And day after day, Richard Carr stopped on his way to the field, and on his way back again, to see his “Baby,” as he called him, and to answer the numerous questions put to him by Arthur’s companions. They always assembled at the hour of Richard Carr’s arrival in order to share some of the glory that had fallen on their comrade, and to cherish and carry away whatever precious thoughts Richard Carr might let drop concerning foot-ball, or the weather, or any other vital topic on which his opinion was decisive. As soon as the doctor said Arthur could be moved, Richard Carr used to stop for him in a two-seated carriage and drive him in state to the foot-ball field. And after he had drawn up the carriage where Arthur could get a good view of the game, he would hand over the reins to one of those vulture-like individuals who hover around the field of battle, waiting for some one to be hurt, and who are known as “substitutes.” In his orange and black uniform, one of these fellows made a very gorgeous coachman indeed. And though the students might yell, and the townspeople shout ever so loudly, Richard Carr only heard one shrill little voice, which called to him above all the others; and as that voice got stronger day by day, Richard Carr got back his old spirit and interest in the game, which, since the Yale match, he seemed to have lost. The team said Richard Carr’s “Baby” brought them luck, and they called him their “Mascot,” and presented him with a flag of the college colors; and when the weather grew colder they used to smother him in their white woollen jerseys, so that he looked like a fat polar bear. It was a very pretty sight, indeed, to see how Richard Carr and the rest of the team, whenever they had scored or had made a good play, would turn first for their commendation to where Arthur sat perched above the crowd, waving his flag, his cheeks all aglow, and the substitute’s arm around him to keep him from falling over in his excitement. And the other teams who came to play at Princeton soon learned about the captain’s “Baby,” and inquired if he were on the field; and if he was, they would go up and gravely shake hands with him, as with some celebrated individual holding a public reception. Richard Carr is out West now at the head of a great sheep ranch, and Arthur Waller enters Princeton next year. I do not know whether he will be on the team, though he is strong enough; but I am sure he will help to hand down the fame of Richard Carr, and that he will do it in such a way that his hero will be remembered as the possessor of certain qualities, perhaps not so highly prized, but almost as excellent, as were those which fitted him to be captain of the team. THE GREAT TRI-CLUB TENNIS TOURNAMENT. Charles Coleridge Grace, as he was called by the sporting editors, or Charley Grace, as he was known about college, had held the tennis championship of his Alma Mater ever since he had been a freshman.