This was the first time the eight big battle-ships of the Atlantic fleet had been together since their winter rendezvous at Guantanamo, Cuba, and good-natured rivalry between the ships in tests of strength and physical prowess of their crews ran high. The admiral of the fleet, a great believer in encouraging these pastimes, had given orders for a track meet to be held on shore, and all hands turned to organize their forces to win the pennant to be given to the ship that showed herself capable of producing the cleverest athletes. “I have been pressed into service to get the entries from our ship for the meet,” Marshall announced at the mess-table that evening. “It is to take place next Saturday. We need all the good men we can get. We certainly have a prize in Lazar; he has entered for all the short runs up to the 440-yards. He held all the Annapolis records for them when he was there, and he keeps himself in fine condition.” Phil had brightened up at the prospects for a day of field sports, and held his hand out gladly for the paper to put down his name, but when Lazar’s name passed Marshall’s lips, his face clouded and he withdrew his hand quickly. “Syd, you should do something in the jumping line,” said Phil in a voice of feigned indifference. “I shan’t enter; I’m not in form for running.” “Are you crazy, man?” Sydney cried. Then turning to Marshall: “He made a clean sweep last year of the short runs at Annapolis, lowered one record and equaled the others. Don’t listen to him, he is only modest; put him down for all up to the 440.” “No, no,” cried Phil earnestly. “I’m not going to enter, so that ends it.” “If you have no more ship’s spirit than that, you can go hang,” replied Marshall, much nettled at Phil’s stubbornness. Sydney allowed his name to be written on the entry sheet for several events, but the sheet went back to Lieutenant-Commander Penfield, the executive officer, without Phil’s name for a single event. “What’s the matter with you, Phil?” demanded Sydney, in their room after dinner. “Why should you refuse when you know you are in excellent condition and could win the majority of your races? Is it because Lazar has entered?” “Yes, if you must know,” he replied in a tone of finality. “I’d sooner stay away and retain my peace of mind. Our relations are strained enough already. I have no wish to incur his further enmity. We would hotly contest each event, and if I won, his treatment of me would not be improved.” Sydney’s further persuasions fell on barren soil. Phil held to his point and would not be moved. Great preparations were being made for the coming struggle. Enthusiasm waxed high in the fleet, and all longed for the day to arrive when each could test his prowess.