ter's heart felt a throb of pity. Then he thought
of his work in sun and rain; of Richards' contempt in the past; of the
cheers for his rival and the open ridicule of his own pretensions; and
last of all, but far from being the least consideration, the two
hundred dollars absolutely necessary to carry him through his final
year to graduation.

Ah, nobody knew about that two hundred dollars, save himself and one
little girl, who had driven into town early in the afternoon, and who
had slipped timidly into as good a seat as she could find in the
stand. She showed one dot of pink among hundreds of fluffy white
gowns; Chester was ignorant of her presence, but as he sped round and
round the track, her eyes never once left him, nor did she cease
praying silently that he might win!

Only for an instant did he hesitate; then his face settled into an
expression not pleasant to look upon. He forgot that he was tired,
that a grandstand full of howling maniacs was ahead of him. He thought
only of the girl in pink--and made his spurt.

Richards tried to follow, but a haze was forming over his eyes. His
heart was pounding until he believed that he must suffocate. Then he
reeled suddenly, lost his balance and fell into darkness.

"So this is victory!" murmured Chester to himself a moment later, as
he swayed unsteadily upon the shoulders of a howling mob. He was
thinking of poor Richards lying back there upon the track. But just
then he espied the transfigured face of the girl in pink.

"It is! It is!" he shouted joyfully.

THE WORTH OF THE PRICE

Nobody in a normal humor would dispute the fact that Clementine Willis
was a strikingly handsome girl. One might even be moved, by a burst of
enthusiasm, to declare her beautiful. There was about her that subtle,
elusive charm of perfection in minute detail, possible only to the
wealthy who can discriminate between art and that which is artificial,
and who can take advantage of all of art's magic resources, without
imparting the slightest suggestion of artificiality.

Her hair and eyes were dark--very dark; her skin bore the matchless,
transparent tint of ivory; every line of her high-bred face, and of
her hands and her slender, arched feet, bespoke the ultimate degree of
refinement.

She was the sort of girl, in short, that a full-blooded man must needs
stare at, perhaps furtively, but with no thought of boldness. Stupid,
indeed, must be he who would attempt anything even