announcement to his friends, but his chagrin was

rendered four-fold by having his companions receive his statement with incredulity. Not the least part of his annoyance came from the fact that his own particular friend should affect to believe that he was perpetrating a practical joke, especially as he was very much in earnest and the announcement had cost him much effort to make.

When Roy Henning first came to St. Cuthbert's, he was a narrow-chested, weakly boy of very quiet manners and of a retiring disposition, as the readers of the chronicles of St. Cuthbert boys may remember.

Month after month, however, saw him growing stronger and taller and more robust, until now, in his last year at college, he was one of the biggest boys in the yard, with the strength of a giant, and, as some who knew declared, the grip of a blacksmith. The opportunities of acquiring brawn and muscle he had not neglected, resulting in a proficiency in running, jumping, swimming, and boating, and in all the manly and invigorating exercises of school life.

He was well aware how much the success of next summer's baseball season really depended on him. He knew, also, what the boys expected of him. They all regarded it as a foregone conclusion that he would again be the captain and the principal pitcher on next season's team.

No one but himself knew what annoyance it had been to him to make the statement which his hearers had refused to accept otherwise than as the merest joking. Yet he intended to give up sports for this school year. Why? The reason for so doing, and all the consequences that such a course of action brought in its train, will constitute the following narrative.

Roy's eyes, quick to sparkle in fun, quick to soften

in sympathy, yet quicker to glitter with indignation at any exhibition of smallness or meanness, just now had a look in them other than was their wont. Their owner was annoyed because the boys standing around him seemed determined not to take him seriously, and this annoyance could be seen. For a moment he felt a strong throb of anger, such as quickens the pulse, and the hasty word was on the tip of his tongue, but he checked himself in time. Why should he not be believed when he had made a plain statement and had reiterated it? Yet there was a smile as of incredulity on nearly all the faces grouped around him.

The truth of the matter was that Jack Beecham and his companions were hoping against hope. They clearly saw Henning's annoyance, and several of them had more than a suspicion that, after all, he meant exactly what he had said. Beecham's badinage was only a cover for his uneasiness.

A silence fell on the group, during which, to their nimble imaginations, visions of future victories on the diamond grew dim, for every boy there had the most unlimited confidence in the proven prowess of Henning to lead them to victory.

“But, Roy,” said Tom Shealey, a short, thick-set, sturdy, whole-souled boy, who had a habit of calling a spade a spade: “Give us your reason. You are not sick?”

“No, not sick, certainly,” said Henning, smiling at such an idea.

“What's your reason, then?—supposing you have a reason and are not joking.”

“I'm not joking, Tom,” said Henning, “but I can not give you my reason.”

“Guess he has none,” said Andrew Garrett, a youth who affected a blue sweater instead of a coat

and vest and whose face was not a healthy-looking one. “Guess he has no reason. He's merely posing.”

The remark vexed Henning all the more that it came from his own cousin, to whom in a difficult situation he might have looked naturally for some form of support.

“Stop that, Garrett,” said Tom Shealey, hotly. “Do you wish to insult your own cousin? I'd rather believe him than you—there! If Roy says he has reasons for acting as he is doing and does not want to give them to us, I believe he has them anyway. I guess you don't know your own cousin as well as we do.”

“Well, why doesn't he give his reasons for not playing?” asked Garrett, sulkily.

“Because,” answered Henning, with no little natural dignity, “I do not feel at liberty to do so. If I did I would give them readily. Believe me, boys, it is not by my own choice that I resign my position on the baseball and football teams.”

“We believe you, Roy,” said Shealey. “Although we regret your action, we believe you have good reasons; don't we, Beecham?”

Jack Beecham nodded affirmatively. “Yes,” he replied, after a moment's silence, “I joked at first only because I thought Roy was joking. Sorry he wasn't. Garrett, you had better believe what your cousin says. He is not accustomed to lie into or out of a thing.”

This remark was received by Garrett in silence. With a look unpleasant enough to be considered a leer on his face he walked away, but Shealey's innuendo, as we shall see later, had more significance for the one to whom it was directed than the rest of the group realized. Were it not on account of the relationship with Roy, the boys in general would

have ignored Garrett. Winters and Hunter and Stapleton and Clavering were gone from St. Cuthbert's, having graduated the previous year. Henning and Ambrose Bracebridge, Rob Jones and Tom Shealey were taking their places, and among these Henning was most popular.

In a few minutes Henning walked away, and his friends began freely to discuss his decision, vaguely guessing at the motive which prompted it, and entirely unsuccessful in arriving at any solution of the difficulty.

“Of course,” said Jack Beecham to Shealey, as they strolled about the yard somewhat disconsolately, "Henning must have some good reason for backing out, but I am more sorry than I can say that he has done so. I am afraid things are going to be mighty unpleasant for him in consequence.”

“I, too, am afraid they will be.”

“Well, I'm going to stick to him, come what may.”

“Same here,” replied Shealey. “It won't be hard to do that, because he is the soul of honor and a royal good fellow. You might as soon expect anything wrong with him as—as to see——”

“You at the head of your class in next examination,” interrupted Jack.

“Thanks! Or to see you heading the philosophers.”

“Thanks, too.”

CHAPTER II

The Motive

BEFORE proceeding to narrate the complications which beset Roy Henning's path during his last year at St. Cuthbert's, and the many curious cross-purposes of which he may be said to have been the victim, we shall endeavor to give some idea of the motive which actuated him in retiring from the arena of college sports.

It must be remembered that Roy Henning, in the previous year, was a fast friend of Claude Winters, Hunter, Selby, Clavering, and Stapleton. The companionship of these boys had helped as much to form his character as had the careful work of the professors. Under his friends' influence he had gradually lost much of his bashfulness. By the time that Winters and his other friends had graduated, he could conduct himself with an amount of ease and composure. He no longer blushed and squirmed immoderately, like a small boy, when addressed by a stranger or by one in authority. He could now speak to a Father or even the President without wishing to fall through the floor. Roy was much improved, yet the influence which his companions of the previous year had exercised over him had taken a somewhat peculiar turn.

As far as he knew, not one of his last year's