The day of the Yale-Harvard meeting has come, and with it Jack Vail's chance of becoming a "'varsity man," and winning the right to wear the 'varsity Y on sweater and jersey front. What that right means none but a college man can really appreciate. Scores and scores of men spend long years in training, hoping to win the coveted honor, and out of them all only a few are chosen. To the 'varsity men more than to all others is the college honor entrusted. They personify the courage and manliness of the university, and must show themselves worthy of the trust, and the man who "makes the 'varsity" by so doing obtains the respect and consideration of the whole college world, for only one possessing unusual qualities of mind and body is chosen as worthy to join the few who represent their alma mater on track and field. And to-day, if Jack can win his race against Harvard in the annual competition for the great challenge cup, he wins his Y. The sun rises in a cloudless sky, and the day gradually grows hotter, until, by afternoon, the last trace of heaviness has been burned out of the cinder path, and the tiers of "bleachers" are packed and jammed with cheering, sweltering college men and groups of equally enthusiastic college girls. Three of the bleachers are a mass of crimson flags, dresses, and ribbons--the Harvard "rooters," a loyal band who have come down from Cambridge to encourage their team. And now the air is shattered by volleys of cheers from the Yale tiers. Before each section stand prominent Seniors who in ordinary life bear themselves with a dignity befitting their high position in the college world, but who are now devoting every atom of the energy which has made them marked men to waving their arms and hats as leaders of the cheering, terminating each effort with a peculiarly enthusiastic bound. A triple "Rah! Rah! Rah!" from one section is followed from another by the classical "Brekity-kek-coax-coax"--a cheer adopted from Aristophanes. The cause of all the commotion is a great blue 'bus, which has just lumbered up to the training-house, a short distance from the track, with "Varsity" painted on the side. Out of this are pouring strapping hammer-throwers and shot-putters, slim distance-runners, wiry jumpers, and all the other competitors who go to make up an athletic team. And now the crimson delegation have their innings as the Harvard team file into the training-house. The Yale men are located on the ground-floor, while above them in the same house are their rivals. In the training-house is the faint feverish smell of raw alcohol, and the sound of resounding slaps as the brawny rubbers massage divers sinewy legs. The sprinters and quarter-milers, whose events come first, are slipping into their scanty jeans and lacing up spiked shoes, every muscle quivering with that deathly nervousness which even veteran runners feel before a race.