The feathery snow flew up in whirls from the flying heels. Pedestrians on the sidewalk paused and cheered as they flashed by under the bending branches of the elms, under the electric lights that were just then beginning their sputtering struggle for supremacy against the sunset. Emmet had learned to handle horses during an apprenticeship at the race-track in his boyhood, and now the judgment with which he had selected his pacer was amply vindicated. Her steaming flanks swung powerful and free; her long stride just missed the dashboard of the sleigh. As he lightly touched her swaying back with the whip for a final burst of speed, he loved the beast as only a horseman can, and murmured terms of endearment that were equally applicable to a sweetheart. The head of Cobbens's horse was just in a line with Emmet's shoulder as they passed the goal. The mayor turned while the other began to drop behind and shouted a derisive farewell, with a parting flourish of the whip. The victory was as sweet to his heart as the taste of honey to the lips. The race had changed his mood completely, filling him with a joyous truculence. He would gladly have embraced the opportunity of a rough knock-down and drag-out fight with a picked champion from the enemy's camp. As he passed along the eastern border of the campus and glanced up at St. George's Hall, it no longer appeared the impregnable fortress of privilege he had once thought it. Yet, in reality, the towers of the college had never looked more formidable. Rising magnificently at the crest of a bleak expanse of snow, the embrasured battlements, silhouetted against the sunset sky, might well have suggested to a beholder grim thoughts of mediaeval strongholds and robber barons. The red orb of the sun, hovering just above the rim of the western hills, flashed successively through the windows of the long, low hall, like a running trail of fire. Emmet was directly opposite the towers when he saw the muzzle of the telescope rise slowly above the topmost line of coping, as if it were a living thing stretching itself to take a look at the surrounding country. Evidently Professor Leigh was preparing the instrument for an observation. Emmet pictured the platform heaped with snow, imagined the cold air rushing into the small shed through the open roof, and wondered that his friend's enthusiasm could brave such discomforts to win a knowledge so remote from the interests of life.