"Trimming my nails a bit. Have to do my own manicuring down in this jumping-off place, and I never have time for it mornings; barely get to the old academy soon enough to escape the tardy record--sometimes I don't escape. Never knew you to come this way before, even if it is a short cut. In a hurry?" "Ye-yes--no, not exactly; but this was as good a way as any." "You don't seem to be practicing with the great Oakdale nine," said Herbert, bringing forth a fresh cigarette. "I'm surprised at that." "Are you? Well, you needn't be." In lighting the cigarette Rackliff was seized by a choking fit of coughing, which led him to wipe his eyes with a dainty silk handkerchief. "I knew I'd catch a beastly cold coming home through the rain the other night on that old lemon of Hooker's," he said when he could get his breath. "I hate a cough; it always seems to tear my lungs out. Next thing I know I'll be throwing one of 'em up." "You don't look well." "I have felt better. Never mind, I'll get over it; but, oh! you bet your life you'll never catch me on a motorcycle again. They are rotten dirty things anyhow; simply cover you with dust when they don't paste you with mud. Have a smoke?" "Don't care if I do," said Phil, accepting the proffered cigarette case and selecting one. "I don't make a practice of using the things, but I need something to cheer me up." Rackliff also supplied a match, and then motioned toward a near-by stone, urging Phil to sit down and make himself comfortable. "You haven't looked hilariously cheerful of late," said the city youth. "Sort of taken your downfall to heart, haven't you?" "My dud-downfall?" "Yes. Oh, you're down and out, all right, and you must realize it--you do, too. Your proficient pupil, Mr. Rodney Grant, has tumbled you off the pedestal and taken your place." "I wish you wouldn't tut-talk about him!" cried Phil. Herbert shrugged his narrow shoulders and smiled. "You don't like him any better than I do, that's plain. You thought you liked him once, but you've found him out. He's a conceited pup. Strange how everybody seems to fall for him, even Lela Barker. Now she's just about the nicest little clipper around these parts, but she's got country ideas, and she can't see the difference between a gentleman and a common cowpuncher--which latter Grant is, and mighty common, at that. Your sister is Lela's chum; I should think you might get your sister to open Miss Barker's eyes to that fellow. Couldn't you show him up somehow and fix it so your sister would put Lela wise to him?" "If I could, I wouldn't take all that trouble," replied Phil, who had seated himself and was puffing at the cigarette in a way that threatened to demolish it in short order. "He isn't worth it."