keener. There was no time, however, afforded in which he
might make preparations for the meet, and he must simply do his best
under existing circumstances. There was to be no burlesque or "horse
play" in this contest, and the entire college would be on hand and
interested to note the promise of the entering class in a department of
college life that appealed strongly to all the students. Even his new
determination to push his work in his Greek harder than ever he had done
and his feeling of homesickness did not in the day that intervened
between the present and the day of the games prevent his interest and
excitement from increasing during the passing hours.

Saturday afternoon finally arrived, clear and cool, an ideal day for the
contest. When Will stepped forth from the dressing-room, clad in his
light running suit and with his bath robe wrapped around him, as he
glanced over the track he could see that a crowd was already assembled.
The sophomores were seated in a body in one portion of the "bleachers,"
and their noisy shouts or loud class cries rose steadily on the autumn
air. Opposite was the freshman class, but its members were still too
unfamiliar with their surroundings and with one another to enable them
to join in anything like the unison of their rivals. In the grand stand
were numbers of the members of the families of the faculty and the
townspeople and visitors, and altogether the scene was one that strongly
stirred Will and his room-mate, Foster Bennett, who also was to compete
in the games.

Suddenly a loud, derisive shout arose from the sophomores, and Will
glanced quickly up to discover its cause. In a moment the cause was
seen, when Peter John Schenck came running across the field toward the
place where Will and Foster were standing beside a few of their
classmates, who were also waiting for the game to begin.

The sight of Peter John was one that caused even Will and Foster to
smile, for their classmate was dressed as if he too was about to become
a contestant, and this was something neither of them had expected. It
was Peter John's garb, however, which had so greatly delighted the
beholders, for it was unlike anything to be seen upon the
field--"fearfully and wonderfully made," as Mott, who had joined them
for a moment, had expressed it. Evidently it was the result of Peter
John's own handiwork. His running trousers came to a place about halfway
between his knees and ankles before they stopped, and