Some two hours later the hero of the conflict lay stretched at full length on a window-seat in the front room of a house within sound of the college bell. His hands were under his head, one foot nestled inelegantly amidst the cushions at the far end of the seat and the other was sprawled upon the floor. The window beside him was wide open and through it came the soft, warm air, redolent of things growing, of moist pavements, of freshly-sprinkled lawns. The sounds of passing footsteps and voices entered, too; and from across the shaded street came the tinkle of a banjo. The voices were joyous and care-free. To-morrow was Class-Day; the year’s work was over; books had been tossed aside, and already the exodus from college had begun. The twilight deepened and the long June day came unwillingly to its end. The shadows darkened under the elms and here and there a light glared out from an open window. But in the room the twilight held undisputed sway, hiding the half-packed trunks and the untidy disorder of the study. Chub lay on the window-seat and a few feet away, where he could look through the wide open casement, Roy Porter was stretched out in a morris chair. We have already caught a brief glimpse of Roy in the cheering section during the game, but in the excitement we did not, I fancy, observe him very closely. He is a good-looking, even handsome, boy, with light, curly hair and very blue eyes. He is tall and well developed, with broad shoulders and wide hips. Roy and Chub have been firm friends for three years: for two years at Ferry Hill School and for one at college. In age there is but a month or two of difference between them. Both are freshmen, having come up together from Ferry Hill last September, since which time they have led a very interesting and, withal, happy existence in the quarters, in which we now find them. And they have each had their successes. Chub has made the captaincy of the freshman Nine, they have both played on the freshman foot-ball team, and each has been recently taken into one of the societies. In studies Roy has accomplished rather more than his friend, having finished the year well up in his class. But Chub has kept his end up and has passed the finals, if not in triumph, at least without disgrace. “Another big day for you, Chub,” said Roy. Chub stretched himself luxuriously and yawned. “Yes. There have been quite a few ‘big days,’ Roy, since we met at school, haven’t there? There was the day when you lammed out that home run and won us the game from Hammond, two years ago. That was one of your ‘big days,’ old chap, but it was mine, too. Then, last year, when we won on the track. That was Dick’s ‘big day,’ but we all shared in it, especially since it brought that check from Kearney and brought the affairs of the Ferry Hill School Improvement Society to a glorious close. And then there was the baseball game last year--” “That was your day, Chub, and none other’s.”