"Say, Frank, I guess I'll not go on to Paris." "Changed your mind?" There was a hint of laughter in Frank's voice. "Yes, I think I ought to stick around for the practice and the games, don't you? Doesn't seem quite right to desert now." "Good boy," said Frank. "I think you'll find England more congenial than Paris. It wouldn't be right to leave us anyway." "That's what I think, too. I'll stick with the bunch." CHAPTER XII. THE CODFISH LOSES HIMSELF. The team with all its paraphernalia went through to London that night, and the next morning took train for Brighton about fifty miles south on the English Channel, where all were quartered at the Grand Hotel on the Esplanade facing the channel. Training quarters were established on the grounds of the Brighton Athletic Club which had been generously offered to the visitors by the Board of Governors. It was an eager lot of athletes that tumbled out of the tally-ho at the Club that morning, for the trainers insisted that the practice should begin at once, and the men themselves, cooped up as they had been for a week, were no less anxious to get to work than the trainers were to have them. Several scores of people, attracted to Brighton by the news that the Yale and Harvard teams would train there for the week previous to the match with Oxford and Cambridge, were in attendance when the Americans got into action. "A likely looking lot," was the English comment. After a light work-out, Armstrong and McGregor were called to the jumping pit. "Try a few," said Trainer Black, "but make it easy and be careful you don't twist your ankles. We're badly enough off as it is." After measuring out the runway and taking half a dozen practice runs, McGregor made a leap of something over 21 feet on his first try. Frank followed, but did not show anything impressive. Again he tried, but whether from the enforced idleness on the steamer or from physical condition, again fell far short of the jump he expected to make. "You're not getting any lift at all," said Black, coming up at that moment. "Shoot high in the air when you strike that take-off." Frank attempted to follow instructions, but his legs felt heavy and dead. He knew very well without information from the trainer that he failed to get his height. The more he jumped, the worse he got, but persisted until Trainer Black said: "That's enough, now. Jog around the track a couple of times and go in. You are off to-day but I guess it will be all right to-morrow." But the next day, while there was a little improvement in his distance, Frank was far behind his American performances. McGregor jumped consistently at 22 feet and a half. The strange ground did not seem to bother him in any way, while with Frank either the straight runway, the different conditions of air or the week of partial idleness on shipboard had played havoc with his skill. Naturally, he began to worry, and this had its effect in keeping him back.