If Beverly really was tugging upon Apache's bridle he was not permitting anything so trivial as a girl's strength to bother him, and her knees told him quite a different story as he swept upon the cinder path, took two hurdles like a deer and was off over the tennis courts and over a net before the astonished players could draw a full breath. Then they woke up! "It's a runaway!" cried Mr. Cushman, who had charge of the football coaching, to be echoed by the tall quarter back in football togs, as both broke away in pursuit, the whole field quickly taking the alarm also. But that tennis court held one individual whose wits worked as quickly as the star performer's, and there and then shrilled across it a high-pitched, peculiar whistle which they both knew mighty well, and the four-legged one obeyed instanter by wheeling so suddenly that he put a very realistic climax upon the scene by nearly unseating the two-legged one, as he tore pell mell for the whistler and came to a sudden halt in front of him, to the increased astonishment of the general audience. "Gee whiz, Bev! What's let loose?" cried Athol, trying to respond to Apache's nozzling, whinnying demonstrations of delight and reach his sister's extended hands at the same time, while Archie did his record-breaking sprint across the gridiron, and the whole field came boiling toward them. "_I_ have. Don't you see I've been run away with? It's lucky Apache turned in here," answered Beverly, with remarkable calmness for one so lately escaped from disaster or sudden death, as she brushed back her flying locks, for--well--reasons. "Run away nothing! _You_ run away with! Piffle. Ah, cut it out Apache! I know you're ready to throw a fit at seeing me, but keep bottled up for a minute, won't you?" he ended as Apache lay hold of his tennis shirt and tried to jerk him into attention. But he gave the bony little head a good-natured mauling nevertheless, as Archie rushing up exclaimed: "You're a winner, Bev!" Then the others surrounded them, the two coaches really concerned lest the young lady had suffered some mishap, and Mr. Cushman brushing the boys aside as he asked: "Are you faint? Can we be of any assistance?" and Mr. Ford, the new instructor from Yale and mighty good to look upon (so decided Beverly in the space of one glance) pressed to her side to ask: "Were you riding alone when your mount bolted?" Before Beverly could draw breath to reply the answer came from another quarter. Now there is no such accomplished actor, (or liar) upon the face of the round world as your genuine darkey. Indeed he can do both so perfectly that he actually lives in the characters he temporarily creates and believes his own prevarications, and that, it must be admitted, is _some achievement_.