"The stove must have been kicked over in the shuffle," he muttered, unctuously. A moment he stood there watching the growth of the fire, then, resolutely turning his face to the east, he moved on down the icy road. THE CHAMPIONS I "You can't do it, Nibs,--you can't do it--you may have the spurt speed, but you haven't got the wind." "Rot--why, you don't know what you're talking about, Jimmy; I can beat him forty ways. _Look at those legs!_" And the lank creature thrust them into view and patted them affectionately between the knee and the hip. "Oh, I know you've got the legs, Nibs," was the indifferent reply, "it's the wind you're shy of." "What does wind amount to in a hundred yards, I'd like to know? All a fellow needs is a good breath at the pistol. A good one will carry him over the string." The speaker leaned across the table; "Now, on the square, Jimmy, don't you think I can beat Billy Shaw?" he asked eagerly. The young man opposite, tilting back his chair, eyed his companion critically from under half-dropped lids. He flecked the ash from his cigarette, scrupulous that it should not dust his clothes, and said slowly, and more as though by way of encouragement than expressive of an opinion--"Well, of course, there's a chance." Nibs smiled broadly, at that, and settled back, apparently quite satisfied. "I knew you were joking," he said. It was a Saturday evening. Had the dial of the Court House clock been illuminated, it would have shown the hour to be half-past seven. On the corner, a gasolene lamp was burning at the top of a weather-stained post. In front of the Opera House an Uncle Tom's Cabin band was straining at the melancholy air, "Massa's In de Col', Col' Ground," played in _circus tempo_. Now and then was heard the scuffle of hurrying feet on the tar walk outside. Nibs Morey and Jimmy Hulburt sat in silence for a space. No one had ever been able--if, indeed, any one had sought--to fathom the friendship that for two years had been maintained unbroken between these two. Perhaps it was due to the counter effect of Hulburt's derision of Morey's abundant conceit, for had Nibs Morey been asked to cite an instance of Jimmy's championing him, he, positively, would have failed. It was the one's lack, or expressed lack, of confidence in the other, that evenly balanced the other's really splendid confidence in himself. When first Nibs had expressed his intention of posting a challenge to Billy Shaw on the Bulletin Board in the Main Hall, Jimmy had sniffed and sneered derisively. "What's the use making a Jack of yourself?" he asked. "Who's going to?" Nibs replied, tartly. "You are. He'll beat you by a rod," was the cool retort. "Don't you believe it." "Well, I do." "You needn't." "All right; we'll see."