“Everything is safe. Only one report not in, but it will be in tomorrow.” the coach declared. “I asked Professor Burgess about your standing, and he says your grades are away above average. He's got to reckon up your absent marks, but that's easy. All the teachers understand about that. I guess Dean Funnybone fixed 'em. And now, Vic, the honor of Sunrise rests on you. If you fail us, we're lost. Can I count on you?” The tiger light was behind the long black lashes under the heavy black brows, as Vic shut his white teeth tightly. “Count on me!” he said, and turning, he left the coach abruptly. “Hey, there, Burleigh, hold on a minute,” Trench, the right guard, called, as Vic was striding up the steep south slope of the limestone ridge. “Say, wind a fellow, will you! You infernal, never-wear-out, human steam engine. I'm on to some things you ought to know. Even a lazy old scout like I am gets a crack at things once in a while.” “Well, get rid of it once in a while, if you really do know anything,” Vic responded. “Say, you're nervous. Coach says you spend too much time in your nursery; says you'd better get rid of that little kid.” “Tell the coach to go to the devil!” Vic spoke savagely. “Say, Coach,” Trench roared down from the hillslope, “Vic says for you to go to the devil.” “Wait till after tomorrow,” the coach shouted back, “and I'll take you fellows along if you don't do your best.” “Now, that's settled, I'll tell you what I know,” Trench drawled lazily. “First, Elinor Wream, what Dean Funnybone calls 'Norrie,' is heading the bunch that's going to shower us with roses tomorrow, if we win. And you know blamed well we'll win. They came in from Kansas City on the limited, just now, the roses did. The shower's predicted for tomorrow P. M.” A sudden glow lighted Vic's stern face, and there was no savage gleam in his eyes now. “Is Elinor well enough to come out tomorrow?” He had been caught unawares. Trench stared at him deliberately. “Say, Victor Burleigh.” He spoke slowly. “Don't do it! DON'T DO IT! It will kill a man like you to get in love. Lord pity you! and”--more slowly still--“Lord pity the fool girl who can't see the solid gold in the rough old nugget you are.” “What's the rest of your news?” Vic asked. “I gave the best first. Coach tells me ab-so-lute-lee, you are our only hope. The hope of Sunrise, tomorrow. You've got the beef, the wind, the speed, the head, and the will. Oh, you angel child!” “The coach is clever,” Vic said carelessly.