Frank turned away heartbroken. "If I could only keep at it, I'd get the trick back. I had it yesterday and I've lost it to-day." "Keep off my feet," grumbled Frank that night to Gleason. "Rest and keep off my feet. I wonder if he intends to have me keep my bed." "O, you're too nervous, that's all. A little country air would be good for you. Say, by Jove, I've got an idea, rest, recreation, off your feet, on the job and all that." "Open up, my son." "It's this. Let's hire a motor and see some of this blooming country. I don't suppose they object to your exercising your eyes." "I'm with you if the captain hasn't any objection. We've been sticking pretty closely around here." "It's a monumental idea and worthy of a great brain like mine." The captain had no objection and was indeed glad of it since he felt it would take Frank's attention from the coming games. "And how about the motor? I'm not a bloated bondholder like you, but I'll go my halves." "Oh, run away. I've been aching to find an excuse to spend some money round here. I know where I can get a little pippin of a machine for ten shillings the hour. Ten shillings are $2.50 our money and cheap when it includes a dinky little chauffeur with a uniform. Watch me produce!" And away the Codfish dashed down the street. In twenty minutes he was back with a snappy little, high-powered runabout painted a flaming red color. "Couldn't get a blue one," he apologized. Frank hopped in alongside the driver, and the Codfish perched behind in the rumble seat. For two hours Frank forgot entirely about the Yale-Harvard-Oxford-Cambridge track meet, and his part in it. And those who have traveled in the beautiful lanes and highways of Sussex will understand his absorption. Again in the cool of the afternoon Gleason appeared for another "personally conducted" tour, this time to the west of Brighton, along the shore road. Eye-tired from watching the moving panorama of country and town, Frank Armstrong slept, free from the regular nightmare of broad-jumping competition in which he never could quite reach his best. The great day of the contest came around at last and found the American athletes pitched to a high degree of excitement. A final trial of the Queen's Club track had given some very satisfactory performances, which more than hinted at an American victory. Burrows, the Harvard sprinter, had run the hundred in nine and four-fifths seconds, and seemed sure of not only this event but of the two hundred and twenty as well. With these two secure, the American athletes had a clear lead in the race for victory. "This is the great day, boys," announced Trainer Black at the breakfast table. "Train leaves for London at 10:30. Games at two o'clock. Put all the stuff you need in your suit cases. They will go up on the train with us." "Do we lunch in London?" asked someone.