Broadwood Academy, Yardley’s rival, was situated about two miles from Greenburg in the opposite direction. Although slightly smaller than Yardley in point of enrollment, it was counted among the foremost preparatory schools of the East. Of course, at Yardley they made fun of it; called it a “fresh water school” because it stood inland, and pretended that it was a joke. But for all of that Broadwood Academy had long proved herself a worthy rival to the older school. Unlike Yardley, Broadwood prohibited her students from going to Greenburg on all days save Saturdays, unless by special permission, and as a consequence Saturday afternoon found the main street well sprinkled with wearers of the green. Kendall viewed the four with new interest. They seemed rather nice-looking fellows, he thought. But already the Yardley fealty was beginning to take hold of him and he added to himself that they lacked something that Yardley boys had. As though to offer evidence, two Yardley fellows entered just then and called for sodas. Kendall knew them both by sight and one by name. The taller of the pair was Arthur Thompson, a First Class boy, captain of the Track Team and a pole-vaulter of some reputation. He was trying for the Football Team, too, for Kendall had seen him at practice several times. The other boy was considerably younger; younger even than Kendall; later the latter was to learn that his name was Harry Merrow. There _was_ a difference between these two and the Broadwood quartette, although Kendall couldn’t have indicated it very clearly, and the difference, Kendall stoutly held, was in favor of the Yardlians. They consumed their beverages at the counter and presently passed out again to the street. They had not gone unnoticed by the Broadwood fellows, however; Kendall heard the latter discussing them in low voices. “That’s Thompson,” said one, “the tall fellow. He’s their crack pole-vaulter. He was in wrong with the Office last year and couldn’t vault, but he will show us a thing or two next spring. They say he’s about the best prep school chap in his line, and I heard that two or three colleges have been making love to him.” “He’s a rangy looking customer,” said another. “I hope we don’t run up against a bunch like him to-night. I like fun, but I’m not looking for slaughter.” “Don’t shout,” counseled a third in a low voice. “I wasn’t. Besides, there isn’t a Yardley fellow in sight.” To make sure all four glanced about them. Their gaze passed over Kendall unsuspectingly. It never occurred to any of them that the countrified looking youth in ill-fitting pepper-and-salt clothes was a Yardlian. Kendall was diligently consuming his ice-cream soda and apparently was not even conscious of the quartette’s existence. “Well, anyhow,” pursued the remonstrant, “keep your voice down. You never know who’s going to hear.”