“Gentlemen,” he said, “it may seem strange to you that I have not up to the present time made known the exact nature of the trophy I intended to offer. I will explain. It is my belief that the cleanest and most commendable sports are those in which the contestants participate without covetousness or hope of reward other than the glory that comes to the victor. In the glorious days of Greece the victor was rewarded with a wreath of laurel. I believed it was possible to bring together for this event the leading long-distance runners of this country, without arousing their greed by advertising the real worth of the trophy, and the result has justified my judgment. Only those who have already entered or to-day announce their intention to enter and make proper application will be accepted. Already the leading amateurs of the United States, with one or two exceptions, are entered. There is no longer a chance that greed will bring others into the contest. May the victor prove worthy of the trophy, and may it inspire him to his best efforts through life.” This final speech was greeted with even more applause than the first had aroused. The astonishing generosity of Mr. Ashley was commented upon quietly by little groups, and it was universally agreed that the winner of the contest might properly lay claim to the title of cross-country champion of America. Two young men entered and advanced to view the trophy. One of them attracted attention right away. Among those who hastened to speak to him was Herbert Hollingsworth. “Jove, Merry!” exclaimed Hodge softly; “did you catch that chap’s name?” “What chap?” “The one who just came in with the fellow in the blue suit. Hollingsworth is talking to him now.” “No, I didn’t catch his name.” “Hollingsworth called him Huntley.” Instantly Frank gave the fellow more attention. He saw a slender, graceful young man of twenty-four or five, who had rather long legs, and who, in spite of his grace and suppleness, had about him a suggestion of strength and reserve power. His chin denoted pugnacity, his mouth determination and his nose command. His eyes were the only questionable features he possessed. Although they were not shifty and they looked at one squarely, to Frank they somehow suggested a nature not over-scrupulous—one who would sacrifice friendship or anything else for selfish gain and glory. Proctor now discovered the newcomer and made some haste to shake hands with him, after which, taking his arm, he led him over to Frank. “I think you will be pleased to meet Mr. Merriwell, Mr. Huntley,” said the president of the club. “Mr. Merriwell, this gentleman will be one of your dangerous rivals for the golden trophy. He is the champion long-distance man of the Bison A. A., Buffalo.” “I am in truth glad to know you, Mr. Huntley,” nodded Merry, as he shook the hand of the man from Buffalo.