Health means bodily soundness, and Loring’s body was not sound. Under the light rug which covered him from the waist down was a pair of legs that just couldn’t be depended on to perform the ordinary functions of legs. They looked all right, too, except that the muscles were not as well developed as they should have been in a boy of his age. The trouble was in the bones which, instead of building themselves up as bones normally do, had gone in too heavily for lime. In short, Loring’s legs suffered from calcification, which is the scientific way of saying that the bones held too much chalk. Different doctors――and Loring’s father, who was a very wealthy man, had employed many――had different names for the boy’s trouble, names varying in spelling and length but all meaning about the same thing. Loring spent his days in a wheel chair, and, while the physician who at present had him in charge and who once every two or three months journeyed to Freeburg in an eight thousand dollar car spoke hopefully of ultimate betterment or even complete recovery, the probabilities were that Loring would never get beyond crutches. The fact that he had always been as he was now undoubtedly helped him to accept his fate with cheerfulness. Perhaps at night, after the faithful Wattles had finished his careful massaging of the refractory members and the lights were out, Loring may have been visited by dark and rebellious thoughts, but if so, none would have surmised it. To Clif and Tom, as well as to all others who were intimate with him, his good spirits and patience were things to marvel at. Wyndham was proud of Loring Deane. Proud because, as the son of Sanford Deane, one of the country’s wealthiest and most prominent citizens, he lent a certain cachet to the school, but prouder because he had so many qualities that boys whole-heartedly admire wherever found; pluck in adversity, cheerfulness, determination to accept no favors based on his disability and, finally, a keen mind. To obviate the difficulty of stairs Loring had been given a room on the first corridor of East Hall, next to the office of Mr. Clendennin, Head of the Junior School. Because it would have been awkward for him to sit at the table in Dining Hall his meals were served to him in his room by his attendant, the aforementioned Wattles. Save in these two particulars, however, Loring received no favors, nor sought any. In studies he was brilliant, although he spent no more time in preparation than did Tom. He was an ardent football lover and, in fact, an enthusiast on every sort of sport. And as for chess――well, Wattles had finally progressed to a point where he could occasionally win, but when Loring really put his mind on the game he could beat any one in school. He had even bested “The Turk” recently, and “The Turk,” by which impolite name Mr. Way, the mathematics instructor, was known, was an old, old hand at the game!