out
in a minute."

He was watching the point where the runners must first appear. His hand
shook on the rail.

The runners appeared. The first was Beatty, the Harvard man, and the
Harvard crowd "hoo-rahed" hoarsely. Then came Mansford, of Princeton,
and the Tigers let themselves loose. Jetting, of Dartmouth, followed,
and the New Hampshire lads greeted him in a manner that brought the
blood to his cheeks. Then little Judd, the U. P. man, trotted out, and
he was received with howls of delight from the Quakers.

"Now--now comes Yates!" cried Fred Flemming.

The Yale man appeared, and Flemming stood up to cheer. He dropped into
his seat as if he had been shot, his face turning ashen gray, and the
cheer dying on his lips.

"Good heavens!" gasped Tom Thornton. "It is Frank Merriwell!"

But his exclamation was drowned by the mighty cheer which greeted the
appearance of the Yale standard-bearer.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

TO VICTORY--CONCLUSION.

"Merriwell! Merriwell! 'Rah! 'rah! 'rah!"

It was a mighty roar of voices. Then came the well-known Yale yell,
which was repeated again and again. The entire Yale crowd was standing,
wildly waving hands, hats, flags, handkerchiefs, anything and everything
that could be found to wave. It was an ovation that might have gladdened
the heart of an emperor.

It was not strange that the sound nerved the Yale man to vow within
himself to die in the effort to win for dear "Old Eli," if he could not
win otherwise.

But up in one of the boxes not far from the starting point were three
young men who were utterly overcome with amazement and consternation.
One of them had a face that was drawn and pale, as if he had received a
mortal wound.

"What's it mean, Flem?" asked Andy Emery, in Fred's ear. "Merriwell is
here! Have you been horsing us?"

Then, for all that his parents and his sisters were present, Fred
Flemming ground out a bitter cry. His voice shook and he choked, as he
answered:

"You know as well as I what it means! Oh, what luck!"

He was utterly unmanned, and his mother, observing his pallor, asked him
if he had been suddenly taken ill. He answered her with a snarl, like a
mad dog.

The five runners came down to the line. Just as they did so, Duncan
Yates burst into the Flemming box.

"What sort of a jolly business is this, Flemming?" he demanded, his face
pale with anger.

And then, seeing there were ladies present, he removed his cap and
mumbled an apology