stairs, "this thing's got to stop right here." He brought a baseball bat down on the table so hard that every one stopped talking and looked up. "You've simply got to win that cane. If those dash sophomores win all three they'll crow over you for the rest of their course. They are arrogant enough already, dash them. And you fellows will be disgraced forever, and your class will be handed down in history as no good. People will refer to you as a class who lost all three canes. This is a crisis in your history. You made a good showing in the rush, but you were badly defeated in the baseball series. This is the third test. This decides it. Win this cane and you are all right. One out of three is a defeat, but not a disgrace, because you are only freshmen. But none out of three is. You've got to win this cane!"

No one uttered a sound for a moment. Farmer Hill did not laugh.

"Come here, Bushforth," said Drake, in a low, solemn voice; "I'll rub you myself."

The heavy weight was beautifully built and exceedingly quick for his size. He came to college with a good prep-school record of centre rush. But there was something disappointing about him, and you felt it every time you saw him move. You know the kind. One of those fellows who are splendid to look at in a football suit, and who will always put up a fair game on the scrub, but who are never going to make the 'Varsity.

Just now he was biting his lip and looking down at his own good legs. When he raised his glance he found Hill standing with arms akimbo, gazing at him with an earnest expression.

Bushforth smiled good-humoredly to show how cool he was.

"Think you can take that cane?" Hill asked with a grin.

"I really don't know, Hill," answered the beautifully built man.

"Do you think you can take it?" repeated the other.

"Well, Hill, Parker will have to work for it," said the heavy weight, indulgently. "Why? Would you like to take my place? I'd be glad to resign in your favor."

"All right," said Hill, simply. He began pulling up his sweater.

"Go on and sit down and stop your nonsense." It was hard to stand horse-play at such a moment, when your whole class was cheering for you outside.

"I ain't fooling," said the big farmer, with his arms still in the sweater, his head and body out.

"Hurry, Bush," said one of the juniors at the window. "The sophs have yelled across at me that they are ready."

"All right," said Bushforth, lacing his Jersey as he started for the door. He forgot to answer the other freshman.

"Wait a minute," said the big, cheerful voice of the farmer, "I think I'll go down this time."

"Oh, cork up, you big cow!" said Drake.

Hill corked up and then pushed Bushforth out of the way and started for the door.

"Will you please go back where you belong and sit down?" said Drake, impressively.

It failed to impress Hill. "Well, you see, it's this way," he began pleasantly, "he can't take that cane, I'm afraid. I can, though. I've got my blood up." He began contracting his biceps playfully. "Isn't it time to——"

"Freshman," interrupted Drake, with irony, "we have chosen the heavy weight representative of your class, and we are of the opinion that we know about as much of this business as you do. I never heard of such foolishness. Go sit down, and shut your big face. Your services will not be required unless Billy is laid off before he reaches the foot of the entry stairs. Come on, Billy."

"Then," Hill answered, smilingly, "I'll have to lay him off." He suddenly grabbed his big classmate by the shoulders, jerked him back into his arms, grasped him like a bag of flour, and hoisted him on his shoulders as if he had been one. "Now you lie down there, and be a good boy." He dropped Bushforth, but not roughly, in the corner behind the door, and then looked beamingly about at the others as though he had performed quite a feat. And so he had. Bushforth weighed one hundred and eighty-nine, stripped.

Outside the crowd was yelling concertedly in quick, jerky notes, "Shake it up! Shake it up! Shake it up!" and the sophomores were singing "Where, oh, where are the verdant freshmen?" etc., "Lost now in the green, green soup." But upstairs everyone was so tense and so excited that nothing was heard but the angry words of the coachers addressed to Hill, who was grinning.

Bushforth arose from the floor slowly.

"Shake it up, Billy," cried Drake, exasperated; "do you want to lose your cane by default?"

"Say," replied Bushforth, soberly, "do you suppose there's anything the matter with this hand?—Ugh! Great Scott! don't squeeze it."

Hill had not thrown him violently, but Bushforth, in throwing out his arms to stop himself, had struck his left hand against the wooden door-guard a few inches above the floor behind the door, and all his weight was upon it. The junior coach shut his eyes, dropped into Hill's big chair, and let his arms fall down to his sides. Everyone looked at him. "That settles it," he gasped. "Billy's hand is sprained. Let's give up the cane by default and——"

"Is it sprained?" interrupted Hill, removing his smile suddenly. "I'm sorry I hurt his hand. I did not intend that—Mr. Bushforth, I beg your pardon. I just wanted to show these fellows how strong I was. I didn't think I had a fair trial at spreeing. And now, Drake, don't you think we had better go down? They are clamoring down there. Are you coming?"

His tones were very deliberate and his manner so calm in contrast to the boiling condition of the others, that everyone seemed stunned for a moment. They only looked at one another.

"Shake it up! Shake it up! Shake it up!" came from the crowd below, and just then two representatives from the sophomores came running up the stairs, shouting, "Say, if you fellows don't wish to lose this by default come right now. Everyone's tired of waiting."

"Don't get excited," Drake shouted back. "Bushforth met with an accident and the sub is going to take his place. Come on, Hill." It was the only thing to do.

Hill saw the eyes of the two seniors brighten at the news, and heard his own classmates in the room cursing him. He said to himself, "Now then, I guess I've got to do something this evening," and followed Drake down the stairs.

"You're stronger than he is. He's all bluff. You'll do him dead easily," the two coachers were saying as heartily as they could. Hill did not reply. They crossed the light from the entry door. A strong cheer went up for Bushforth. Hill laughed. The coachers shivered.

Before they had pushed their way through the crowd to the ring, word went around that at the last moment Bushforth was laid off, and that a big sub named Hill had taken his place. Few had ever heard the name. The freshmen groaned; Hill heard it.

As they emerged into the ring, he heard a strange voice saying, "Why, he's that great big awkward chap the sophs guy so much, don't you remember?" Again Hill laughed.

"That's all right," whispered one of the juniors as he helped him off with his sweater. "You go in and win this cane, and your class will give you anything you want. Keep cool now, and remember what you have learned."

The farmer's big deformity-like shoulders looked more huge than ever in the thin, white jersey as he now straightened up in the moonlight.

"'Ray! 'Ray! 'Ray! Tiger, Siss, Boom, Ah! Hill." It rang out sharply on the frosty air. Then came a long cheer and then more short ones, with "Hill" on the end of them.

There is a peculiar thrill at the sound of one's own name shouted by a hundred voices on the end of