Meet me at the north entrance to Warburton Hall at five o’clock sharp. Don’t fail, for I have something of importance to tell you. Pass this word on to Tony Larcom. He must be there, too. Yours in haste, RAY WENDELL. Tony was reciting at the time, and making a fine botch of it, too, to the general amusement of the class. The meeting of the evening before had evidently interfered seriously with his preparation, for though he was making a brave fight, Professor Fuller caught him on a knotty question before which Tony’s wits availed him nothing. So down he sat, as smiling and unabashed as if he had scored a brilliant success. Then I handed Ray Wendell’s note to my neighbor, and saw it pass rapidly along the line. Tony read it, looked toward me, and nodded his head. Immediately after the recitation he joined us, and together we hurried over toward Warburton Hall. Ray Wendell was standing at the north entrance, evidently awaiting us. As we came up, Ray said, “I’m glad you are prompt, for we’ve no time to lose.” At this moment Len Howard came down the stairs, tennis racket in hand, and was about to pass us when he saw Ray. “Hullo, Wendell,” he said; “when can you play tennis with me again?” “I don’t know,” answered Ray. “Baseball will take all my time now, I think.” “Then why not play me before the baseball season sets in? Couldn’t we have a few sets to-morrow?” “I shall be away to-morrow,” said Ray. “Then some time next week. How about Monday noon?” “I can’t say; I may be too busy.” “See here, Wendell, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll play you for fifty dollars a side, and put up the money at once. Now, there’s a chance for you.” “I don’t play for money,” answered Ray coldly, “and, to be perfectly frank, Howard, I don’t care particularly to play at all. I understand that you had money up on that last series of games, and――――” “Well, and what if I did?” broke in Howard. “Is it any of your business?” “It is none of my business whether you bet or not, but it _is_ some of my business whom I play tennis with, and I say again, I don’t care to play.” “Oh, pshaw, you are afraid to play me,” said Howard. “If I wasn’t afraid to play you before, when I thought you were the better player, why should I be afraid now, when I know I can beat you?” rejoined Ray, with a slightly sarcastic accent. “You can’t beat me――it was all luck――you couldn’t beat me again to save your life!” burst out Howard excitedly. “I tell you I’ll bet you anything that――――” “And I tell you that I won’t bet anything, and that baseball is all I have time for at present.” Here Ray turned away. Howard stood irresolute for a moment, as if about to say something more; then wheeling sharply on his heel, he exclaimed with a sneer, “Oh, you’re a coward!” and walked off. Ray’s face flushed a moment as he looked after him. Then he bit his lip, and, turning to Tony, said,