It will be readily understood that the Eagle Heights A.A. was an organization made up and maintained by rich young men, or the sons of wealthy men—gentlemen they were supposed to be, one and all. But wealth is not always the brand of birth or breeding, and, like other clubs, the Eagle Heights contained members who lacked the natural instincts of the gentleman, although they had a certain veneering, or outward polish. The Eagle Heights A.A. was the outcome of the modern development of interest in athletics and sports. Ten years ago the organization and maintenance of such a club would have been impossible; and, indeed, the scheme seemed wild and visionary when first outlined at the Manhattan A.A. by Frederick Fuller, the father of Bert Fuller. Although plainly told that he could never carry the project through, Fuller, Sr., went about it in earnest, secured a site for the clubhouse, with fine grounds on every hand, started a fund, interested other men of wealth, and finally pushed the thing through. The Eagle Heights A.A. was nearly two years old and flourishing like a green bay tree. It was generally regarded as the acme of glory to be admitted as a member, and the time had already arrived when it was found necessary to make a finer discrimination in regard to admissible candidates. As was natural, rivalry for honors among the club members of this remarkable organization was very keen. But not all the contests were held for the benefit of members only. Already there had been three open meets of various sorts, and now there was to be another, in which all athletes regularly registered in the A.A.A. of the U.S. could participate. Frank Merriwell, having reached the East after a tour of the country, had received a special invitation to be present and to compete if he desired. Having learned that Merry would visit the club at a certain time, there was an unusually large number of members present on the forenoon of this midweek day. Phil Phipps was correct in thinking that one of the two strangers in the carriage with the president of the club was Frank. The other was Merry’s boon companion, Bart Hodge. The carriage stopped at the broad front steps and Fuller sprang out, followed by his guests. “Here we are, Merriwell!” cried the youthful president, with a wave of his hand. “What do you think of our location?” Frank permitted his eyes to sweep over the beautiful prospect of fields, woodland, and hills, through the midst of which flowed the blue, majestic Hudson. It was a vision to delight the soul of any true lover of nature. “It is grand, Fuller!” he answered, with enthusiasm. “With such a view outspread before you, you should be constantly spurred to do your level best at any undertaking. Surely it is an inspiration.” The face of Hodge betrayed his admiration, but he said nothing.