“He is bringing the trophy!” cried the president of the club, in great eagerness. “He stated he would show it here this afternoon. Come down, gentlemen—come down and see it!” They descended from the observatory and went down to the parlor, where they found Mr. Ashley had already arrived, the carriage being outside the door. The gentleman who accompanied Mr. Ashley carried in his hand a leather bag, which seemed quite heavy. “That bag contains the trophy, I think,” said Frank to Bart, as Proctor hastened to speak to Ashley. The founder of the club was a man of slender, wiry build, an Englishman of the higher grade, who had not acquired that ponderous solemnity most Americans expect to see in Britishers of middle age and of his standing. In many respects he was more like an American than a typical Englishman. His hair and mustache contained a liberal sprinkling of gray. He was plainly dressed in brown. Mr. Ashley had been expected, and there was a large gathering of members in the parlor. He greeted them in a pleasant manner, yet without elaborate politeness. “Put the bag on the table in the centre of the room, Mr. Graham,” he said, and his companion did as directed. Herbert Hollingsworth entered and hurried to Mr. Ashley. “The men have just finished work for the day,” he said. “They are in the bathhouse. It will be thirty or forty minutes before they can be here.” “We will wait until they can come before showing the trophy,” said Ashley. “How are our boys showing up?” “Splendidly, sir. Prince and Clyde are in the pink of condition.” “That is good. How about Sheldon and Bramwell?” “Oh, they will be pretty sure to make a good showing, especially Sheldon. Bramwell is persistent.” Proctor gave Frank and Bart a nod, upon which they approached and were introduced to Mr. Ashley, who shook hands warmly with both of them. “Mr. Merriwell,” he said, “I am particularly glad to meet you. Are you going to enter?” “Well,” smiled Frank, giving Hollingsworth a glance, “I have been persuaded to do so, although I did not contemplate it when I came here.” “I persuaded him, sir,” the trainer hastened to declare. “To me it seemed an opportune time to demonstrate that Mr. Merriwell is not the only one in his class.” Ashley was quick to catch something amiss in the manner of Hollingsworth. “This contest has been advertised as open for all registered amateurs in this country,” he said, at once. “Every one is welcome to compete, and may the best man win.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XX THE GOLDEN TROPHY. The parlor of the clubhouse was well filled when Robert Ashley exposed the trophy, which had been placed on the table in the centre of the room and covered with a flag.