y that it was about as
uncomfortable an experience as I ever had."

[_This Story began in No. 43._]

The PURPLE PENNANT
or
ALAN HEATHCOTE'S FORTUNE.

A Foot-Ball Story.

BY A PRINCETON GRADUATE.

CHAPTER XXV.

MR. MACKERLY REVIVES AND GRANT ATTEMPTS TO SEND ALAN TO COVENTRY.

The sudden collapse of Mr. Mackerly, while in conversation with his son,
was a great shock to the latter, who could scarcely believe that the
news he had just been relating should have such an extraordinary effect
upon his imperious and lofty father. Was it possible that the statements
at which he had scoffed had some plausibility, and that there was a
grain of hidden truth in the charge brought by his rival, Alan
Heathcote? There was no mistaking the fact that something external had
caused the magnate's startling indisposition, and Grant, even though he
was badly scared at his father's plight, drew his own conclusions in
regard to the matter. Meanwhile he stood helplessly calling until he
collected presence of mind enough to go around to the other side of the
table and raise his father's inanimate form to a more comfortable
position.

"Help! Help!" he cried distractedly. "Father's dying! Aunt Annie!
James!"

He was warranted in his belief that his parent was breathing his last,
for his face was of a deathly pallor, and to Grant's inexperienced eye
this was a symptom of the gravest import, and he gave his father up for
lost immediately.

He did not stand long alone in his helplessness, for in another moment
James, the butler, and Grant's Aunt Annie came hurrying in. They both
took in the situation at a glance, and while the first mentioned opened
the window, in order to admit the fresh cold air, the latter bathed his
temples with water and cologne.

Mr. Mackerly had fallen into a swoon of unusual severity, and the
process of reviving him was slow and tedious. It was nearly a half hour
before he was strong enough to speak to them.

"Shall I send for a doctor?" inquired his sister anxiously.

"No, by no means," he feebly replied. "It's one of my ordinary fainting
spells. I've had them before. I'll--I'll be all right in a few minutes.
Lay me on the couch in the library and--let me alone. What time is it?"

"Nearly half-past seven," answered his sister.

"Where is Grant?" was his next query.

"Here I am, father," and his son stepped before