"Was he?" Still Bill shook his head sadly, and sighed for a third time. "It looked like he was running backward, miss." "But really he was only beaten a foot. It was a wonderful race. I saw it," said Jean. "It made me think of the races at college." Miss Blake puckered her brows trying to think. "Joseph," she said. "No, I don't think I have seen him." Stover's lips met grimly. "I don't reckon you have, miss. Since that race he has been hard to descry. He passed from view hurriedly, so to speak, headed toward the foot-hills, and leaping from crag to crag like the hardy shamrock of the Swiss Yelps." Miss Blake giggled. "What made him hurry so?" "Us!" Stover gazed at her solemnly. "We ain't none of us been the same since that foot-race. You see, it ain't the financial value of that Echo Phonograph, nor the 'double-cross' that hurts: it's the fact that the mangiest outfit in the Territory has trimmed us out of the one thing that stands for honor and excellence and 'scientific attainment,' as the judge said when we won it. That talking-machine meant more to us than you Eastern folks can understand, I reckon." "If I were you I would cheer up," said Miss Blake, kindly, and with some importance. "Miss Chapin has a college friend coming this week, and he can win back your trophy." Stover glanced up at Jean quickly. "Is that right, Miss Chapin?" "He can if he will," Jean asserted. "Can he run?" "He is the intercollegiate champion," declared that young lady, with proud dignity. "And do you reckon he'd run for us and the Echo Phonograph of New York and Paris, if we framed a race? It's an honor!" But Miss Chapin suddenly recalled her brother's caution of the day before, and hesitated. "I--I don't think he would. You see, he is an amateur--he might be out of training--" "The idea!" exclaimed Miss Blake, indignantly. "If Culver won't