en induced to go out and try for the
football team at the university. His fellows knew him as a fair
gymnast and a crack tennis player. He was muscular, well-built, and
fast on his feet, almost perfectly put together for a halfback. On the
second day of practice he had shirked a hard tackle, though it happened
that nobody suspected the truth but himself. Next morning he turned in
his suit with the plea that he had promised his aunt not to play.

Now trepidation was at his throat again, and there was no escape from a
choice that would put a label on him. It had been his right to play
football or not as he pleased. But this was different. A summons had
come to his loyalty, to the fundamental manhood of him. If he left
David Dingwell to his fate, he could never look at himself again in the
glass without knowing that he was facing a dastard.

The trouble was that he had too much imagination. As a child he had
conjured dragons out of the darkness that had no existence except in
his hectic fancy. So it was now. He had only to give his mind play to
see himself helpless in the hands of the Rutherfords.

But he was essentially stanch and generous. Fate had played him a
scurvy trick in making him a trembler, but he knew it was not in him to
turn his back on Dingwell. No matter how much he might rebel and
squirm he would have to come to time in the end.

After a wretched afternoon he hunted up Ryan at his hotel.

"When do you want me to start?" he asked sharply.

The little cowpuncher was sitting in the lobby reading a newspaper. He
took one look at the harassed youth and jumped up.

"Say, you're all right. Put her there."

Royal's cold hand met the rough one of Ryan. The shrewd eyes of the
Irishman judged the other.

"I knew youse couldn't be a quitter and John Beaudry's son," he
continued. "Why, come to that, the sooner you start the quicker."

"I'll have to change my name."

"Sure you will. And you'd better peddle something--insurance, or
lightning rods, or 'The Royal Gall'ry of Po'try 'n Art' or--"

"'Life of the James and Younger Brothers.' That ought to sell well
with the Rutherfords," suggested Roy satirically, trying to rise to the
occasion.

"Jess Tighe and Dan Meldrum don't need any pointers from the James
Boys."

"Tighe and Meldrum-- Who are they?"

"Meldrum is a coyote your father trapped and sent to the pen. He's a
bad actor for fair. And Tighe--well, if you put a hole in his he