Chester advanced to the table. At sight of his roll of bills a sudden silence fell. All eyes were glued upon them while he counted. "Five--ten--fifteen"--and so on, up to one hundred. He stowed the remaining five back in his pocket, pushed the pile into the middle of the table and looked coolly down at his host. Said he, "One hundred, even, that I win the Marathon. Cover, or show these fellows the sort of piker you are." And Richards came very near to showing them. His face was a study. He hadn't ten dollars to his name; he was painfully aware of the fact, and here were these six boys who would know it too in about two seconds. He was rattled, and sat looking at the pile of bills as though charmed. He racked his brain for some way out of the predicament, but the only thing he could think of was to wonder whether the portrait on the top note was that of Hendricks or Rufus Choate. "It can't be Choate," suddenly occurred to him. "But then it--" There was a laugh in the back of the room. Richards stood up. A dozen fire alarms would not have recalled him so quickly. Whatever else might be said of the man he was game, and now his gameness showed. "Give me an hour; I'll meet you then in front of the postoffice." While speaking he had gotten into his coat; now he walked toward the door. "Amuse yourselves while I'm gone, fellows," he said, and disappeared down the stairway. Chester replaced the notes in his pocket, nodded gravely to the company and followed. Not a boy spoke, but all sat staring blankly at the doorway. An hour later, both Richards and Chester appeared at the postoffice. The former, by dint of much persistent circulation among his fellow athletes, had found enough of them who were willing to pool their funds in order to secure the necessary amount. The two young men had witnesses, the wager was properly closed and the money deposited. Neither spoke an unnecessary word during the meeting, but when Chester started to leave, Richards turned facetiously to his friends. "'Is bloomin' ludship will start training Friday; bet he has his wheel in soak." To which remark Chester paid not the slightest attention. Whatever may be said to the contrary, six boys can no more retain a secret than can six girls, and inside of an hour the story of the big bet had spread over the town. In due course it penetrated to the city: one day a reporter appeared and interviewed the principals, and on the following Sunday their photographs adorned the pink section of a great daily. This was nuts for the university--but it is getting ahead of our own story somewhat. Chester, naturally, was the centre of curiosity. He had not pawned his "bike," as was demonstrated when Friday rolled around; but had it been known that the last cent he owned in the world had been staked upon the issue, no doubt the interest would have been greater.