"Say," Jimmy snapped somewhat angrily. "Let's get a hustle on and end this--you willing?" He nodded toward the stranger. "Quite." "Then--ready!" cried the starter. Again two figures, sadly matched, crouched at the start. Another second and the pistol cracked. Following the report, there was a little instant of dead silence in the street, then there broke forth pandemonium, for half way down the course, his coat tails flying, his satchel standing out behind, the cold cigar gripped tight between his teeth, the stranger led Nibs Morey by a rod. Twenty-five feet from the string, he turned, and running backward, beckoned with a crooked forefinger to the straining Mercury that he faced. Not in all undergraduate history is there recorded an event which created more excitement on the campus after its occurrence than this. Nibs Morey had defeated Billy Shaw; and a stranger who had sprung from the earth had defeated Nibs as no man before had ever been defeated. They shook hands, honorably, after the event, but those who witnessed the incident forgot it immediately in the overwhelming curiosity regarding the newest risen champion among them. "Who is he?" was the question on the lips of every youth and every maid--"Who is he?" His name was Bunette, they said. His home? A tiny town on a west Michigan sand hill. "What is he, then?" the voice of the campus cried. And it became known that he had entered the department of Medicine and Surgery. And thus was a new god raised among men at whose shrine none worshiped with devotion more intense than Billy Shaw, and the erstwhile idol, Nibsey Morey, and to them and their brethren for all time he was given a name, and the name was "Bunny of '85." THE CASE OF CATHERWOOD I "Stop!" The command from the rostrum brought the class up in their seats. Every eye was bent upon Catherwood standing at the end of a bench in the second row. Some one snickered. Catherwood stared at the floor, a blush of shame mounting his cheek and melting into his thin, bristly red hair at his freckled temples. The assistant professor of history glared through his spectacles. "Ladies and gentlemen," he exclaimed, "this is most unseemly! Mr. Catherwood, you may be seated! I should advise you, ladies and gentlemen, to devote a little more time to this course; and a little less, perhaps, to the Junior Hop. I am sure you do not wish me to make general the mailing of conditions next week. As you know the examination is set for nine o'clock on the morning of February 10th. I trust you will act upon the suggestion I have given you...." The gong in the corridor clanged just then and the class shuffled out of the room. Shunning his acquaintances in the hall Catherwood disappeared. The blush did not recede from his face until he banged the wide door shut behind him and the cold of the crisp February morning smote him full.