Interest in Greek had greatly increased in Sunrise with the advent of the handsome young Harvard man, and his desired seclusion for profound research had not yet been fully realized. Types for study were plentiful, however, especially the type of the presumptuous young fellow who dared to admire Elinor Wream. By divine right she was the most popular girl in Sunrise, which pleased Professor Burgess up to a certain point. That point was Victor Burleigh. The silent antagonism between these two daily grew stronger; why, neither one could have told up to this holiday. The day had been perfect--the weather, the dinner, the company, the woodland--even the amber light in the sky softening the glow as the afternoon slipped down toward twilight in the sheltered old Corral. “Come, Vic Burleigh, help me to start this fire for supper,” Dennie Saxon called. “We won't get our coffee and ham and eggs ready before midnight.” “Here, Trench, or some of you fellows, get busy,” Vic called back to the big right guard of the Sunrise football squad. “Elinor and I are going to climb the west bluff to see what's the matter with the sun. It looks sick. I've been hired man all day; carried nineteen girls across the shallows, packed all the lunch-baskets, toted all the wood, built all the fires, washed all the dishes--” “Ate all the dinner, drank all the grape juice, stepped on all the custard pies, upset all the cream bottles. Oh, you piker, get out!” Trench aimed an empty lunch-basket at Vic's head with the words. Being a chaperon was a pleasant office to Professor Burgess today but for the task of throwing a barrier about Elinor every time Vic Burleigh came near. And Burleigh, lacking many other things more than insight, kept him busy at barrier building. “Miss Wream, you can't think of climbing that rough place,” Burgess protested, with a sharp glance of resentment at the big young fellow who dared to call her Elinor. The tiger-light blazed in the eyes that flashed back at him, as Vic cried daringly. “Oh, come on, Elinor; be a good Indian!” “Don't do it, Miss Wream,” Vincent Burgess pleaded. Elinor looked from the one to the other, and the very magnetism of power called her. “I mean to try, anyhow,” she declared. “Will you pick me up if I fall, Victor?” “Well, I wouldn't hardly go away and leave you to perish miserably,” Vic assured her, and they were off together. The Wream men were slender, and all of them, except Lloyd Fenneben, the stepbrother, wore nose glasses and drank hot water at breakfast, and ate predigested foods, and talked of acids and carbons, and took prescribed gestures for exercise. The joyousness of perfect health was in every motion of this young man. His brown sweater showed a hard white throat. He planted his feet firmly. And he leaped up the bluffside easily. If Elinor slipped, the strength of his grip on her arm reassured her, until climbing beside him became a joy.