Emery and Thornton exchanged glances. There was a significance about such language that could not be misunderstood. Thornton shivered a bit, and, unconsciously, drew back from Flemming. The excitement of the evening was at its highest pitch thus far. The contestants for yet another race were getting into position, and, in another moment, they were off like a pack of greyhounds. This time a Yale man carried his colors to victory, and the "Sons of Old Eli" yelled their approval and delight. Yale was doing nobly. This night she was making a record for herself that would be remembered. But now came the greatest race of all--the mile run. Preparations were made for it, and feverish anticipation swayed the great multitude. Fred Flemming was literally quivering as he leaned over the rail of the box. "Let's give Yatsie a great send-off!" he exclaimed. "They are coming out in a minute." He was watching the point where the runners must first appear. His hand shook on the rail. The runners appeared. The first was Beatty, the Harvard man, and the Harvard crowd "hoo-rahed" hoarsely. Then came Mansford, of Princeton, and the Tigers let themselves loose. Jetting, of Dartmouth, followed, and the New Hampshire lads greeted him in a manner that brought the blood to his cheeks. Then little Judd, the U. P. man, trotted out, and he was received with howls of delight from the Quakers. "Now--now comes Yates!" cried Fred Flemming. The Yale man appeared, and Flemming stood up to cheer. He dropped into his seat as if he had been shot, his face turning ashen gray, and the cheer dying on his lips. "Good heavens!" gasped Tom Thornton. "It is Frank Merriwell!" But his exclamation was drowned by the mighty cheer which greeted the appearance of the Yale standard-bearer. CHAPTER XXXVII. TO VICTORY--CONCLUSION. "Merriwell! Merriwell! 'Rah! 'rah! 'rah!" It was a mighty roar of voices. Then came the well-known Yale yell, which was repeated again and again. The entire Yale crowd was standing, wildly waving hands, hats, flags, handkerchiefs, anything and everything that could be found to wave. It was an ovation that might have gladdened the heart of an emperor. It was not strange that the sound nerved the Yale man to vow within himself to die in the effort to win for dear "Old Eli," if he could not win otherwise. But up in one of the boxes not far from the starting point were three young men who were utterly overcome with amazement and consternation. One of them had a face that was drawn and pale, as if he had received a mortal wound. "What's it mean, Flem?" asked Andy Emery, in Fred's ear. "Merriwell is here! Have you been horsing us?" Then, for all that his parents and his sisters were present, Fred Flemming ground out a bitter cry. His voice shook and he choked, as he answered: "You know as well as I what it means! Oh, what luck!"