“I don’t know,” said Stearns, doubtfully. “Something will turn up, you see if it doesn’t.” “Nonsense! How about you, Ware? Going to win the two miles?” “I’m scared to think about it,” answered Allan, uneasily. “That Robinson crack can do better than I’ve succeeded in doing yet, and so I guess I’ll have to be satisfied with second place.” “Oh, Ware’s all right,” said Stearns, encouragingly. “He’s going to present us with five points, and we’ll need ’em!” This sounded more like the Stearns Allan was accustomed to. “They tell me that chum of yours, Burley, is going to do great things with the shot, Ware,” said Mason, questioningly. “I hope so,” Allan answered. “He can, all right; the only thing is whether he will get fussed and forget how; he’s funny that way.” “Well, Billy thinks he’s a wonder, and says that by next year he’ll be able to give a foot to the best college man in the country. Well, there’s the bell. I hate to waste a day like this indoors, but--needs must when the faculty drives!” The trio slipped off the fence and went their separate ways, but before they parted Stearns drew Allan aside. “I say, Ware,” he said, “don’t say anything to any one about what--what you’ve heard. There’s no use in discouraging them, you know, and what I just said doesn’t amount to anything; I guess I’m feeling a bit nervous. You understand?” But Allan, as he crossed the yard to College Hall, in the tower of which the bell was clanging its imperative summons, couldn’t help feeling apprehensive and worried. It was so unlike Stearns to admit even the possibility of defeat. On the steps Allan ran against Pete, big, smiling, and serenely satisfied with life. “How’d you get on yesterday?” asked Allan, as they went in together. “Oh, pretty middlin’,” said Pete, cheerfully. “I got within four inches of that cayuse of a Monroe.” “But you’ll have to beat him if you expect to win over Robinson,” said Allan, anxiously. “Oh, I’m not bothering about Robinson,” answered Pete. “If I can do up Monroe, that’s all I give a hang about!” The next afternoon, Thursday, Stearns appeared at Allan’s room, looking excessively cheerful. “Hello!” he said, as he sat down. “How are things?” “All right,” answered the other, wondering at the track captain’s errand. “How about you?” “Fine as silk,” he said. “Say, Ware, Robinson has sent a foolish letter, and asks the committee to look up your record. Of course,” he went on, carelessly and hurriedly, “it’s all poppycock, but they think they have a case, and so maybe you’d better walk over with me and see Nast about it; just explain things so he can write back to ’em, you know. Are you busy?” Allan, bewildered and dismayed, looked across at Stearns with wide eyes and sinking heart. The track team captain’s forebodings of yesterday flashed into memory, and it was with a very weak voice that he asked finally: “You mean that--that Robinson has protested me?”