“Well, there are other candidates, of course, for the honor; but though nameless I guess we can count on them failing to qualify—all of which rather narrows the possibilities to Reginald Carter Westover Carroll.” “Now look here!” exclaimed Tony. “It’s to Reggie’s credit or I wouldn’t admit it. Reggie’s a peach. I can’t stand for a word against him. He’s made everything all right.” “Oh, Reggie’s all right,” admitted Kit soothingly. “Reggie is certainly all right. Haven’t I always said so? Haven’t I deplored from the very beginning that he was in with such a crowd of bounders. This only proves that he’s too good for them. I only hope,” he added, with mock gravity, “that this will have taught him a lesson and that in the future he will model himself upon us.” Upon this Tony turned and with a powerful swing of his left arm swept Kit out off the bench onto the snow. But Wilson, in his sudden descent, reached out instinctively, grabbed Tony by an arm and a leg, and pulled him down on top of him. Jimmie joyously fell on the heap. For several blissful moments there was wonderful rough-house. Tony emerged at last, sent Jimmie sprawling, and established himself for a brief triumphant moment on Kit’s stomach. “Swear you’ll never tell any of it, or I’ll stuff your mouth full of dirty snow. Swear!” “I swear,” yelled Kit. “Let me up, you white trash! Jim, to the rescue!” But Tony was up and at bay, and by whirlwind sparring was keeping Jimmie at his distance. Kit was ludicrously slow, and had a bad thump on his knee, which he rubbed ruefully as he arose with exaggerated dignity. “Cut it,” he bellowed. “Come on, do let’s crawl back in the sun and be nice and quiet and comfy again.” The other two quickly desisted and helped the wounded warrior to his seat. “I’m sorry, kid,” began Tony. “Didn’t mean to hurt you. Does it hurt _so_ much, old man?” he added, teasingly. Kit could not resist, but lumbered forward, despite the thumped knee, and fell afresh on the light-footed Deering. “Keep off, Jim!” yelled Tony, and again they went crashing to the ground. “He has got to eat that nice clean white snow.” “No—! I swear,” protested Kit. But they were in for it, and with Jimmie standing by, after a few moments of furious wrestling, both fed the other handfuls of snow, until exhausted with laughter and the effort, they lay supine and called on Lawrence piteously to help them up. “I’m off,” said Jimmie, “call-over bell is ringing, and the Gumshoe’s on deck.” “Oh, hang, oh hang the Gumshoe,” pleaded Kit. They picked themselves up, cheeks glowing, eyes glistening, clothes and hair tossed. “Such is life,” said Wilson, ostentatiously rubbing his knee. At this moment Mr. Roylston emerged from the door of the Old School and was passing them on his way to the Gymnasium to hold call-over. He glanced at their disheveled clothes and paused. “Will you take our names, sir?” asked Lawrence.