberton repeated it. Hakershoved him aside, mumbling impatient words through swollen lips. It wasonly when he saw the head coach beckoning him from the side line that heyielded and took himself off with a parting insult to Pemberton:

"All right, Kid. "

Pemberton's eyes blazed and his fists clenched. Kid! Well, he'd show Hakerand everyone else whether he was a kid! Then he looked at the score boardwith sinking heart. Only four minutes left! Four minutes! But he tookheart; after all, four minutes was two hundred and forty seconds, and ifthey'd only give him the ball! He had run a mile in 4:34 1-5! Suddenly thewhistle blew and the players staggered to their places. It was second downnow, with nine yards to gain. The tandem formed on the left, and Pembertonranged himself behind the big tackle disapprovingly. Where was the use, heasked himself, of wasting a down by plunging at the line? What had they puthim in there for if not to take the ball? Then the signal came and the nextmoment he was in the maelstrom. When the dust of battle lifted, the ballwas just one yard nearer the Princeton goal. 

Princeton expected Yale to kick, for it was the third down and there wasstill eight yards wanted, and so the Princeton right half trottedtentatively to join the quarter. Yale placed a tackle, full back and lefthalf behind her tackle guard hole on the left. Her right half fell backabout six yards to a position behind quarter. It might mean a kick or atandem, or a run around left end; Princeton's right half hesitated andedged back toward his line. Pemberton, puzzled, awaited the signal. Ofcourse the ball was his, but why was he placed so far away from it? Theonly play from just this formation that he was acquainted with was one inwhich he merely performed the inglorious part of interference. However, maybe the quarter knew his business, though deep down in his soul hedoubted it. 

Now, for an understanding of the remarkable events which followed, it isnecessary to take the reader into the confidence of the Yale quarter back. Despite Pemberton's misgivings he really did know his business, which wasto get that pigskin over the Tiger's goal line in the next four minutes, taking any risk to do it. And the present play was a risk. As planned itwas this: at the snapping of the ball the head of the tandem, the tackle, was to plunge straight through the line between tackle and guard as thoughleading a direct attack at that point; full back and left half were to turnsharply to the left before reaching the line and clear out a hole betweenend and tackle; right half back, standing well behind the quarter, was toreceive the ball on a toss and follow the interference; quarter was to stoptacklers coming around the right end of his line; in short, it was a playapparently aimed at the left center of Yale's line, but in reality goingthrough at the left end. But the Yale quarter had reckoned withoutPemberton. 

The play started beautifully. The ball was snapped back into quarter'swaiting hands, tackle plunged madly ahead into the Princeton's defenses, the quarter swung around back to the line, ready for the toss to the righthalf, who was on his toes, waiting to dash across to where the hole wasbeing torn open for him. And then something went wrong! A figure spedacross toward the right end of the line between quarter and right half justas the ball left the former's hands. The ball disappeared from sight; andso, in a measure, did Pemberton. 

His excited brain had confused the 'varsity with the freshman signals. Starting on the supposition that he was to receive the ball, the numbershad somehow conveyed to him the idea that the play was around right end. The fact that he was to be practically unprovided with interference did notbother him; if he had had time to consider the matter he would probablyhave decided that they knew his ability and were not going to insult him byoffering assistance. But Pemberton wasn't one to be worried over details. What was wanted was a touchdown, or, failing that, a good long gain. So, with the rest of the back field plunging toward the left, Pemberton startedon his own hook toward the right. 

He was glad the quarter tossed the ball so exactly; otherwise he would havehad to slow down. As it was he was going like an express train by the timehe swept around the Princeton line outside of end. Pemberton could not onlyrun like the wind, but could start like a shot from a rifle. That he gotclean away before the opponents had found the location of the ball waspartly due to this fact and partly to the fact that Yale's backs weremessing around in a peculiarly aimless manner which, to the Princetonplayers, suggested a delayed pass or some equally heinous piece ofunderhand work. So Princeton piled through Yale's line to solve thedifficulty, thinking little of the absurd youth who had shot around herleft end without interference. 

From Princeton's center to her right end everything was confusion. It was aglorious struggle, but futile. For the ball was snuggled in Pemberton'sright elbow, and Pemberton was down near the thirty yards sprinting forgoal. In front of him was the Princeton quarter back; behind him, racingmadly, came a Princeton half. To his left was a long, dark bank splotchedand mottled with blue; from it thundered down a ceaseless cataract of soundthat held as a motif entreaty and encouragement. Pemberton saw the wavingflags from the corner of his eyes; and the chaos of cheers and shoutsdrowned the thumping of his heart and the _pat, pat_ of his feet on thetrampled turf. Pemberton was enjoying himself immensely, and was gratefulin a patronizing way for the coach's confidence in him. Then the quarterback engaged his attention. He glanced back. The foremost of thepursuers--for now the whole field was racing after him--was still a goodten yards behind. Pemberton was relieved. The twenty-yard line, dim andscattered, passed under his feet, and the Princeton quarter was in hispath, white and determined, with fingers curved like talons in anticipationof his prey. Pemberton increased his speed by just that little that isalways possible, feinted to the left, dug his shoes sharply in the turf andwent by to the right, escaping the quarter's diving tackle by the length ofa finger. The quarter dug his face in the ground, scrambled somehow to hisfeet, and took up the chase. But now he was second in pursuit, for the halfback had passed him and was pressing Pemberton closely. If the latter hadbeen content to make straight for the nearest point of the goal line theresult would never have been in doubt; but Pemberton was not one to besatisfied with bread when there was cake in sight. Nothing would do but thevery center of the goal line, and for that he was headed, running straightat top speed. 

There the pursuing half back found his advantage, for he held a coursenearer the center of the field. It was a pretty race, but agonizing to thefriends of Yale and Princeton alike. At the ten-yard line the flying Yaleman was a yard to the good; at the five-yard line the Princeton. Player hadhim by the thighs and was dragging like a ton of lead. 

Pemberton's fighting spirit came to his rescue. Did that idiot whose armswere slipping down around his legs think that he was going to be stoppedhere on the threshold of success? Did he know he was trying to hold_Pemberton_? Gosh! He'd show him! Every stride now was like pushing hisknees into a stone wall; one, two, three, four, and still the line wasthree yards away. And now the tackler's arms had slipped down about hisknees, holding them together as though with a vise. For an instantPemberton fought on--a foot, half a foot--then further progress wasimpossible and he crashed over on his face, midway between the goal posts, the ball held at arms' length, his knuckles digging into the last streak oflime. Some one thumped down on to his head and strove to pull the ballback. But he locked his joints and strained forward until somewhere behindhim a whistle shrilled. Then he rolled over on his back, closed his eyesand fought for breath. 

Few could have missed that goal; certainly not Yale's quarter back. Oncemore the ball went over the exact center of the goal line, but this timeabove the cross bar; and wherever one or more Yale men were gatheredtogether there was rejoicing loud and continued. For the figures on thescore board told a different story: Yale, 6; Opponents, 5. 

A few minutes later, in the car that was to take them back to town, Pemberton allowed the head coach to shake him by the hand, and strove tobear his honors becomingly. Congratulations roared in his ears like atorrent until he was moved to an expression of modest disclaim:

"Oh, it wasn't anything much, " said Pemberton. "I ought not to have allowedthat Princeton chap to get near me. But the fact is"--he addressed the headcoach confidentially--"the fact is, you see, I didn't quite understand thatsignal. "

THE SEVENTH TUTOR

"I'm being perfectly honest with you, " said dad. "I tell you frankly thatI don't expect you to succeed, Mr. Wigg----"

"Twigg, " corrected the chap in the basket chair. 

"Pardon me; Twigg. The boy is simply unmanageable, especially where studyis concerned. He--but, there, perhaps it will be best if I don't prejudiceyou too much. You'll have a free hand; I shan't interfere between you. Thelast tutor came to me every day with the story of his troubles. I paid himto keep them to himself; I don't want to hear them. I simply hand the boyover to you and say: 'Here he is; make a gentleman of him if you can, andincidentally get him ready for college. Punish him whenever you see fit. Take any method in doing it you like, so long as you don't forget you're agentleman; brutality I won't stand. '"

I wished I could see the chap's face; but I couldn't; just his feet. Hewore low patent leathers. 

"If at the end of one month, " dad went on, "you have managed to get theupper hand, we'll continue the arrangement. If you have failed I shall haveno further need of you. In the meanwhile, until then, you're a member ofthe family, free to come and go as you like. See that you're comfortable. That's all, I guess. Want to try it?"

"Yes, " said the chap. I didn't like the way he said it, though; it soundedso kind of certain. All the others had been a bit nervous when dad got tothat point. 

"Very well, " dad answered. "We'll call it settled. As--er--as a--sidelighton Raymond's code of honor, Mr. Twigg--you said Twigg?--I'll mention thatfor the last few minutes he has been listening to our conversation frombehind the hall door. You may come out now, Raymond. "

I went out, grinning. It was all well enough for dad to talk about "thelast few minutes, " but I was sure he hadn't known I was there until Ikicked the door after the chap said "yes" like that. The chap got out ofhis chair and looked at me as though they hadn't been talking about me forhalf an hour. 

"Raymond, this is Mr. John Twigg, your new tutor, " said dad. 

"Thought it was about time for another, " I said. Twigg held out his hand, and so I shook with him. He shook different from the others; sort of asthough he had bones and things inside his fingers instead of cotton wool. 

"Glad to see you, " he said. "Hope we'll get on together. "

"Oh, I'll get on, " said I; "but I don't know about you. "

"That'll do, Raymond, " said dad angrily. "I don't expect you to act like agentleman; but you might at least be less of a cad. "

"I ain't a cad!" I muttered. 

"What else are you when you listen behind doors to things you're notexpected to hear? When you talk like a gutter snipe and act--"

"You're a liar!" I shouted. "Liar! Liar! Liar!"

Dad's face got purple like it always does when he's mad, and his handsshook. For a moment I thought he was going to jump for me; he never has, nomatter how mad he gets. Then he leaned back again in his chair and turnedto Twigg with a beast of a sneer on his face. 

"You see?" he asked, with a shrug. "Nice, sweet-tempered, clean-tonguedyouth, isn't he? Want to call it off?"

I looked scowlingly at Twigg. He was leaning back, hands in pockets, looking at me through half-closed eyes as though I was a side show at acircus. I stared back at him defiantly. "Have a look, " I jeered. He raiseda finger and scratched the side of his nose without taking his eyes off me, just as though he was a doctor trying to decide what nasty stuff to giveme. After a bit I dropped my eyes; I tried not to, but they got toblinking. 

"No, " said Twigg. "If you don't mind I'll walk back to the station andtelegraph for my trunk. "

"Sit still, " said dad, "and I'll get the cart around. Or you can write yourmessage and I'll have Forbes send it. "

"Thanks, " said Twigg, "I'd like the walk. " He turned to me. "Want to goalong?"

I grinned at him. 

"No, I don't want to go along, " I said mockingly. 

He didn't seem to notice. 

"Luncheon is at--?"

"Two o'clock, " said dad. 

Dad went into the house, and Twigg put a gray felt hat on his head andstrode off down the drive. I sat on the porch rail and watched him. Helooked about five feet eight inches, and was broad across the shoulders. Hehad a good walk. I slouched when I walked. After he was out of sight Irather wished I'd gone along. There wasn't anything particular to do athome, and I could have told him about the other tutors; there's some thingsthat dad doesn't know. 

I found Twigg kept a diary. He went to the city on the Wednesday afternoonafter he came, and I rubbered around to see what I could find. The diarywas in his table drawer. It was awful dull rot until I got to the last pageor two. The day before he'd written a lot about me. This was it; I copiedit:

"June 1st. 

"Fourth day at Braemere. First desire to throw it up and acknowledge defeatquite gone. Am determined to see it through. I think I can win. At allevents the thing won't lack interest. Can't flatter myself that I've mademuch headway. R. Is like a rhinoceros. Can't find a vulnerable spotanywhere. He seems morally calloused. I say seems because I can scarcelybelieve that a boy of sixteen can really be as absolutely unmoral as heappears. Perhaps, eventually, I will find an Achilles' heel. 

"Mr. Dale stands by his agreement. He never offers to interfere. So muchthe better. Mr. D. 's attitude toward R. Is humorous as well as lamentable. He views the boy as though he were entirely irresponsible for his being. Itis plain that he sees no connection between the boy's extraordinarycharacter and his own; yet they are alike in many particulars; one couldalmost express my meaning by saying that R. Is his father in anuncultivated state. Mr. D. Ascribes the boy's faults to the other side ofthe house; he is convinced that the ungovernable temper and lack of moralsense are unfortunate inheritances from the late Mrs. D. Probably this istrue in a measure. R. Was the only child. The mother died at his birth. Mr. D, returned to this country when R. Was four years old, and purchased thisestate. Here the boy has grown up practically neglected. During twelveyears Mr. D. Has been out of the country the better part of eight. The boyhas been left to the care of servants. For the past three years he has beenin the hands of tutors, whose periods of service ran from one week to threemonths. I am the seventh in line to attempt the work. 

"Physically R. Is in good shape. He is fond of outdoor life; likes horses, dogs and animals generally; rides well; shoots and fishes. Mentally he isdecidedly above normal, but quite untrained. Hates study. Would grade aboutthird year in Latin school. I shall begin at the bottom with him. It'sgoing to be a hard pull, but I'm going to win out. "

I was going to empty the ink bottle over the pages; but I knew if I didhe'd hide the book or lock it up, and I wanted to see what else he'd write. So I put it back in the drawer. I was sure I'd have him done to a turn in amonth. But it was going to take longer than with the other fools, though. 

"That'll do, " said Twigg. "You haven't studied a lick, have you?"

"Not a lick, " I answered. 

"When do you think of beginning?" he asked. 

"Not going to begin at all. "

"Oh, poppycock, my boy. " He tossed down the Latin book and yawned. "Don'tyou want to go to college?"

"No; not if I've got to study all that darned stuff. "

"What kind of stuff?"

"Darned stuff, I said. You heard me, didn't you?"

"Yes; but I thought perhaps I'd mistaken. Well, we'll try this againto-morrow. How about mathematics?"

I winked. 

"Not prepared? German ditto, I presume?"

"I haven't studied at all, I tell you. "

"Well, we know where to begin to-morrow, don't we? Is there any decentfishing around here?"

"Find out, " I muttered. 

"Oh, well, I didn't suppose there was, " he answered. "It's anout-of-the-way spot up here, anyway. "

"That's a lie! There's as good trout and pickerel fishing here as there isanywhere in the State, if you know the proper place to look for it. "

"Maybe; maybe there are lions and tigers if you know where to look forthem. But I'll believe it when I see them. "

He yawned again and looked out the window and drummed on the desk. After abit I said:

"You city fellows think you know it all, don't you? If you want fishingI'll take you where you'll get it. "

"I'm not particular about it, " he said. "I know about what that sort offishing is; sit on a bank or stand up to your waist in water all day, andcatch two little old four-ounce trout and a sunfish. "

I jumped up. 

"I guess I know more about this place than you do, " I cried angrily. "Youcome with me and I'll show you fish. "

"Too sunny, isn't it?" he asked. 

"Not for where I mean. "

"Got an extra rod?"

"Yes; you can take my split bamboo--if you won't go and bust it. "

"All right; if I break it I'll buy you another. Fish from the bank, do you?or shall I put boots on?"

"Boots. Got any?"

"Yes. I'll go up and put them on. Take those books off with you, please. You won't have time for studying before night. "

"I won't then, either, " I said. 

"Well, anyhow, we won't leave them here. Let's keep the shop lookingship-shape. By the way, it's a bit late, isn't it? How about lunch?"

"Take some grub with us. I'll tell Annie to put some up. I'll meet you onthe steps in ten minutes. "

"All right; I'll be there. Er--Raymond!"

"Huh?" said I. 

"You've forgotten the books. "

"Oh, let 'em wait. "

"All right. " He sat down at the desk again. 

"Ain't you going fishing?" I asked. 

"No. I think not, " he answered. "Somehow, while those books are here I feelthat we ought to stay at home and study. I dare say the fish will be thereto-morrow as well as to-day, eh?"

"Oh, all right, " I said sulkily. "Only you can't make me study, you know. "

I sat down and put my hands in my pockets. I looked at him out of thecorners of my eyes. He didn't seem to have heard me. 

"Let's see, " he said after a moment. "How many lines were we to have inthis?"

"I don't remember, " I growled. Then I jumped up and grabbed the books. "Youmake me sick, " I said. "I'm going fishing. "

I took the books out and slammed the door as hard as it would slam. 

The day after we went fishing, and got fourteen trout, I had earlybreakfast and rode Little Nell over to Harrisbridge and played pool withNate Golden, whose dad has the livery stable, all morning. We had dinner atthe inn, and when I got back it was nearly three o'clock. Tommy, the stableboy, told me as I rode in that Twigg had left word he wanted to see me whenI got back. Well, I didn't want to see him. So I went in the kitchen wayand up the back stairs to my room. When I opened the door there was Twigg, sitting in the rocker with the books all spread out on the center table. 

"Hello, " he said. "I'm making myself at home, you see. We're a bit latewith lessons, Raymond, so I thought we might have them up here; then wewon't interfere with your father's writing. "

"I don't know 'em, " I said. 

"I'm afraid you haven't studied them. Never mind; when you get your bootsoff we'll go over them together. Here, hold them up. There's no usebothering with jacks when you've got some one to pull them off for you. "

I let him do it. He sort of takes you by surprise sometimes and you don'tknow just what to say or do. Afterwards I threw myself onto the bed andlighted a cigarette. Twigg looked at me and raised his eyebrows. 

"Don't smoke while lessons are going on, please, " he said. 

"Will if I like, " I said. 

"I'm afraid I can't have that. "

"Well, if you don't like it you can lump it. " But just the same I kept asharp eye on him. 

"Well, you're the host up here, " he answered calmly. "I suppose I mustconsider that. " Then what did he do but take out that reeking briar pipe ofhis, ram it full of nasty strong tobacco and begin to smoke! "One thing ata time, eh? We'll have a quiet smoke first and lessons afterwards. Tell mewhat you've been doing. "

"None of your darned business, " I said warmly. 

"I suppose it isn't. " He took up a book, one of Marryat's, crossed his legsand began to read. Gee! how that old pipe smelled! I laid on the bed andwatched him blowing big gray clouds out under the corner of his mustache. When I'd smoked three cigarettes he looked over at me. 

"Ready?" he asked. 

"No, I'm not ready. "

"Let me know when you are, " he said. Then he filled the pipe again and wenton reading. After a bit I crawled off the bed. My head felt funny, and Iwas almost choking with the smoke. He laid down the book and looked up atme. 

"Shall we begin?" he asked. 

"I don't care what you do, " I growled. "I'm going outdoors. "

"Not yet, " said he. He got up and locked the door and put the key in hispocket. "You forget the lesson. "

"You let me out, darn you!" I yelled. "I'm not going to study. You can keepme here all night and I won't study. You see if I do!"

"Don't be silly, " he said, just as though he were talking to a kid. "Youand I are going over those lessons if it takes to-night and to-morrow andthe rest of the week. When you're ready to begin let me know; I shan't askyou again. " And then he went back to that book. 

After a while it began to get darkish. I went back to the bed and tried tosleep, but I couldn't. I could have killed Twigg; but there wasn't any wayto do it. He kept on reading and smoking. About six o'clock he said:

"This is quite a yarn, isn't it? Somehow I never seemed to find time forMarryat when I was a boy. You've read this, of course?"

"Yes, " I muttered. 

"Like it?"

"Yes. "

"What's your favorite book?"

"I dunno; Froissart, I guess. "

"Yes, that's a good one. Ever read 'Treasure Island'?"

"No; who's it by?"

"Stevenson; know him at all?"

"Did he write 'Tower of London' and those things?"

"No, he didn't. He wrote 'Kidnapped' and 'The Black Arrow' and 'DavidBalfour, ' and a lot of other bully ones. "

"'Kidnapped'?" I said. "I'd like to read that. It sounds fine. "

"I'll get it for you, if you like. "

"You needn't; if I want it I can get it myself, I guess. "

"Certainly. "

About seven I began to get awfully hungry. Twigg lighted the gas and filledhis pipe again. It made me feel sick and funny inside just to see him doit. 

"You stop smoking that smelly thing in my room, " I said. 

"I beg your pardon, I'm sure, " he said. "Just remember, however, that itwas I who objected to smoking in the first place. " He put his pipe down. There was a knock at the door and Annie asked if we were there. 

"Yes, all right, " Twigg said. "Please tell Mr. Dale that Raymond and I aregoing to do some studying before dinner, and ask him not to wait. "

"It's a lie!" I yelled. "He's locked me in. You tell my father he's lockedme in, and won't let me have any dinner. Do you hear, Annie?"

"Yes, Mr. Raymond. " It sounded as though she was giggling. 

"You might leave some cold meat and a pitcher of milk on the sideboard, Annie; enough for two, " said Twigg. "If we get through by nine we'll lookfor it. "

"Very well, sir, " she answered. 

"You--you think you're smart, don't you?" I sobbed. "I'll--I'll get evenfor this, you bet!"

I don't care! I was hungry, and the wretched old tobacco smoke made me feelfunny. You'd have cried, too. He made believe he didn't hear me. 

"You're just a big, ugly bully! If I was bigger I'd smash your face! Do youhear me?"

"Yes, my boy, and----"

"I'm not your boy! I hate you, you--you----"

"And let me remind you that you're wasting time. " He took out his watch. "It's now a quarter after seven. If we're not through up here by nine, there'll be no dinner for either of us. "

"Glad of it! Hope you'll starve to death. I'm--I'm not hungry. I had dinnerat Harrisbridge with Nate Golden. "

"Who's Nate Golden?" he asked. 

"None of your business. If he was here I'd get him to lick you!"

"Lucky for me he isn't here, eh?" Then he went back to reading. I gothungrier and hungrier and had little pains inside me. I put a pillow overmy head so he wouldn't hear me crying. Then, after a long while I got upand went to the table and took up a book. He didn't pay any attention. Iwent back and sat on the bed for a minute. Then I took up the book againand threw it down so it would make a noise. He looked around. 

"Ah, Raymond, " he said, "all ready? Suppose we start with the Latin!"

There wasn't any use not studying, because he didn't play fair. No man hasany right to starve you. So I studied some every day after that. OldGabbett, the chap I had before Twigg, used to shrug his shoulders when Iwouldn't study, and tell me I was a good-for-nothing and would live to behung. Then he'd go off to his room and let me alone. Browning, the chapbefore old Gab, used to get jolly mad and throw books at me, and swear tobeat the band. I used to swear back and call him Sissy. He was a Sissy; hewas about nineteen and didn't have any mustache or muscle, and he couldn'tdo a thing except study and play patience. It was rather good fun, though, getting him mad; it was mighty easy, too. But Twigg was different from anyof them. When he wasn't putting it onto me he wasn't such a bad sort--for atutor. 

Anyhow, he wasn't a Sissy. He could catch fish and ride fine, and he couldbeat me at target shooting with a . 32 rifle. He told me one day that he wasstroke on his crew for two years. I guess that's where he got his bigshoulders and muscles. You ought to see his muscles. We went in swimmingone day and I saw them. I'll bet he was the strongest chap up our way. After he had been there a couple of weeks he went to the city again; and Iread his diary. But there wasn't anything in it about me except one thingwhich he had written on June 15th. It said:

"R. 's propensity for eavesdropping and similar ungentlemanly actionsrenders it unadvisable to write anything here that I do not want read byothers. Were it not for the aforesaid propensity and one or two lesserfaults I could like the boy immensely. I have hopes, however, that when herealizes how contemptible and petty these things are he will cease doingthem. He told me once that his favorite book was Froissart. I wonder if hethinks Froissart was ever guilty of listening behind doors, spying intoothers' diaries and swearing like a tough?"

Wonder how he knew?

 * * * * *

Two days after he went to town I met him going out of the house with somegolf sticks. I went along with him to the meadow and watched him hittingthe little white ball. After a bit he let me try it. It wasn't easy, though, you bet! But when I'd sort of got the hang of it I could hit themright well. He said I did bully and if I liked I could help him lay out anine-hole course the next afternoon and we'd have some games. So we did. Wepaced off the distances between the holes and put up sticks with bits ofwhite cloth on them. The housekeeper gave us an old sheet. And the next daywe played a game. Of course he beat me. But he said I would make a goodplayer if I tried hard and kept at it. After that we used to play almostevery day, if it wasn't too hot. Only if I didn't have my lessons good hewouldn't play. 

One day I got behind the stone wall--we called it Stoney Bunker--andcouldn't get out, and said "darn. " And Twigg picked up the balls andstarted back to the house. 

"Golf's a gentleman's game, Raymond, " he said. "We'll wait until yon getyour temper back. "

That made me mad and I swore some more. And there wasn't any more golf fornearly a week. He won't get mad, too; that's what makes it so beastly. Itgot pretty hot the last of the month and there wasn't much to do except layaround and read. We had lessons before breakfast sometimes while it wasnice and cool on the veranda; and in the forenoon we went swimming. One dayhe asked if I wanted him to read to me. I said he could if he liked. Iwanted him to, but I didn't want him to know it. So we sat on the lawn andhe read "Kidnapped, " the book he'd spoken about. It was a Scotch story andsimply great. After that when the afternoons were too hot for golf orriding he'd read. 

I forgot to say that dad went away about the middle of the month and stayeda week, I guess. 

"Hello, " said Twigg, "where are you going?"

"Oh, just for a ride, " I said. He was on the porch and so I pulled LittleNell up alongside the rail. 

"All right; wait a minute, and I'll go along. Do you mind?"

"She doesn't like to stand, " I muttered. 

"She won't have to long. " He grabbed the railing and vaulted over onto thedrive, and I saw that he had his riding breeches and boots on. 

"All right, " I said. "I'll wait here. "

He nodded and went over to the stables. When he was out of sight I jammedLittle Nell with the spurs and tore down the drive lickety-cut. I was goingover to Harrisbridge to see Nate Golden, but I didn't want to tell Twiggbecause he was so cranky; always trying to keep me at home. It was Sundaymorning, and kind of cloudy and sultry. When I got to the road I turnedNell to the right before I remembered that I'd be in sight of the house fora quarter of a mile. But I wasn't going to turn back then, so I made forthe beginning of the woods as fast as Nell could make it. I knew it wouldtake Twigg two or three minutes to saddle Sultan, and by that time I couldbe out of reach. 

But Twigg is always doing things you don't expect him to. When I got to theedge of the woods I looked toward the house and what did I see but Twigg onSultan trying to head me off by riding across the meadow. Just as I lookedSultan took the panel fence with a rush, got over finely and camethundering across the turf. 

"All right, " I said to myself. "If it's a race you're after you can have itwith me now!"

Through the woods the road is a bit soft and spongy in places and so Ipulled Nell down a little. Then came a long hill; and by the time I was ontop of that I could hear Sultan rushing along behind. I gave Nell her headthen, for it was a good, solid road and straight as a die for over a mile. She hadn't been out of the stall for two days, and maybe she didn't tearthings up! Pretty soon I looked back. There was Twigg and Sultan justcoming up over the hill. They'd gained some. I touched Nell with the spurand she laid back her ears and just flew! That mile didn't last long, Itell you. When I got to the Fork I switched off to the left towardHarrisbridge; it was dusty, and I was pretty sure Twigg wouldn't know whichway I'd gone. The road wound sharp to the left and I'd be out of sightbefore Twigg reached the Fork. Two or three minutes later I pulled up a bitand listened. I couldn't hear a sound. I chuckled and let Nell come down toa trot, thinking, of course, Twigg had kept the right-hand road and washumping it away toward Evan's Mills. Then I got to thinking about it andsomehow I kind of wished I hadn't been so darned smart. It seemed sort ofmean because I'd said I'd wait for him and I hadn't. You see, Twigg hadsuch fool ideas on some things, like keeping his word to you and all that. I had half a mind to turn around and go back and look for him. But justthen I heard a crashing in the brush on the left and looked back and therewas Twigg and Sultan trotting through the woods toward the road. He'd cutthe corner on me! I made believe I didn't see him, and pretty soon he rodeup to the stone wall and jumped Sultan over into the road almost beside me. 

"Well, " he said, smiling, "you gave me quite a run!"

"Yes; but I knew Nell could beat that beast and so I slowed down. "

"That's all right, then. I thought at first you were trying to give me theslip, but I knew you'd said you'd wait and so I concluded you wanted somefun. "

"Yes, " I said. 

"This is the Harrisbridge road, isn't it?" he asked. 

"It goes to lots of places. "

"Harrisbridge among them?"

"Yes. "

"Then we can keep on, eh? We might call on that friend of yours; what's hisname? Nate something?"

"Nate Golden, " I muttered. 

"That's it. I suppose he'd be at home?"

"He doesn't like swells, " I said. 

"Am I a swell?"

"Yes, you are. "

"And he wouldn't like me?"

"No. "

"Why?"

"Oh, just because he wouldn't; that's why. I'm going back now. "

"Very well; Harrisbridge some other day, Raymond. "

We turned the nags and walked them back toward the country road. Nell waspuffing hard and Sultan was in a lather; he was a bit soft. Pretty soonTwigg said:

"I'm going in to town to-morrow, Raymond; want to come along?"

"Yes, " I said. Dad never would let me go to the city more than once in sixmonths. 

"Good enough; glad to have you. I'm going to run out to college in theafternoon to get some things from my trunk. Ever been out there?"

I shook my head. 

"Maybe it'll interest you, " he said. "I suppose you'll go there when you'reready, eh?"

"Might as well go to one as another, I guess, " said I. 

"Perhaps; but I'd like you to go to mine, " he answered, kind of gravely. "Ithink it's a little better than the others, you see. "

"I suppose you won't be there, " I said, flicking Nell's ear with my crop. 

"I'm not so sure, " he said. "I'm trying for an instructorship. I get my Ph. D. Next year. Then I want to go to Germany for a year to study. You'rehelping to pay for that, " he said with a smile. 

"I am?"

"Yes; the money I get for your tutoring is to go for that. "

"Oh, " I said. "Then--then you're coming back to college?"

"If they'll have me. "

"Hope they won't, " I said. 

But I didn't. 

The next Wednesday we had lessons after breakfast, because it was a gooddeal cooler. Twigg said I had studied first rate, and if I liked we'd havea go at golf. So we did. I beat him one up and two to play. I thought atfirst he was just letting me win, but he wasn't. He didn't seem to bethinking of golf and looked sort of sober all the way round. When we'dfinished he said:

"Raymond, I don't think I'll have an opportunity to use my clubs again thissummer, and so, if you'd like me to, I'll leave them here. I dare say youcould get some fun out of them. You could get a good deal of practice thatwould help you a lot later on. "

"Leave them?" I asked. "I--I didn't know you were going away. "

"You forget that my month's up to-morrow, " he answered quietly. "I was tohave a month in which to see what I could do. If by the end of that time Ihad managed to get you in control I was to stay on. That was the agreementwith your father. "

"Oh, " I muttered. We were sitting under the big maple tree on the lawn. Ihad an iron putter and was digging a hole in the turf. 

"Yes, " he continued, "to-morrow ends the present arrangement. I wish verymuch that I could go to Mr. Dale and tell him that I had won. But I can't. I haven't won, Raymond. I have gained ground, but the victory is still along way off. "

"You--you've done better than the others, " I muttered. 

"Have I? Well, I'm glad of that; that's something, isn't it? No man likesto acknowledge utter defeat; I'm certain I don't. "

I dug away with the putter for a minute. Then I said:

"If I asked dad to let you stay, don't you think he would?"

"Perhaps; but I wouldn't want to. "

"Oh, if you want to go away, all right, " I grumbled. 

"I meant that I wouldn't care to remain just because of a whim of yours. IfI believed that by staying I could accomplish something; if I thought thatyou wanted me to stay, knowing that it meant hard study--much harder thanany you've been doing--and cheerful obedience; in short, Raymond, if I knewthat I could honestly earn my salary, I'd stay. "

He took out his pipe and filled it. I shoved the earth back into the holein the turf. Nobody said anything for a while. 

"I don't mind study--much, " I said presently. 

"It hasn't been hard yet, " he answered. 

"And I don't mind doing what you tell me to. You're--you're not likeSimpkins, Browning, and Gabbett. "

"I haven't pulled on the curb yet, " he said. 

I started a new hole. 

"There'd be no more Harrisbridge and Nate Golden, " he said, after a bit, watching the smoke from his pipe. 

I stopped digging. 

"No more cigarettes; pipes are better. "

"Huh, " I muttered. 

"No more swearing; there'd be a fine for swearing. "

"I--I wouldn't care, " I said. 

"Sure?"

"Sure!" I looked over at him. He was kind of smiling at me through thesmoke. I tried to grin back, but my face got the twitches and there was alump in my throat. 

"You--you just stay here, " I muttered. 

A RACE WITH THE WATERS

Roy Milford pulled the brim of his faded sombrero further over his blueeyes and urged Scamp into a trot, though it was broiling hot. Roy had leftthe town two miles behind, and three more miles stretched between him andhome. From the cantle of his saddle hung the two paper parcels which, withthe mail in his pocket, explained his errand. 

Not a breath of air stirred the dusty leaves of the cottonwoods along theroad. Roy was barely fourteen years old; but his six years in Colorado hadtaught him what such weather foretold, and there were plenty of other signsof the approaching storm. In the uncultivated fields the little moundsbefore the prairie dog holes were untenanted; the silver poplars, weatherwise, were displaying the under sides of their gleaming leaves; the birdswere silent; and the still, oppressive air was charged with electricity. But, most unmistakable sign of all, over the flat purple peaks of the MesaGrande, hung a long bank of sullen, blackish clouds. There was the storm, already marshaling its forces. Roy was certain that, after the month ofrainless weather just passed, the coming deluge would be something towonder at. 

Where the road crossed the railroad track Roy touched his buckskin ponywith the quirt and loped westward until he reached a rail gate leading intoan uncultivated field. Here he leaped nimbly out of the saddle, threw openthe gate, sent Scamp through with a pat on the shoulder, closed the barsagain, remounted, and trotted over the sun-cracked adobe. Two hundred yardsaway a fringe of greasewood bushes marked what, at this distance, appearedto be a water course. Such, in a way, it was. But Roy had never seen morewater in it than he could have jumped across. It was a narrow arroyo orgully, varying in width from twelve to twenty feet, and averaging fifteenfeet in depth. It ran almost due north and south for a distance of fivemiles, through a bare, level prairie tenanted only by roving cattle andhorses--if one excepts rabbits, prairie dogs, rattlesnakes, owls, lizards, and scorpions. There was no vegetation except grease-wood, cactus, andsagebrush. In heavy rains or during sudden meltings of the snow back on themountains, each of several small gullies bore its share of water to thejunction at the beginning; of the arroyo, from whence it sped, tumbling andchurning through the miniature gorge, southward to the river. 

To Roy, who loved adventure, the arroyo was ever a source of pleasure, withits twilit depths and firm sandy bed. He knew every inch of it. Many werethe imaginary adventures he had gone through in its winding depths, now asa painted Arapahoe on the warpath, now as a county sheriff on the trail ofmurderous desperadoes, again as a mighty hunter searching the sandy floorfor the tracks of bears and mountain lions. He had found strange things inthe arroyo--rose-quartz arrow heads, notched like saws; an old, rustedColt's revolver, bearing the date 1858, and a picture of the holding up ofa stagecoach engraved around the chamber; queer, tiny shells of some longgone fresh-water snail; bits of yellow pottery, their edges worn smooth andround by the water; to say nothing of birds' nests, villages of uglywater-white scorpions; and lizards, from the tiny ones that change theircolor, chameleonlike, to "racers" well over a foot long. 

From end to end of the arroyo there were but two places where it waspossible to enter or leave. Both of these had been made by cattle crossingfrom side to side. One was just back of Roy's home and the other was nearlytwo miles south. It was toward the latter that Roy was heading his horse. He thought with pleasure of the comparative comfort awaiting him in theshaded depths. Brushing the perspiration out of his eyes, he glancednorthward. Even as he looked the summits of the peaks were blurred fromsight by a dark gray veil of rain. Above, all was blackness save when foran instant a wide, white sheet of lightning blazed above the mesa, and wasfollowed a moment later by the first tremendous roar of thunder. Scamppricked up his drooping ears and mended his pace. 

"We are going to get good and wet before we get home, " muttered Roy. "Comeon, Scamp!"

They reached the edge of the arroyo and the little pony, lurching from sideto side, clambered carefully down the narrow path to the bottom. Oncethere, Roy used his quirt again, and the horse broke into a gallop thatcarried them fast over the sandy bed. On both sides the walls of adobe andyellow clay rose as straight as though of masonry. Along the brink grewstunted bushes of greasewood and of sage. Here and there the tap root of agreasewood was half exposed for its entire length, just as it had been leftby the falling earth. Many of these yellow-brown roots, tough as hempenrope, descended quite to the bottom of the arroyo, for the greasewoodperseveres astonishingly in its search for moisture. 

As Scamp hurried along the brown and gray lizards darted across his path, and the mother scorpions, taking the air at the entrances of their holes, scuttled out of sight. Roy took off his hat and let the little draught ofair that blew through the chasm dry the perspiration on face and hair. Presently the sunlight above gave way to a sullen, silent shadow. The airgrew strangely quiet; even the lizards no longer moved. Roy gazed straightupward into the slowly rolling depths of a dark cloud, and heartily wishedhimself at home. He had seen many a storm; but the one that was approachingnow made him almost afraid. The little twigs of greasewood shivered andbent, and a cool breath fanned his cheek. There came a great drop, splashing against his bare brown hand; then another; then many, eachleaving a spot of moisture on the dry sand as big as a silver dollar. Royput his sombrero on and drew the string tightly back of his head. Hebuttoned his blue-flannel shirt at the throat, patted Scamp encouraginglyon his reeking neck, and rode on. 

For the last ten minutes the thunder had been roaring at intervals, drawingnearer and nearer, and now it crashed directly overhead with a mighty soundthat shook the earth and sent Scamp bounding out of his path in terror. Then down came the rain. It was as though a million buckets had beenemptied upon him; it fell in livid, hissing sheets and walls, takingstrange shapes, like pillars and columns that came from a dim nowhere andrushed past him into the gray void behind. He was drenched ere he couldhave turned in his saddle; his eyes were filled with rain, it ran drippingfrom his soaking hat brim and coursed down his arms and chest and back. Fora moment even Scamp, experienced cow pony that he was, plunged and snortedloudly, until Roy's voice shouted encouragement. Then he raced forwardagain. But almost at once his gait shortened; the bed of the arroyo wasrunning with water and the softened sand made heavy going. Roy couldscarcely distinguish the walls on either side; but he knew that when thestorm had broken the path leading up out of the arroyo was about a halfmile ahead of him. 

As suddenly as it had begun the deluge lessened. The walls, running withmud, were crumbling and falling here and there in miniature landslides. Scamp was plunging badly in the soft ground, and so Roy slowed him down toa trot. He could not, he told himself grimly, get one speck wetter. Therewas little use in hurrying. With sudden recollection of his bundles, Royglanced back. Only a wisp of wet brown paper sticking to the cantleremained; the water had soaked the wrappings--baking powder, flavoringextract, dried fruit, and all the rest of it, had utterly disappeared. 

But Roy's regrets were cut short by Scamp. That animal suddenly stoppedshort, pricked his ears forward, and showed every symptom of terror. Roy, wondering, urged him onward. But two steps beyond the horse again stoppedand strove to turn. Roy quieted him and, peering forward up the gully, through the driving mist of rain, tried to account for the animal's fright. Was it a bear? he wondered. He knew that there were some in the foothills, and it was quite possible that one had taken shelter here in the arroyo. Then, as he looked, a roaring sound, which the boy had mistaken for thebeat of the rain, rose and grew in volume until it drowned the hissing ofthe storm and filled the arroyo. Around a bend of the gully only a fewyards ahead came a wave of turbid, yellow water, bearing above it a greatrolling bank of white froth. 

For an instant Roy gazed. Then, heart in mouth, he swung Scamp on hishaunches and tore madly back the way he had come. He knew on the instantwhat had happened. There had been a cloud-burst on the mesa or among thefoothills, and all the little gullies had emptied their water into themouth of the arroyo. He knew also that if the flood caught him therebetween those prisonlike walls he would be drowned like a rat. The nearestplace of refuge was a mile and a half away!

After the first moment of wild terror he grew calm. On his courage andcoolness rested his chance for life. He crouched far over the saddle hornand lashed Scamp with the dripping quirt. Urging was unnecessary, for itseemed the horse knew that Death was rushing along behind them. He raced asRoy had never seen him run before. The walls rushed by, dim and misty. In aminute Boy gathered courage to glance back over his shoulder. His heartsank--only a yard or two behind them rushed the foam-topped wave. Here andthere the sides of the arroyo melted in the flood and toppled downward, yards at a time, sending the yellow water high in air, but making no soundabove its roaring. Behind the first wave, perhaps a half hundred feet tothe rear, came a second, showing no froth on its crest, but higher andmightier. And farther back the arroyo seemed filled almost to the tops ofthe banks with the rushing waters. Roy used the quirt ruthlessly, searchingthe banks as they sped by in the forlorn hope of finding some place thatwould offer a means of egress, yet knowing well as he did so that thenearest way out was still a full mile distant. 

He wondered what death by drowning was like. Somewhere he had read that itwas painless and quick; but that was in a story. Then he wondered what hismother would do without him to fetch the water from the cistern back of thekitchen, and feed the chickens and look after the hives. He wondered, too, if they would ever find his body--and Scamp's! The thought that poor, gallant old Scamp must die too struck him as the hardest thing of all. Heloved Scamp as he loved none else save father and mother; they had hadtheir little disagreements, when Scamp refused to come to the halter in thecorral and had to be roped, but they always made up, with petting and sugarbeets from Roy and remorseful whinnies and lipping of the boy's cheek fromScamp. And now Scamp must be drowned!

It was difficult going now, for the turbid stream reached above the horse'sknees; but the animal was mad with fright, and he plunged desperatelyonward. Roy looked up toward the gray skies, through a world of gleamingrain, and said both the prayers he knew. After that he felt better, somehow, and when the second wave caught them, almost bearing Scamp fromhis sturdy feet, he looked calmly about him, searching the uncertainshadows which he knew were the walls of the chasm. He had made up his mindto give Scamp a chance for life. He tossed aside his quirt, patted the wetneck of the plunging animal and whispered a choking "Good-by. " Then, as theflood swept the horse from his feet and swung him sideways against onewall, Roy kicked his feet from the stirrups and sprang blindly toward thebank, clutching in space. 

He struck against the soggy earth and, still clutching with his hands, sankdownward inch by inch, his crooked fingers bringing the moist clay withthem and his feet finding no lodgment. The water swept him outward then, tearing at his writhing legs. Just as his last clutch failed him his otherhand encountered something that was not bare, crumbling earth, and held itdesperately. The flood buffeted him and tossed the lower half of his bodyto and fro like a straw. The muddy water splashed into his face, blinding, choking him. But the object within his grasp remained firm. For a moment heswung there, gasping, with closed eyes. Then he blinked the water from hislids and looked. His left hand was clutching the thick tap root of agreasewood. In an instant he seized it with his other hand as well, andlooked about him. Scamp was no longer in sight. The water was risingrapidly. The noise was terrific. All about him the walls, undermined by theflood, were slipping down in wet, crumbling masses. He wondered if the rootwould hold him, and prayed that it might. Then the water came up to hisbreast, and he knew that if he were to save himself he must manage somehowto crawl upward. Perhaps--perhaps he might even climb quite out of thechasm! If only the earth and the root would hold!

Taking a deep breath he clutched the tap root a foot higher and tried hisweight upon it. It held like a rope. He pulled himself a foot higher fromthe waters. Once more, and then he found that he had command of his legsand could dig his feet into the unstable clay. Then, inch by inch, scarcedaring to hope, he pulled himself up, up until he was free of the flood andbetween him and the ground above only a scant yard remained. Below him therushing torrents roared, as though angry at his escape, and tossed horridyellow spray upon him. 

Once more he took fresh grip of the slippery root, watching anxiously thelow bush at the edge of the bank. Each moment he thought to see it givetoward him and send him tossing back into the water. But still it held. Atlast, hours and hours it seemed since he had first begun his journey, hishand clutched the edge of the bank, but the earth came away in wet handfulsat every clutch. At length his fingers encountered a sprawling root orbranch, he knew not which, just beyond his sight; and, digging his toesinto the wall in a final despairing effort, he scrambled over the brink androlled fainting to the rain-soaked ground. 

How long he lay there he never knew. But presently a tremor of the earthroused him. Stumbling to his feet, he rushed away from the arroyo just asthe bank, for yards behind him, disappeared. After that he struggled onwardthrough the driving rain until he sank exhausted to the ground, burying hishead in his arms. 

They found him there, hours afterwards, fast asleep, his wet clothessteaming in the hot afternoon sunlight. They put him into the wagon of thenearest rancher and jolted him home, his head in his father's lap and thegreat horse blankets thrown over him, making him dream that he was a loafof bread in his mother's oven. 

"When Scamp came in, wet and almost dead, we feared you were gone. " Theywere sitting about the supper table. Roy had told his story to a wonderingaudience, and now, with his plate well filled with mother's best watermelonpreserve and citron cake, he was supremely contented, if somewhat tired andsobered. His father continued, his rugged face working as he recalled theanxiety of the day: "I can't see how that broncho ever got out of therealive; can you, boys? And to think, " he added wonderingly, "that it was theroot of a pesky greasewood bush that saved your life! Boy, I don't reckonI'll ever have the heart again to grub one of 'em up!"

A COLLEGE SANTA CLAUSE

Satherwaite, '02, threw his overcoat across the broad mahogany table, regardless of the silver and cut-glass furnishings, shook the meltingsnowflakes from his cap and tossed it atop the coat, half kicked, halfshoved a big leathern armchair up to the wide fireplace, dropped himselfinto it, and stared moodily at the flames. 

Satherwaite was troubled. In fact, he assured himself, drawing his handsomefeatures into a generous scowl, that he was, on this Christmas eve, themost depressed and bored person in the length and breadth of New England. Satherwaite was not used to being depressed, and boredom was a stateusually far remote from his experience; consequently, he took it worse. With something between a groan and a growl, he drew a crumpled telegramfrom his pocket. The telegram was at the bottom of it all. He read itagain:

E. SATHERWAITE, Randolph Hall, Cambridge. 

Advise your not coming. Aunt Louise very ill. 

Merry Christmas. 

PHIL. 

"' Merry Christmas!'" growled Satherwaite, throwing the offending sheet ofbuff paper into the flames. "Looks like it, doesn't it? Confound Phil'sAunt Louise, anyway! What business has she getting sick at Christmas time?Not, of course, that I wish the old lady any harm, but it--it--well, it'swretched luck. "

When at college, Phil was the occupant of the bedroom that lay in darknessbeyond the half-opened door to the right. He lived, when at home, in a big, rambling house in the Berkshires, a house from the windows of which onecould see into three states and overlook a wonderful expanse of wooded hilland sloping meadow; a house which held, besides Phil, and Phil's father andmother and Aunt Louise and a younger brother, Phil's sister. Satherwaitegrowled again, more savagely, at the thought of Phil's sister; not, be itunderstood, at that extremely attractive young lady, but at the fate whichwas keeping her from his sight. 

Satherwaite had promised his roommate to spend Christmas with him, therebybringing upon himself pained remonstrances from his own family, remonstrances which, Satherwaite acknowledged, were quite justifiable. Hisbags stood beside the door. He had spent the early afternoon verypleasurably in packing them, carefully weighing the respective merits of aprimrose waistcoat and a blue-flannel one, as weapons wherewith to impressthe heart of Phil's sister. And now--!

He kicked forth his feet, and brought brass tongs and shovel clattering onthe hearth. It relieved his exasperation. 

The fatal telegram had reached him at five o'clock, as he was on the pointof donning his coat. From five to six, he had remained in a torpor ofdisappointment, continually wondering whether Phil's sister would care. Atsix, his own boarding house being closed for the recess, he had trudgedthrough the snow to a restaurant in the square, and had dined miserably onlukewarm turkey and lumpy mashed potatoes. And now it was nearly eight, andhe did not even care to smoke. His one chance of reaching his own home thatnight had passed, and there was nothing for it but to get through theinterminable evening somehow, and catch an early train in the morning. Thetheaters in town offered no attraction. As for his club, he had stopped inon his way from dinner, and had fussed with an evening paper, until theuntenanted expanse of darkly furnished apartments and the unaccustomedstillness had driven him forth again. 

He drew his long legs under him, and arose, crossing the room and drawingaside the deep-toned hangings before the window. It was still snowing. Across the avenue, a flood of mellow light from a butcher's shop was thrownout over the snowy sidewalk. Its windows were garlanded with Christmasgreens and hung with pathetic looking turkeys and geese. Belated shopperspassed out, their arms piled high with bundles. A car swept by, its dronemuffled by the snow. The spirit of Christmas was in the very air. Satherwaite's depression increased and, of a sudden, inaction becameintolerable. He would go and see somebody, anybody, and make them talk tohim; but, when he had his coat in his hands, he realized that even thiscomfort was denied him. He had friends in town, nice folk who would be gladto see him any other time, but into whose family gatherings he could nomore force himself to-night than he could steal. As for the men he knew incollege, they had all gone to their homes or to those of somebody else. 

Staring disconsolately about the study, it suddenly struck him that theroom looked disgustingly slovenly and unkempt. Phil was such an untidybeggar! He would fix things up a bit. If he did it carefully andmethodically, no doubt he could consume a good hour and a half that way. Itwould then be half past nine. Possibly, if he tried hard, he could use upanother hour bathing and getting ready for bed. 

As a first step, he removed his coat from the table, and laid it carefullyacross the foot of the leather couch. Then he placed his damp cap on oneend of the mantel. The next object to meet his gaze was a well-wornnotebook. It was not his own, and it did not look like Phil's. The mysterywas solved when he opened it and read, "H. G. Doyle--College House, " on thefly leaf. He remembered then. He had borrowed it from Doyle almost a weekbefore, at a lecture. He had copied some of the notes, and had forgotten toreturn the book. It was very careless of him; he would return it as soonas--Then he recollected having seen Doyle at noon that day, coming from oneof the cheaper boarding houses. It was probable that Doyle was spendingrecess at college. Just the thing--he would call on Doyle!

It was not until he was halfway downstairs that he remembered the book. Hewent back for it, two steps at a time. Out in the street, with the fluffyflakes against his face, he felt better. After all, there was no use ingetting grouchy over his disappointment; Phil would keep; and so wouldPhil's sister, at least until Easter; or, better yet, he would get Phil totake him home with him over Sunday some time. He was passing the shops now, and stopped before a jeweler's window, his eye caught by a ratherjolly-looking paper knife in gun metal. He had made his purchases forChristmas and had already dispatched them, but the paper knife lookedattractive and, if there was no one to give it to, he could keep ithimself. So he passed into the shop, and purchased it. 

"Put it into a box, will you?" he requested. "I may want to send it away. "

Out on the avenue again, his thoughts reverted to his prospective host. Thevisit had elements of humor. He had known Doyle at preparatory school, andsince then, at college, had maintained the acquaintance in a casual way. Heliked Doyle, always had, just as any man must like an honest, earnest, gentlemanly fellow, whether their paths run parallel or cross only at rareintervals. He and Doyle were not at all in the same coterie, Satherwaite'sfriends were the richest, and sometimes the laziest, men in college;Doyle's were--well, presumably men who, like himself, had only enough moneyto scrape through from September to June, who studied hard for degrees, whose viewpoint of university life must, of necessity, be widely separatedfrom Satherwaite's. As for visiting Doyle, Satherwaite could not rememberever having been in his room but once, and that was long ago, in theirFreshman year. 

Satherwaite had to climb two flights of steep and very narrow stairs, andwhen he stood at Doyle's door, he thought he must have made a mistake. Fromwithin came the sounds of very unstudious revelry, laughter, a snatch ofsong, voices raised in good-natured argument. Satherwaite referred again tothe fly leaf of the notebook; there was no error. He knocked and, inobedience to a cheery "Come in!" entered. 

He found himself in a small study, shabbily furnished, but cheerful andhomelike by reason of the leaping flames in the grate and the blue haze oftobacco smoke that almost hid its farther wall. About the room sat six men, their pipes held questioningly away from their mouths and their eyes fixedwonderingly, half resentfully, upon the intruder. But what caught and heldSatherwaite's gaze was a tiny Christmas tree, scarcely three feet high, which adorned the center of the desk. Its branches held toy candles, as yetunlighted, and were festooned with strings of crimson cranberries andcolored popcorn, while here and there a small package dangled amidst thegreenery. 

"How are you, Satherwaite?"

Doyle, tall, lank and near-sighted, arose and moved forward, withoutstretched hand. He was plainly embarrassed, as was every other occupantof the study, Satherwaite included. The laughter and talk had subsided. Doyle's guests politely removed their gaze from the newcomer, and returnedtheir pipes to their lips. But the newcomer was intruding, and knew it, andhe was consequently embarrassed. Embarrassment, like boredom, was a novelsensation to him, and he speedily decided that he did not fancy it. He heldout Doyle's book. 

"I brought this back, old man. I don't know how I came to forget it. I'mawfully sorry, you know; it was so very decent of you to lend it to me. Awfully sorry, really. "

Doyle murmured that it didn't matter, not a particle; and wouldn'tSatherwaite sit down?

No, Satherwaite couldn't stop. He heard the youth in the fadedcricket-blazer tell the man next to him, in a stage aside, that this was"Satherwaite, '02, an awful swell, you know. " Satherwaite again declaredthat he could not remain. 

Doyle said he was sorry; they were just having a little--a sort of aChristmas-eve party, you know. He blushed while he explained, and wonderedwhether Satherwaite thought them a lot of idiots, or simply a parcel ofsentimental kids. Probably Satherwaite knew some of the fellows? he wenton. 

Satherwaite studied the assemblage, and replied that he thought not, thoughhe remembered having seen several of them at lectures and things. Doylemade no move toward introducing his friends to Satherwaite, and, to relievethe momentary silence that followed, observed that he supposed it wasgetting colder. Satherwaite replied, absently, that he hadn't noticed, butthat it was still snowing. The youth in the cricket-blazer fidgeted in hischair. Satherwaite was thinking. 

Of course, he was not wanted there; he realized that. Yet, he was of half amind to stay. The thought of his empty room dismayed him. The cheer andcomfort before him appealed to him forcibly. And, more than all, he waspossessed of a desire to vindicate himself to this circle of narrow-mindedcritics. Great Scott! just because he had some money and went with someother fellows who also had money, he was to be promptly labeled "snob, " andtreated with polite tolerance only. By Jove, he would stay, if only topunish them for their narrowness!

"You're sure I shan't be intruding, Doyle?" he asked. 

Doyle gasped in amazement. Satherwaite removed his coat. A shiver ofconsternation passed through the room. Then the host found his tongue. 

"Glad to have you. Nothing much doing. Few friends, Quiet evening. Let metake your coat. "

Introductions followed. The man in the cricket-blazer turned out to beDoak, '03, the man who had won the Jonas Greeve scholarship; a small youthwith eaglelike countenance was Somers, he who had debated so brilliantlyagainst Princeton; a much-bewhiskered man was Ailworth, of the Law School;Kranch and Smith, both members of Satherwaite's class, completed the party. Satherwaite shook hands with those within reach, and looked for a chair. Instantly everyone was on his feet; there was a confused chorus of "Takethis, won't you?" Satherwaite accepted a straight-backed chair with part ofits cane seat missing, after a decent amount of protest; then a heavy, discouraging silence fell. Satherwaite looked around the circle. Everyonesave Ailworth and Doyle was staring blankly at the fire. Ailworth droppedhis eyes gravely; Doyle broke out explosively with:

"Do you smoke, Satherwaite?"

"Yes, but I'm afraid--" he searched his pockets perfunctorily--"I haven'tmy pipe with me. " His cigarette case met his searching fingers, but somehowcigarettes did not seem appropriate. 

"I'm sorry, " said Doyle, "but I'm afraid I haven't an extra one. Any of youfellows got a pipe that's not working?"

Murmured regrets followed. Doak, who sat next to Satherwaite, put a hand inhis coat pocket, and viewed the intruder doubtingly from around the cornersof his glasses. 

"It doesn't matter a bit, " remarked Satherwaite heartily. 

"I've got a sort of a pipe here, " said Doak, "if you're not overparticularwhat you smoke. "

Satherwaite received the pipe gravely. It was a blackened briar, whose bowlwas burned halfway down on one side, from being lighted over the gas, andwhose mouthpiece, gnawed away in long usage, had been reshaped with aknife. Satherwaite examined it with interest, rubbing the bowl gently onhis knee. He knew, without seeing, that Doak was eying him with mingleddefiance and apology, and wondering in what manner a man who was used tomeerschaums and gold-mounted briars would take the proffer of his worn-outfavorite; and he knew, too, that all the others were watching. He placedthe stem between his lips, and drew on it once or twice, with satisfaction. 

"It seems a jolly old pipe, " he said; "I fancy you must be rather fond ofit. Has anyone got any 'baccy?"

Five pouches were tendered instantly. 

Satherwaite filled his pipe carefully. He had won the first trick, he toldhimself, and the thought was pleasurable. The conversation had started upagain, but it was yet perfunctory, and Satherwaite realized that he wasstill an outsider. Doyle gave him the opportunity he wanted. 

"Isn't it something new for you to stay here through recess?" he asked. 

Then Satherwaite told about Phil's Aunt Louise and the telegram; about hisdismal dinner at the restaurant and the subsequent flight from the tomblikesilence of the club; how he had decided, in desperation, to clean up hisstudy, and how he had come across Doyle's notebook. He told it rather well;he had a reputation for that sort of thing, and to-night he did his best. He pictured himself to his audience on the verge of suicide frommelancholia, and assured them that this fate had been averted only throughhis dislike of being found lifeless amid such untidy surroundings. Hedecked the narrative with touches of drollery, and was rewarded with thegrins that overspread the faces of his hearers. Ailworth noddedappreciatingly, now and then, and Doak even slapped his knee once andgiggled aloud. Satherwaite left out all mention of Phil's sister, naturally, and ended with:

"And so, when I saw you fellows having such a Christian, comfortable sortof a time, I simply couldn't break away again. I knew I was risking gettingmyself heartily disliked, and really I wouldn't blame you if you arose _enmasse_ and kicked me out. But I am desperate. Give me some tobacco fromtime to time, and just let me sit here and listen to you; it will, be akindly act to a homeless orphan. "

"Shut up!" said Doyle heartily; "we're glad to have you, of course. " Theothers concurred. "We--we're going to light up the tree after a bit. We doit every year, you know. It's kind of--of Christmassy when you don't gethome for the holidays, you see. We give one another little presentsand--and have rather a bit of fun out of it. Only--" he hesitateddoubtfully--"only I'm afraid it may bore you awfully. "

"Bore me!" cried Satherwaite; "why, man alive, I should think it would bethe jolliest sort of a thing. It's just like being kids again. " He turnedand observed the tiny tree with interest. 

"And do you mean that you all give one another presents, and keep itsecret, and--and all that?"

"Yes; just little things, you know, " answered Doak deprecatingly. 

"It's the nearest thing to a real Christmas that I've known for sevenyears, " said Ailworth gravely. Satherwaite observed him wonderingly. 

"By Jove!" he murmured; "seven years! Do you know, I'm glad now I am goinghome, instead of to Sterner's for Christmas. A fellow ought to be with hisown folks, don't you think?"

Everybody said yes heartily and there was a moment of silence in the room. Presently Kranch, whose home was in Michigan, began speaking reminiscentlyof the Christmases he had spent when a lad in the pine woods. He made theothers feel the cold and the magnitude of the pictures he drew, and, for aspace, Satherwaite was transported to a little lumber town in a clearing, and stood by excitedly, while a small boy in jeans drew woolenmittens--wonderful ones of red and gray--from out a Christmas stocking. AndSomers told of a Christmas he had once spent in a Quebec village; andAilworth followed him with an account of Christmas morning in a Maine-coastfishing town. 

Satherwaite was silent. He had no Christmases of his own to tell about;they would have been sorry, indeed, after the others; Christmases in a bigPhiladelphia house, rather staid and stupid days, as he remembered themnow, days lacking in any delightful element of uncertainty, but filled withwonderful presents so numerous that the novelty had worn away from them erebedtime. He felt that, somehow, he had been cheated out of a pleasure whichshould have been his. 

The tobacco pouches went from hand to hand. Christmas-giving had alreadybegun; and Satherwaite, to avoid disappointing his new friends, had tosmoke many more pipes than was good for him. Suddenly they found themselvesin darkness, save for the firelight. Doyle had arisen stealthily and turnedout the gas. Then, one by one, the tiny candles flickered and flared bluelyinto flame. Some one pulled the shades from before the two windows, and theroom was hushed. Outside they could see the flakes falling silently, steadily, between them and the electric lights that shone across theavenue. It was a beautiful, cold, still world of blue mists. A gong clangedsoftly, and a car, well-nigh untenanted, slid by beneath them, its windows, frosted halfway up, flooding the snow with mellow light. Some one besideSatherwaite murmured gently:

"Good old Christmas!"

The spell was broken, Satherwaite sighed--why, he hardly knew--and turnedaway from the window. The tree was brilliantly lighted now, and the stringsof cranberries caught the beams ruddily. Doak stirred the fire, and Doyle, turning from a whispered consultation with some of the others, approachedSatherwaite. 

"Would you mind playing Santa Claus--give out the presents, you know; wealways do it that way?"

Satherwaite would be delighted; and, better to impersonate that famous oldgentleman, he turned up the collar of his jacket, and put each hand up theopposite sleeve, looking as benignant as possible the while. 

"That's fine!" cried Smith; "but hold on, you need a cap!"

He seized one from the window seat, a worn thing of yellowish-brown otter, and drew it down over Satherwaite's ears. The crowd applauded merrily. 

"Dear little boys and girls, " began Satherwaite in a quavering voice. 

"No girls!" cried Doak. 

"I want the cranberries!" cried Smith; "I love cranberries. "

"I get the popcorn, then!" That was the sedate Ailworth. 

"You'll be beastly sick, " said Doak, grinning jovially through his glasses. 

Satherwaite untied the first package from its twig. It bore theinscription, "For Little Willie Kranch. " Everyone gathered around while therecipient undid the wrappings, and laid bare a penwiper adorned with a tinycrimson football. Doak explained to Satherwaite that Kranch had playedfootball just once, on a scrub team, and had heroically carried the balldown a long field, and placed it triumphantly under his own goal posts. This accounted for the laughter that ensued. 

"Sammy Doak" received a notebook marked "Mathematics 3a. " The point of thisallusion was lost to Satherwaite, for Doak was too busy laughing to explainit. And so it went, and the room was in a constant roar of mirth. Doyle wasconferring excitedly with Ailworth across the room. By and by, he stoleforward, and, detaching one of the packages from the tree, erased and wroteon it with great secrecy. Then he tied it back again, and retired to thehearth, grinning expectantly, until his own name was called, and he wasshoved forward to receive a rubber pen-holder. 

Presently, Satherwaite, working around the Christmas tree, detached apackage, and frowned over the address. 

"Fellows, this looks like--like Satherwaite, but--" he viewed theassemblage in embarrassment--"but I fancy it's a mistake. "

"Not a bit, " cried Doyle; "that's just my writing. "

"Open it!" cried the others, thronging up to him. 

Satherwaite obeyed, wondering. Within the wrappers was a pocket memorandumbook, a simple thing of cheap red leather. Some one laughed uncertainly. Satherwaite, very red, ran his finger over the edges of the leaves, examined it long, as though he had never seen anything like it before, andplaced it in his waistcoat pocket. 

"I--I--" he began. 

"Chop it off!" cried some one joyously. 

"I'm awfully much obliged to--to whoever--"

"It's from the gang, " said Doyle. 

"With a Merry Christmas, " said Ailworth. 

"Thank you--gang, " said Satherwaite. 

The distribution went on, but presently, when all the rest were crowdingabout Somers, Satherwaite whipped a package from his pocket and, writing onit hurriedly, was apparently in the act of taking it from the tree, whenthe others turned again. 

"Little Harry Doyle, " he read gravely. 

Doyle viewed the package in amazement. He had dressed the tree himself. 

"Open it up, old man!"

When he saw the gun-metal paper knife, he glanced quickly at Satherwaite. He was very red in the face. Satherwaite smiled back imperturbably. Theknife went from hand to hand, awakening enthusiastic admiration. 

"But, I say, old man, who gave--?" began Smith. 

"I'm awfully much obliged, Satherwaite, " said Doyle, "but, really, Icouldn't think of taking--"

"Chop it off!" echoed Satherwaite. "Look here, Doyle, it isn't the sort ofthing I'd give you from choice; it's a useless sort of toy, but I justhappened to have it with me; bought it in the square on the way to give tosome one, I didn't know who, and so, if you don't mind, I wish you'd acceptit, you know. It'll do to put on the table or--open cans with. If you'drather not take it, why, chuck it out of the window!"

"It isn't that, " cried Doyle; "it's only that it's much too fine----"

"Oh, no, it isn't, " said Satherwaite. "Now, then, where's 'Little AlfieAilworth'?"

Small candy canes followed the packages, and the men drew once more aroundthe hearth, munching the pink and white confectionery enjoyingly. Smithinsisted upon having the cranberries, and wore them around his neck. Thepopcorn was distributed equally, and the next day, in the parlor car, Satherwaite drew his from a pocket together with his handkerchief. 

Some one struck up a song, and Doyle remembered that Satherwaite had beenin the Glee Club. There was an instant clamor for a song, and Satherwaite, consenting, looked about the room. 

"Haven't any thump box, " said Smith. "Can't you go it alone?"

Satherwaite thought he could, and did. He had a rich tenor voice, and hesang all the songs he knew. When it could be done, by hook or by crook, theothers joined in the chorus; not too loudly, for it was getting late andproctors have sharp ears. When the last refrain had been repeated for thethird time, and silence reigned for the moment, they heard the bell in thenear-by tower. They counted its strokes; eight--nine--ten--eleven--twelve. 

"Merry Christmas, all!" cried Smith. 

In the clamor that ensued, Satherwaite secured his coat and hat. He shookhands all around. Smith insisted upon sharing the cranberries with him, andso looped a string gracefully about his neck. When Satherwaite backed outthe door he still held Doak's pet pipe clenched between his teeth, andDoak, knowing it, said not a word. 

"Hope you'll come back and see us, " called Doyle. 

"That's right, old man, don't forget us!" shouted Ailworth. 

And Satherwaite, promising again and again not to, stumbled his way downthe dark stairs. 

Outside, he glanced gratefully up at the lighted panes. Then he grinned, and, scooping a handful of snow, sent it fairly against the glass. Instantly, the windows banged up, and six heads thrust themselves out. 

"Good night! Merry Christmas, old man! Happy New Year!"

Something smashed softly against Satherwaite's cheek. He looked back. Theywere gathering snow from the ledges and throwing snowballs after him. 

"Good shot!" he called. "Merry Christmas!"

The sound of their cries and laughter followed him far down the avenue. 

THE TRIPLE PLAY

"If they hadn't gone and made Don captain last year, " said Satterlee, 2d, plaintively. "That's where the trouble is. "

"How do you mean?" asked Tom Pierson, looking up in a puzzled way from thehole he was digging in the turf in front of the school hall. 

"Why, " answered Satterlee, 2d, with a fine air of wisdom, "I mean that itdoesn't do for a fellow to have his brother captain. Don's been so afraidof showing me favoritism all spring that he hasn't given me even a fairchance. When I came out for the nine in March and tried for second he wasworried to death. "Look here, Kid, " he said, "there's no use your wantingto play on second because there's Henen and Talbot after it. " "Well, how doyou know I can't play second as well as they?" says I. He was--washorrified. That's it; a fellow can't understand how a member of his ownfamily can do anything as well as some one else. See what I mean?"

Tom Pierson nodded doubtfully. 

"'You try for a place in the outfield, ' said Don. 'But I don't want to playin the outfield. ' I told him. But it didn't make any difference. 'There'sthree fellows for every infield position. ' said Don, 'and I'm not going tohave the fellows accuse me of boosting my kid brother over their heads. 'Well, so I did as he said. Of course I didn't have any show. There wasWilliams and Beeton and 'Chick' Meyer who could do a heap better than Icould. They'd played in the outfield ail their lives and I'd always been atsecond--except one year that I caught when I was a kid. Well, maybe nextyear I'll have a better show, for a whole lot of this year's team graduateto-morrow. Wish I did. "

"I don't, " said Tom. "I like it here. I think Willard's the best school inthe country. "

"So do I, of course, " answered Satterlee, 2d. "But don't you want to get upto college?"

"I'm in no hurry; you see, there's math; I'm not doing so badly at it nowsince Bailey has been helping me, but I don't believe I could pass thecollege exam in it. "

"You and 'Old Crusty' seem awfully thick these days, " mused the other. "Wish he'd be as easy on me as he is on you. You were fishing togetheryesterday, weren't you?"

Tom nodded. "Sixteen trout, " he said promptly. 

"Wish I'd been along, " sighed Satterlee, 2d. "All I caught was flies duringpractice. Then when they played the second I sat on the bench as usual andlooked on. "

"But Don will put you in this afternoon, won't he?"

"I dare say he will; for the last inning maybe. What good's that? Nothingever happens to a chap in center field. And when a fellow's folks come tovisit him he naturally wants to--to show off a bit. "

Tom nodded sympathetically. 

"Hard lines, " he said. "But why don't you ask your brother to give you afair show; put you in the sixth or something like that?"

"Because I won't. He doesn't think I can play baseball. I don't care. OnlyI hope--I hope we get beaten!"

"No, you don't. "

"How do you know?" asked the other morosely. 

"Because you couldn't, " Tom replied. "Is 'Curly' going to pitch?"

"No, Durham's agreed not to play any of her faculty. Willings is going topitch. I'll bet"--his face lost some of its gloom--"I'll bet it will be adandy game!"

"Who's going to win?" asked Tom anxiously. 

"You can search me!" answered Satterlee, 2d, cheerfully. "Durham's lostonly two games this season, one to St. Eustace and one to us. And we'velost only the first game with Durham. There you are, Tommy; you can figureit out for yourself. But we won last year and it's safe to say Durham'sgoing to work like thunder to win this. What time is it?"

"Twenty minutes to twelve, " answered Tom. 

"Gee! I've got to find Don and go over to the station to meet the folks. Want to come along? Dad and the mater would like to meet you; you see I'vesaid a good deal about you in my letters. "

"Won't I be in the way?"

"Not a bit. In fact--" Satterlee, 2d, hesitated and grinned--"in fact, itwould make it more comfortable if you would come along. You see, Tom, Donand I aren't very chummy just now; I--I gave him a piece of my mind lastnight; and he threw the hairbrush at me. " He rubbed the side of his headreflectively. Tom laughed and sprang to his feet. 

"All right, " he said. "I'll go, if just to keep you two from fighting. We'll have to hurry, though; you don't want to forget that dinner's half anhour earlier to-day. "

"Guess you never knew me to forget dinner time, did you?" asked Satterlee, 2d, with a laugh. 

Three hours later the two boys sat nursing their knees on the terrace abovethe playground. Behind them in camp chairs sat Mr. And Mrs. Satterlee. Toright and left stretched a line of spectators, the boys of Willard's and ofDurham surrounded by their friends and relatives. Tomorrow was graduationday at the school and mothers and fathers and sisters and elderbrothers--many of the latter "old boys"--were present in numbers. At thefoot of the terrace, near first base, a red and white striped awning hadbeen erected and from beneath its shade the principal, Doctor Willard, together with the members of the faculty and their guests, sat and watchedthe deciding game of the series. The red of Willard's was predominant, buthere and there a dash of blue, the color of the rival academy, was to beseen. On a bench over near third base a line of blue-stockinged playersawaited their turns at bat, for it was the last half of the third inningand Willard's was in the field. Behind the spectators arose the ivy-drapedfront of the school hall and above them a row of elms cast grateful shade. Before them, a quarter of a mile distant, the broad bosom of the riverflashed and sparkled in the afternoon sunlight. But few had eyes for that, for Durham had two men on bases with two out and one of her heavy hitterswas at bat. Thus far there had been no scoring and now there was abreathless silence as Willings put the first ball over the plate. 

"Strike!" droned the umpire, and a little knot of boys on the bank wavedred banners and cheered delightedly. Then ball and bat came together andthe runner was speeding toward first. But the hit had been weak and longbefore he reached the bag the ball was snuggling in Donald Satterlee'smitten, and up on the terrace the Willardians breathed their relief. Thenines changed sides. 

"That's Fearing, our catcher, going to bat, sir, " said Satterlee, 2d, looking around at his father. Mr. Satterlee nodded and transferred hiswandering attention to the youth in question. Mr. Satterlee knew verylittle about the game and was finding it difficult to display the properamount of interest. Mrs. Satterlee, however, smiled enthusiastically ateverything and everybody and succeeded in conveying the impression that shewas breathlessly interested in events. 

"Er--is he going to hit the ball?" asked Mr. Satterlee in a heroic endeavorto rise to the requirements of the occasion. 

"He's going to try, " answered his youngest son with a smile. "But he isn'tgoing to succeed, I guess, " he muttered a minute later. For the catcher hadtwo strikes called on him and was still at the plate. Then all doubt wasremoved. He tossed aside his bat and turned back to the bench. 

"And who is that boy?" asked Mrs. Satterlee. 

"That's Cook, " answered Tom. "He plays over there, you know; he'sshortstop. "

"Of course, " murmured the lady. "I knew I had seen him. "

Cook reached first, more by good luck than good playing, and the Willardsupporters found their voices again. Then came Brown, third base-man, andwas thrown out at first after having advanced Cook to second. 

"Here comes Don, " announced his younger brother with a trace of envy in histones. 

"I do hope he'll hit the ball!" cried his mother. 

"Oh, he'll hit it all right, " answered Satterlee, 2d, "only maybe he won'thit it hard enough. "

Nor did he. Durham's third baseman gathered in the short fly that thebatsman sent up and so ended the inning. 

"Something's going to happen now, I'll bet, " said Tom. "Carpenter's up. "

"He didn't do much last time, " objected Satterlee, 2d, "even if he is sucha wonder. Willings struck him out dead easy. "

Carpenter, who played third base for the visitors, was a tall, light-hairedyouth with a reputation for batting prowess. In the first game of theseries between the two schools Carpenter's hitting had been the decidingfeature. Three one-baggers, a two-bagger, and a home-run had been creditedto him when the game was over, and it was the home-run, smashed out with aman on third in the eighth inning, which had defeated Willard's. In thesecond game, played a fortnight ago, Carpenter had been noticeably out ofform, which fact had not a little to do with Willard's victory. To-day thelong-limbed gentleman, despite his retirement on the occasion of his firstmeeting with Willings, was in fine fettle, and scarcely had Satterlee, 2d, concluded his remark when there was a sharp _crack_ and the white spherewas skimming second baseman's head. It was a clean, well-placed hit, andeven the wearers of the blue had to applaud a little. Carpenter's long legstwinkled around the bases and he was safe at third before the ball hadreturned to the infield. Then things began to happen. As though the spellhad been broken by the third baseman's three-bagger, the followingDurhamites found the ball, man after man, and ere the inning was at an end, the score book told a different tale. On Durham's page stood four tallies;Willard's was still empty. And Willard's supporters began to look uneasy. Then there was no more scoring until the sixth inning, when a single byDonald Satterlee brought in Cook who had been taking big risks on secondand who reached the plate a fraction of a second ahead of the ball. Willard's got the bases full that inning and for a time it seemed that theywould tie the score, but Beeton popped a fly into shortstop's hands andtheir hopes were dashed. 

Durham started their half of the sixth with Carpenter up and thatdependable youth slammed out a two-base hit at once. The flaunters of thered groaned dismally. Then the Durham pitcher fouled out and the next manadvanced Carpenter but was put out at first. Willard's breathed easier andtook hope. Over on third base Carpenter was poised, ready to speed home asfast as his long legs would carry him. Willings, who had so far pitched aremarkable game, suddenly went "into the air. " Perhaps it was the coachingback of third, perhaps it was Carpenter's disconcerting rushes andhand-clapping. At all events, the Durham first baseman, who was acool-headed youth, waited politely and patiently and so won the privilegeof trotting to first on four balls. Fearing, Willard's catcher, walked downto Willings, and the two held a whispered conversation. They didn't lay anyplots, for all Fearing wanted to do was to steady the pitcher. 

Then came a strike on the next batsman, and the Willardians cheeredhopefully. Two balls followed, and Carpenter danced about delightedly atthird and the two coaches hurled taunting words at the pitcher. The man onfirst was taking a long lead, pretty certain that Willings would not dareto throw lest Carpenter score. But Willings believed in doing theunexpected. Unfortunately, although he turned like a flash and shot theball to Satterlee, the throw was wide. The captain touched it with hisoutstretched fingers but it went by. The runner sped toward second andCarpenter raced home. But Beeton, right-fielder, had been wide-awake. AsWillings turned he ran in to back up Satterlee, found the ball on a lowbounce and, on the run, sent it to the plate so swiftly that Fearing wasable to catch Carpenter a yard away from it. The Durham third basemanpicked himself up, muttering his opinion of the proceedings and lookingvery cross. But what he said wasn't distinguishable, for up on the terracethe red flags were waving wildly and the boys of Willard's were shoutingthemselves hoarse. 

When, in the beginning of the seventh inning, Durham took the field andWillings went to bat, Captain Don Satterlee came up the bank and threwhimself on the grass by his father's side. He looked rather worried andvery warm. 

"Well, my boy, " said Mr. Satterlee, "I guess you're in for a licking thistime, eh?"

"I'm afraid so, " was the morose reply. "We can't seem to find their pitcherfor a cent. " He turned to his brother. "I'll put you in for the ninth, ifyou like, " he said. 

"Oh, don't trouble yourself, " answered the other. "You've got along withoutme so far and I guess you can finish. "

"Well, you needn't be so huffy, " answered the elder. "You can play or not, just as you like. But you don't have to be ugly about it. "

"I'm not, " muttered Satterlee, 2d. 

"Sounds mighty like it. Want to play?"

The other hesitated, swallowed once or twice and kicked the turf with hisheel. 

"Of course he wants to play, Don, " said Tom Pierson. "Give him a chance, like a good chap. "

"Well, I've offered him a chance, haven't I?" asked Don ungraciously. "Iguess it doesn't make much difference who plays this game. " He scowled atWillings who had been thrown out easily at first and was now discouragedlywalking back to the bench. "You can take Williams's place when the ninthbegins, " he added, turning to his brother. The latter nodded silently. Aslightly built, sandy-haired man, with bright blue eyes and a look ofauthority, approached the group and Don, with a muttered apology, joinedhim. 

"That's our coach, " explained Tom to Mrs. Satterlee. "He's instructor inGreek and German, and he's a peach! The fellows call him 'Curly' on accountof his hair. He pitched for us last year and he won the game, too! I guesshe and Don are trying to find some way out of the hole they're in. Ifanyone can do it he can, can't he?"

Thus appealed to, Satterlee, 2d, came out of his reverie. 

"Yes, I guess so. I wish he was pitching, that's all I wish! I'll betCarpenter wouldn't make any more of those hits of his!"

Willard's third out came and once more the teams changed places. The sunwas getting low and the shadows on the terrace were lengthening. Durhamstarted out with a batting streak and almost before anyone knew it thebases were full with but one out. Then, just when things were at theirgloomiest, a short hit to second baseman resulted in a double play, andonce more Willard's found cause for delight and acclaim. 

The eighth inning opened with Don Satterlee at bat. Luck seemed for amoment to have made up its mind to favor the home team. An in-shoot caughtthe batsman on the thigh and he limped to first. Meyer--"Chick" Meyer, asTom triumphantly explained--sent him to second and gained first forhimself, owing to an error. Then came an out. Beeton followed with ascratch hit just back of shortstop and the bases were full. Up on theterrace the cheering was continuous. Williams was struck out. Then cameWillings with a short hit past third and Don scored. And the bases werestill full. But the next man flied out to left fielder and the cheeringdied away. But 2 to 4 was better than 1 to 4, and the supporters of thehome team derived what comfort they could from the fact. 

In the last of the eighth, the doughty Carpenter started things going bytaking first on balls. It was apparent that "Willings had given it to him"rather than risk a long hit. The next man was less fortunate and was thrownout after a neat sacrifice which put Carpenter on second. Then a pop-flywas muffed by Willings and there were men on first and second. But afterthat Willings, as though to atone for an inexcusable error, settled down towork and struck out the next two Durhamites, and the red flags weresuddenly crazy. 

Satterlee, 2d, peeled off his sweater and trotted down to the bench. Theninth inning opened inauspiciously for the home nine. Willard's shortstopfell victim to the rival pitcher's curves and third baseman took his place. With two strikes called on him he found something he liked and let go atit. When the tumult was over he was sitting on second base. Don Satterleestepped up to the plate and the cheerers demanded a home-run. But the bestthe red's captain could do was a clean drive into right field that was goodfor one base for himself and a tally for the man on second. That made thescore 3 to 4. It seemed that at last fortune was to favor the red. Thecheering went on and on. Meyer sent the captain to second but was thrownout at first. Another tally would tie the score, but the players who werecoming to bat were the weakest hitters, and Willard's hopes began todwindle. But one can never tell what will happen in baseball, and whenFearing lined out a swift ball over second baseman's head and Don Satterleeromped home, the wearers of the red shrieked in mingled delight andsurprise. The score was tied. But there was more to come. Beeton waited, refusing all sorts of tempting bait, and during that waiting Fearing stolesecond. With three balls and two strikes called on him, Beeton let the nextone go by, and----

"Four balls!" decided the umpire. 

Satterlee, 2d, felt rather limp when he faced the pitcher. His heart waspounding somewhere up near his mouth and it made him feel uncomfortable. Down on second Fearing was watching him anxiously. On first Beeton wasdancing back and forth, while behind him Brother Don coaching hoarsely andthrowing doubtful glances in the direction of the plate. 

"He thinks I can't hit, " thought Satterlee, 2d, bitterly. "He's tellinghimself that if he'd left Williams in we might have tallied again. "

Satterlee, 2d, smarting under his brother's contempt, felt his nervessteady and when the second delivery came he was able to judge it and let itgo by. That made a ball and a strike. Then came another ball. They had toldhim to wait for a good one, and he was going to do it. And presently thegood one came. The pitcher had put himself in a hole; there were threeballs against him and only one strike. So now he sent a swift straight onefor a corner of the plate and Satterlee, 2d, watched it come and then swungto meet it. And in another moment he was streaking for his base, while outback of shortstop the left fielder was running in as fast as he might. Andwhile he ran Fearing and Beeton were flying around the bases. The ball cameto earth, was gathered up on its first bound and sped toward the plate. Butit reached the catcher too late, for Fearing and Beeton had tallied. Anddown at second a small youth was picking himself out of the dust. ButSatterlee never got any farther, for the next man struck out. No one seemedto care, however, except Satterlee, for the score had changed to 6-4, andthe 6 was Willard's!

But there was still a half inning to play and Durham had not lost hope. Hercenter fielder opened up with a hit and a moment later stole second. Thencame a mishap. Willings struck the batsman and, although Fearing claimedthat the batsman had not tried to avoid the ball, he was given his base. 

Things looked bad. There on second and first were Durham runners and here, stepping up to the plate with his bat grasped firmly in his hands, wasCarpenter, and there was none out. A two-base hit would surely tie thescore, while one of the home-runs of which Carpenter was believed to becapable--such a one as he made in the first game of the series--would sendWillard's into mourning. 

The terrace was almost deserted, for the spectators were lined along thepath to first base and beyond. Don was crying encouragement to his players, but from the way in which he moved restively about it could be seen that hewas far from easy in his mind. As for Satterlee, 2d--well, he was out incenter field, hoping for a chance to aid in warding off the defeat thatseemed inevitable, but fearing that his usefulness was over. Willingsturned and motioned the fielders back, and in obedience Satterlee, 2d, crept farther out toward the edge of the field. But presently, when a ballhad been delivered to the batsman, Satterlee, 2d, quite unconsciously, moved eagerly, anxiously in again, step by step. Then came a strike andCarpenter tapped the plate with the end of his bat and waited calmly. Another ball. Then a second strike. And for a brief moment Willard'sshouted hoarsely. And then----

Then there was a sharp sound of bat meeting ball and Carpenter was on hisway to first. The ball was a low fly to short center field and it wasevident that it would land just a little way back of second base. NeitherCarpenter nor the runners on first and second dreamed for a moment that itcould be caught. The latter players raced for home as fast as their legswould take them. 

Meanwhile in from center sped Satterlee, 2d. He could run hard when hetried and that's what he did now. He was almost too late--but not quite. His hands found the ball a bare six inches above the turf. Coming fast ashe was he had crossed second base before he could pull himself up. 

From all sides came wild shouts, instructions, commands, entreaties, aconfused medley of sounds. But Satterlee, 2d, needed no coaching. Therunner from second had crossed the plate and the one from first wasrounding third at a desperate pace, head down and arms and legs twinklingthrough the dust of his flight. Now each turned and raced frantically back, dismay written on their perspiring faces. But Satterlee, 2d, like animmovable Fate, stood in the path. The runner from first slowed downindecisively, feinted to the left and tried to slip by on the other side. But the small youth with the ball was ready for him and had tagged himbefore he had passed. Then Satterlee, 2d, stepped nimbly to second base, tapped it with his foot a moment before the other runner hurled himselfupon it, tossed the ball nonchalantly toward the pitcher's box and walkedtoward the bench. The game was over. 

But he never reached the bench that day. On the way around the field hecaught once a fleeting vision of Brother Don's red, grinning countenancebeaming commendation, and once a glimpse of the smiling faces of his fatherand mother. He strove to wave a hand toward the latter, but as it almostcost him his position on the shoulders of the shrieking fellows beneath, hegave it up. Social amenities might wait; at present he was tasting the joysof a victorious Caesar. 

THE DUB

"BRIGGS, Bayard Newlyn, Hammondsport, Ill. , I L, H 24. "

That's the way the catalogue put it. Mostly, though, he was called "Bi"Briggs. He was six feet and one inch tall and weighed one hundred andninety-four pounds, and was built by an all-wise Providence to play guard. Graduate coaches used to get together on the side line and figure out whatwe'd do to Yale if we had eleven men like Bi. 

Then after they'd watched Bi play a while they'd want to kick him. 

He got started all wrong, Bi did. He came to college from a Westernuniversity and entered the junior class. That was his first mistake. Afellow can't butt in at the beginning of the third year and expect to troteven with fellows who have been there two years. It takes a chap one yearto get shaken down and another year to get set up. By the time Bi waswriting his "life" he had just about learned the rules. 

His second mistake was in joining the first society that saw his name inthe catalogue. It was a poor frat, and it queered Bi right away. I guess hemade other mistakes, too, but those were enough. 

In his junior year Bi was let alone. He was taking about every course anyof us had ever heard of--and several we hadn't--and had no time forfootball. We got licked for keeps that fall, and after the _Crimson_ andthe _Bulletin_ and the _Graduates' Magazine_ and the newspapers had shownus just what ailed our system of coaching, we started to reorganize things. We hadn't reorganized for two years, and it was about time. The new coachwas a chap who hadn't made the Varsity when he was in college, but who wassupposed to have football down to a fine point; to hear the fellows tellabout the new coach made you feel real sorry for Walter Camp. Well, hestarted in by kidnaping every man in college who weighed over a hundred andsixty-five. Bi didn't escape. Bi had played one year in the freshwatercollege at left tackle and knew a touchdown from a nose-guard, and that wasabout all. Bi was for refusing to have anything to do with football atfirst; said he was head-over-ears in study and hadn't the time. But theytold him all about his Duty to his College and Every Man into the Breach, and he relented. Bi was terribly good-natured. That was the main troublewith him. 

The fellows who did football for the papers fell in love with him on thespot. He was a good-looker, with sort of curly brown hair, nice eyes, aromantic nose, and cheeks like a pair of twenty-four-dollar AmericanBeauties, and his pictures looked fine and dandy in the papers. "BayardBriggs, Harvard's new candidate for guard, of whom the coaches expect greatthings. " That's the way they put it. And they weren't far wrong. Thecoaches did expect great things from Bi; so did the rest of us. When theytook Bi from the second and put him in at right guard on the Varsity we allapproved. 

But there was trouble right away. Bi didn't seem to fit. They swapped himover to left guard, then they tried him at right tackle, then at rightguard again. Then they placed him gently but firmly back on the second. AndBi was quite happy and contented and disinterested during it all. _He_didn't mind when six coaches gathered about him and demanded to know whatwas the matter with him. He just shook his head and assured themgood-naturedly that he didn't know; and intimated by his manner that hedidn't care. When he came back to the second he seemed rather glad; I thinkhe felt as though he had got back home after a hard trip. He stayed rightwith us all the rest of the season. 

I think the trouble was that Bi never got it fully into his fool head thatit wasn't just fun--like puss-in-the-corner or blind-man's-buff. If youtalked to him about Retrieving Last Year's Overwhelming Defeat he'd smilepleasantly and come back with some silly remark about Political Economy orGovernment or other poppycock. I fancy Bi's father had told him that he wascoming to college to study, and Bi believed him. 

Of course, he didn't go to New Haven with us, He didn't have time. I wishedafterwards that I hadn't had time myself. Yale trimmed us 23 to 6. 

The papers threshed it all out again, and all the old grads who weren't tooweak to hold pens wrote to the _Bulletin_ and explained where the troublelay. It looked for a while like another reorganization, but Cooper, the newcaptain, was different. He didn't get hysterical. Along about Christmastime, after everyone had got tired of guessing, he announced his new coach. His name was Hecker, and he had graduated so far back that the _Crimson_had to look up its old files to find out who he was. He had played righthalf two years, it seemed, but hadn't made any special hit, and Yale hadwon each year. The _Herald_ said he was a successful lawyer in Tonawanda, New York. He didn't show up for spring practice; couldn't leave his work, Cooper explained. Bi didn't come out either. He couldn't leave _his_ work. At the end of the year he graduated _summa cum laude_, or something likethat, and the _Crimson_ said he was coming back to the Law School and wouldbe eligible for the team. Just as though it mattered. 

We showed up a week before college began and had practice twice a day. Atthe end of that week we knew a whole lot about Hecker. He was aboutthirty-six, kind of thin, wore glasses, and was a terror for work. When wecrawled back to showers after practice we'd call him every name we couldthink of. And half an hour later, if we met him crossing the Square, we'dbe haughty and stuck-up for a week if he remembered our names. He was alittle bit of all right, was Hecker. He was one of the quiet kind. He'dalways say "please, " and if you didn't please mighty quick you'd be sittingon the bench all nicely snuggled up in a blanket before you knew what hadstruck you. That's the sort of Indian Hecker was, and we loved him. 

Ten days after college opened we had one hundred and twenty men on thefield. If Hecker heard of a likely chap and thought well of his looks, itwas all up with Mr. Chap. He was out on the gridiron biting holes in thesod before he knew it. That's what happened to Bi. One day Bi wasn't thereand the next day he was. 

We had two or three weeding-outs, and it got along toward the middle ofOctober, and Bi was still with us. We were shy on plunging halfs that falland so I got my chance at last. I had to fight hard, though, for I was upagainst Murray, last year's first sub. Then a provisional Varsity wasformed and the Second Team began doing business with Bi at right guardagain. The left guard on the Varsity was Bannen--"Slugger" Bannen. Hedidn't weigh within seven pounds of Bi, but he had springs inside of himand could get the jump on a flea. He was called "Slugger" because he lookedlike a prizefighter, but he was a gentle, harmless chap, and one of theEarnest Workers in the Christian Association. He could stick his fistthrough an oak panel same as you or I would put our fingers through a sheetof paper. And he did pretty much as he pleased with Bi. I'll bet, though, that Bi could have walked all over "Slugger" if he'd really tried. But hewas like an automobile and didn't know his own strength. 

We disposed of the usual ruck of small teams, and by the first of Novemberit was mighty plain that we had the best Eleven in years. But we didn'ttalk that way, and the general impression was that we had another one ofthe Beaten But Not Humiliated sort. 

A week before we went to Philadelphia I had a streak of good luck andsqueezed Murray out for keeps. Penn had a dandy team that year and we hadto work like anything to bring the ball home. It was nip and tuck to theend of the first half, neither side scoring. Then we went back and begankicking, and Cooper had the better of the other chap ten yards on a punt. Finally we got down to their twenty yards, and Saunders and I pulled ineight more of it. Then we took our tackles back and hammered out the onlyscore. But that didn't send our stock up much, because folks didn't knowhow good Penn was. But the Eli's coaches who saw the game weren't fooled alittle bit; only, as we hadn't played anything but the common or gardenvariety of football, they didn't get much to help them. We went back toCambridge and began to learn the higher branches. 

We were coming fast now, so fast that Hecker got scary and laid half theteam off for a day at a time. And that's how Bi got his chance again, andthrew it away just as he had last year. He played hard, but--oh, I don'tknow. Some fellow wrote once that unless you had football instinct you'dnever make a real top-notcher. I think maybe that's so. Maybe Bi didn'thave football instinct. Though I'll bet if some one had hammered it intohis head that it was business and not a parlor entertainment, he'd havebuckled down and done something. It wasn't that he was afraid ofpunishment; he'd take any amount and come back smiling. I came out of theLocker Building late that evening and Hecker and Cooper were just ahead ofme. 

"What's the matter with this man"--Hecker glanced at his notebook--"thisman Briggs?" he asked. 

"Briggs?" answered Cooper. "He's a dub; that's all--just a dub. "

That described him pretty well, I thought. By dub we didn't mean just a manwho couldn't play the game; we meant a man who knew how to play andwouldn't; a chap who couldn't be made to understand. Bi was a dub of thefirst water. 

We didn't have much trouble with Dartmouth that year. It was before she gotsassy and rude. Then there were two weeks of hard practice before the Yalegame. We had a new set of signals to learn and about half a dozen newplays. The weather got nice and cold and Hecker made the most of it. Wedidn't have time to feel chilly. One week went by, and then--it was aSunday morning, I remember--it came out that Corson, the Varsity rightguard, had been protested by Yale. It seemed that Corson had won a prize oftwo dollars and fifty cents about five years before for throwing the hammerat a picnic back in Pennsylvania. Well, there was a big shindy and theathletic committee got busy and considered his case. But Hecker didn't waitfor the committee to get through considering. He just turned Corson out andput in Blake, the first sub. On Tuesday the committee declared Corsonineligible and Blake sprained his knee in practice! With Corson and Blakeboth out of it, Hecker was up against it. He tried shifting "Slugger"Bannen over to right and putting the full back at left. Jordan, the Yaleleft guard, was the best in the world, and we needed a man that could standup against him. But "Slugger" was simply at sea on the right side of centerand so had to be put back again. After that the only thing in sight thatlooked the least bit like a right guard was Bayard Newlyn Briggs. 

They took Bi and put him on the Varsity, and forty-'leven coaches stoodover his defenseless form and hammered football into him for eight solidhours on Wednesday and Thursday. And Bi took it all like a little woollylamb, without a bleat. But it just made you sick to think what was going tohappen to Bi when Jordan got to work on him!

We had our last practice Thursday, and that night we went to the Union andheard speeches and listened to the new songs. Pretty poor they were too;but that's got nothing to do with the story. Friday we mooned around untilafternoon and then had a few minutes of signal practice indoors. Bi lookeda little bit worried, I thought. Maybe it was just beginning to dawn on Methat it wasn't all a lark. 

What happened next morning I learned afterwards from Bi. Hecker sent forhim to come to his room, put him in a nice easy-chair, and then sat down infront of him. And he talked. 

"I've sent for you, Mr. Briggs, " began Hecker in his quiet way, "because ithas occurred to me that you don't altogether understand what we are goingto do this afternoon. "

Bi looked surprised. 

"Play Yale, sir?"

"Incidentally; yes. But we are going to do more than play her; we are goingto beat her to a standstill; we are going to give her a drubbing that shewill look back upon for several years with painful emotion. It isn't oftenthat we have an opportunity to beat Yale, and I propose to make the best ofthis one. So kindly disabuse your mind of the idea that we are merely goingout to play a nice, exhilarating game of football. We are going to simplywipe up the earth with Yale!"

"Indeed?" murmured Bi politely. 

"Quite so, " answered the coach dryly, "I suppose you know that yourpresence on the team is a sheer accident? If you don't, allow me to tellyou candidly that if there had been anyone else in the college to put inCorson's place, we would never have called on you, Mr. Briggs. "

He let that soak in a minute. Then:

"Have you ever heard of this man Jordan who will play opposite you to-day?"he asked. 

"Yes, sir; a very good player, I understand. "

"A good player! My dear fellow, he's the best guard on a college team intwenty years. And you are going to play opposite him. Understand that?"

"Er--certainly, " answered Bi, getting a bit uneasy. 

"What are you going to do about it?"

"Do? Why, I shall do the best I can, Mr. Hecker. I don't suppose I am anymatch for Jordan, but I shall try----"

"Stop that! Don't you dare talk to me of doing the best you can!" said thecoach, shaking a finger under Bi's nose--"for all the world, " as Bi told meafterwards, "as though he was trying to make me mad!" "'Best you can' behanged! You've got to do better than you can, a hundred per cent betterthan you can, ever did, or ever will again! That's what you've got to do!You've got to fight from the first whistle to the last without a let-up!You've got to remember every instant that if you don't, we are going to bebeaten! You've got to make Jordan look like a base imitation before thefirst half is over! That's what you've got to do, my boy!"

"But it isn't fair!" protested Bi. "You know yourself that Jordan canoutplay me, sir!"

"I know it? I know nothing of the sort. Look at yourself! Look at yourweight and your build! Look at those arms and legs of yours! Look at thosemuscles! And you dare to sit there, like a squeaking kid, and tell me thatJordan can outplay you! What have you got your strength for? What have wepounded football into you for?"

Over went his chair and he was shaking his finger within an inch of Bi'sface, his eyes blazing behind his glasses. 

"Shall I tell you what's the matter with you, Briggs? Shall I tell you whywe wouldn't have chosen you if there had been anyone else? Because you're acoward--a rank, measly coward, sir!"

Bi's face went white and he got up slowly out of his chair. 

"That will do, sir, " he said softly, like a tiger-puss purring. "You'vedone what no one else has ever done, Mr. Hecker. You've called me a coward. You're in authority and I have no redress--now. But after to-day--" Hestopped and laughed unpleasantly. "I'll see you again, sir. "

"Heroics!" sneered the coach. "They don't impress me, sir. I've said you'rea coward, and I stand by it. I repeat it. You are a coward, Briggs, anarrant coward. "

Bi gripped his hands and tried to keep the tears back. 

"Coward, am I? What are you, I'd like to know? What are you when you takeadvantage of your position to throw insults at me? If you weren't the headcoach, I'd--I'd----"

"What would you do?" sneered Hecker. 

"I'd kill you!" blazed Bi. "And I'll do it yet, you--you----"

"Tut, tut! That's enough, Briggs. You can't impose on me that way. Ihaven't watched you play football all the fall to be taken in now by yourmelodrama. But after to-day you will find me quite at your service, Mr. --Coward. And meanwhile we'll call this interview off, if you please. The door, Mr. Briggs!"

Bi seized his hat from the table and faced Hecker. He was smiling now, smiling with a white, set, ugly face. 

"Perhaps I am wrong, " he said softly with a little laugh. "I think I am. Either that or you are lying. For if you are really willing to meet meafter to-day's game you are no coward, sir. "

Then he went out. 

We lined up at two o'clock. 

There was a huge crowd and a band. I didn't mind the crowd, but that bandgot me worried so, that I couldn't do a thing the first ten minutes. It'sfunny how a little thing like that will queer your game. One fellow I knewonce was off his game the whole first half because some idiot was flying akite over the field advertising some one's pills. 

We had the ball and began hammering at the Yale line and kept it up untilwe had reached her fifteen yards. Then she got together and stopped us;held us for downs in spite of all we could do. Then she kicked and westarted it all over again. It wasn't exciting football to watch, maybe, butit was the real thing with us. We had to work--Lord, how we had to work!And how we did work, too! We made good the next time, but it took usfifteen minutes to get back down the field. Cooper himself went over forthat first touchdown. Maybe the crowd didn't shout! Talk about noise! I'dnever heard any before! It was so unexpected, you see, for almost everyonehad thought Yale was going to do her usual stunt and rip us to pieces. Butin that first half she was on the defensive every moment. Seven times shehad the ball in that first thirty-five minutes, but she could no more keepit than she could fly. Altogether she gained eighteen yards in that half. 

It was one-sided, if you like, but it was no picnic. It was hammer andtongs from first to last--man's work and lots of it. 

We didn't rely on tricks, but went at her center and guards and just worethem down. And when that first half was over--11-0 was the score--the gloryof one Jordan was as a last season's straw hat. A new star blazed in thefootball firmament; and it was in the constellation of Harvard and its namewas Bi Briggs. What I'm telling you is history, and you needn't take myword alone for it. I never really saw a man play guard before that day--andI'd watched lots of fellows try. Bi was a cyclone. To see him charge intoJordan--and get the jump on him every time--was alone worth the price ofadmission. And as for blocking, he was a stone wall, and that's all thereis to it. Never once did the Elis get through him. He held the line on hisside as stiff as a poker until quarter had got the ball away, and then hemixed things up with the redoubtable Jordan, and you could almost see thefur fly! Play? O my! He was simply great! And the rest of us, watching whenwe had a chance, just felt our eyes popping out. And all the time hesmiled; smiled when he went charging through the blue line, smiled when hetook Toppan on his shoulder and hurled him over the mix-up for six yards, smiled when we pulled him out of a pile-up looking like a badly butcheredbeef, and still smiled when we trotted of the field in a chaos of sound. But that smile wasn't pretty. I guess he was thinking most of the time ofHecker; and maybe sometimes he got Hecker and Jordan mixed up. 

When we came back for the second half we weren't yet out of the woods, andwe knew it. We knew that Yale would forget that she was bruised andbattered and tired and would play harder than ever. And she did. And forjust about ten minutes I wouldn't have bet a copper on the game. Yale hadus on the run and plugged away until we were digging our toes into ourtwelve-yard line. Then we held her. After that, although she still playedthe game as though she didn't know she was beaten, she was never dangerous. We scored twice more in that half. When there was still ten minutes of playthe whistle blew, and Jordan, white, groggy, and weepy about the eyes, wasdragged off the field. Bi had sure used him rough, but I'm not pretendingJordan hadn't come back at him. Bi's face was something fierce. The bloodhad dried in flakes under his nose, one eye was out of commission, and hislip was bleeding where his tooth had gone through it. But he still smiled. When we trotted off for the last time the score board said: "Harvard, 22;Opponents, 0. " And those blurry white figures up there paid for all thehard work of the year. 

It was past seven when we assembled for dinner. About all the old playersfor twenty years back were there and it sounded like a sewing circle. Biwas one of the last to come in. He pushed his way through the crowd aboutthe door, shaking off the fellows' hands, and strode across to where Heckerwas standing. Hecker saw him coming, but he only watched calmly. Bi stoppedin front of him, that same sort of ugly smile on his face. 

"We've broken training, sir?" he asked quietly. 

"Yes, " answered the coach. 

Then Bi's hand swung around and that slap was heard all over the room. There was a moment of dead silence; then half a dozen of us grabbed Bi. Wethought he'd gone crazy, but he didn't try to shake us off. He just stoodthere and looked at Hecker. The coach never raised a hand and never changedhis expression--only one cheek was as red as the big flag at the end of theroom. He held up his hand and we quieted down. 

"Gentlemen, " he said, "Mr. Briggs was quite within his rights. Please donot interfere with him. "

We let Bi go. 

"The incident demands explanation, " continued the coach. "As you all know, we were left in a hole by the loss of Corson and Blake, and the only manwho seemed at all possible was Mr. Briggs. But Mr. Briggs, playing as hehad been playing all year, would have been no match for Jordan of Yale. Wetried every means we could think of to wake Mr. Briggs up. He had, I feltcertain, the ability to play football--winning football--but we couldn'tget it out of him. As a last resort I tried questionable means. I asked Mr. Briggs to call on me this morning. I told him we must win to-day, and thatin order to do so he would have to play better than he'd been doing. Hetold me that he would do his best, but that he knew himself no match forJordan. That spirit wouldn't have done, gentlemen, and I tried to changeit. I told Mr. Briggs that he was a coward, something I knew to be false. Iinsulted him over and again until only my authority as head coach kept himfrom trying to kill me. He told me he would do so when we had brokentraining and I promised to give him satisfaction. What I did is, I am wellaware, open to criticism. But our necessity was great and I stand ready toaccept any consequences. At least the result of today's contest in ameasure vindicates my method. You who saw Mr. Briggs play will, I am sure, find excuses for me. As for the gentleman himself, it remains with him tosay whether he will accept my apology for what passed this morning, takinginto consideration the strait in which we were placed and the results asshown, or whether he will demand other satisfaction. "

Half a hundred surprised, curious faces turned toward Bi, who, duringHecker's statement, had looked at first contemptuous, then bewildered, andfinally comprehending. For about ten seconds the room was as still as agraveyard. Then Bi stepped up with outstretched hand like a little man, andfor the second time that day we went crazy!

Bi was hailed as the greatest guard of the year, and they put him on theAll-American team, but I don't think Bi cared a button. Anyhow, when theytried to get him to come out for the eleven the next fall he absolutelyrefused, and nothing anyone could say would budge him. He said he was toobusy. 

THE END