"Matt King had better take to the cliffs and the cactus," remarked Ratty Spangler, with a chuckle. "Ginger, there's going to be doings at the try-out this afternoon. What do you s'pose they want with a gun, Tubbits?" The uncertainty was just desperate enough to fill Ratty with delightful anticipations. He hoped in his little soul that Perry and Clip wouldn't go far enough to involve the rest of the cross-country team, but he wanted them to be sure and go as far as they could. "Blamed if I know," answered Tubbits. "I'm shyer of guns than I am of rattlesnakes. When that old skeezicks of a Perkins shook that piece of hardware at us a while ago, I thought I'd throw a fit. Why, the mouth of it looked as big as the Hoosac Tunnel to me. No, thankee, no guns in mine." "We could jerk him up for that," asserted Ratty. "Say, if we'd have him arrested----" "Arrest nothin'!" snorted Tubbits. "We'd look pretty small hauling old Perkins up before a judge and then telling why we'd gone back along the canal with Perry. Some things are well enough to leave alone--and that's one of them." The boys were well into town by then, and the party separated, each going his different way and wondering what was to happen during the afternoon. CHAPTER VI. THE TRY-OUT. "There he is, Jack!" exclaimed Major Woolford, leaning across the railing of the judges' stand and pointing; "that's the youngster I was telling you about. By gad, he's the speediest thing that ever happened when it comes to a bike. Give him a sizing, Jack, and then take off your hat to Young America at its best. You see, I know what he can do, and I'm the one who told Carter to bring him to the track for a try-out. Walks like he was on springs and handles himself without a particle of lost motion--every move decisive and straight to the mark. Oh, I don't know! As long as the Old Star-Spangled-Long-May-it-Wave can give us lads like that I reckon the country's safe." The major slipped his stop-watch into one pocket of his vest and pulled a cigar-case out of another. As he passed the case to his friend, Governor Gaynor, he noticed an amused smile on the governor's face. The major was president, and the governor an honorary member, of the Phoenix Athletic Club. "Protégé of yours, major?" inquired the governor, striking a match. "Not much, Jack," answered the major. "I don't believe in protégés, favorites, or any other brand of humbug that leads to the door marked 'pull.' Give me a young fellow that stands on his own feet--the kind that does his own climbing, Jack, without wasting valuable time looking around for some one to give him a boost. That's the sort of a chap Matt King is. Just keep your eye on him."