Almost as noisy was the welcome given a few days later to the cup itself, when it made its second appearance before the school, coming this time for a year’s sojourn. President John, who had gulped down the bitter medicine which had been forced upon him, and now was trying to forget the taste of it, sent with the trophy a flowery note which Mr. Westcott read to an appreciative audience. “I’ll bet he swore when he wrote that,” whispered Wilmot to his seat-mate. Pete nodded. “It must have come hard. When he showed the thing to us last fall, I never expected to see it here again.” “They probably can’t keep it another year,” said Steve, loftily. “There won’t be much here after we leave.” But the little boys of big faith, in the front seats, who were straining their eyes to make out the inscription on the first shield, had not shared the anxieties of their elders, nor did they now worry about the year to come. They had known all along that their champions could be trusted to bring the school colors out on top, while as for the future—what future was there but the June examinations and the summer vacation? One more formality had still to be attended to before the athletic season could be declared closed,—the election of a captain of the crew for the next year. It was merely a formality, for, since Roger Hardie was the only one of the five who would not graduate, the choice was strictly limited. “It’s a great honor to be captain of the Westcott crew,” said Roger, as he came downstairs with Pete after the meeting, “but I wish there had been some competition. It’s like winning a race by default.” “You didn’t do any defaulting in the race,” replied Talbot, somewhat illogically, “though I was a good deal troubled about you early in the season. I had a guilty conscience for several weeks.” “Why?” “Because I had prevented your being made captain of the eleven.” “I knew you did. You didn’t think I was fit for it. I didn’t blame you.” “Nonsense! I wanted you for the crew captain next year. I took long odds, and I couldn’t explain because I couldn’t be sure you’d make good. At one time I thought you never would.” Roger gave a laugh of contentment. “I was an awful dub at first. Wilmot wanted to fire me out of the pair-oar.” “And I wouldn’t let him,” said Pete, complacently. “I thought you had the stuff in you, if we could only bring it out. Next year you’ll be first lord of the school, and I shall be lost among six hundred freshmen.” “Lost!” echoed Roger, derisively. “Anybody can find _you_ easy enough, if he’ll only search the freshman boat. Your seat will be down somewhere near the stern.” THE END. -----------------------------------------------------------------------