h that ten
o'clock train at the Junction at all hazards. Stop at O'Brien's house
and tell him to come and drive me over. If he isn't there, James will
have to try his hand at the reins."

Grant hastened to obey his father's directions, and in the space of a
few minutes the team was ready, with O'Brien, the stable-man, and Mr.
Mackerly as its occupants; and soon they were out of sight in the
darkness, speeding for the train.

"There's something up, that's dead sure!" soliloquized Grant, as he
stood in the doorway. "Father's never in all that hurry for nothing.
I wonder what the racket is? I'll go a fiver that it has something to do
with that Heathcote matter. He's a perfect nuisance, and I hope father
will squelch him this time, once and for all, the booby!"

Soon dismissing his father's departure from his mind, Grant went up to
his room and retired to bed.

The next morning he went over to the Hall very early, considering his
past record, and was one of the first to take his seat in the assembly
room.

Archer and Shriver, with whom he desired to speak, were somewhat tardy,
and he got no chance to address them until the end of the first
recitation.

"Hello, Grant!" called the former. "Where've you been all the time?
Haven't seen you for an age."

"Been up at the house," replied Grant, briefly. "Any practice to-day,
George?"

"Yes," answered Shriver; "at half-past twelve. You're with Wilcox on the
second eleven. Sorry that Heathcote dished you out of half-back, but it
can't be helped. I took Runyon's place, and he was angry at first, but
he came up to-day and shook hands with me like a little man, and said he
hoped I would get along first rate, and that he'd try and oust me next
year. He's one of the substitutes this year, and you are to play
substitute half-back with Wilcox."

"I am, am I?" growled Grant, sneeringly. "Who says so?"

"Cole gave it out last night," put in Lewis Archer, "so it's settled."

"It's not settled as far as I am concerned," declared the turned-down
player, firmly. "I play on the regular team or not at all. That's my
proper place, and no miserable upstart like Alan Heathcote is going to
crow over me."

"Well, what are you going to do about it?" asked Archer, with a careless
drawl.

Grant Mackerly was steadily dropping from the high place, he once held
in his estimation, and every action now exhibited his selfishness to
Archer, who, with all his laziness, was a boy of fine feelings