In the college, more than in the outside world, Ellis’ fame had won the highest respect. He was the marked man: marked for friendships, for class honors, and for the respect of the faculty. A freshman, given the merest smile or word by Ellis, immediately ran to his room and wrote a burning letter about it to his mother or his sister. The fraternities and senior societies had vied with one another to secure him for a comrade. He was the college “boss” in a good sense, for if a group of excited students broke the public peace, by an unruly demonstration before the town jail, where one of the students had been immolated for throwing a snowball at the village justice, it was Ellis who jumped on a flour barrel, which he had ordered brought from the back door of a nearby grocery, and at a word, commanded the incipient riot to break up; which it did without a murmur. “Take a walk, Priddy?” asked Ellis, as he drew near. “Certainly,” I said, jumping from my perch and measuring my stride to his. “Priddy,” he said, “you know about the Bristow Oratorical Prize for seniors?” “Yes.” “The trials come off soon. Why don’t you go into it?” “I hadn’t thought of it,” I admitted. “Besides, I don’t think it would be wise. I am no orator; I mean that I do not use finished gestures, and my throat trouble has taken the spirit from my voice. In addition to that, Ellis, when one is used to the pulpit, it is really a different proposition to speak in an exhibition.” “But you will have a chance with the literary side. That counts one half,” persisted Ellis. “Now look here,” I smiled, turning on him, suddenly, “why don’t you go into it?” “I will, Priddy. I certainly will!” “You’ve made your record in football, and you ought to go into this oratorical contest, Ellis.” “I’m going into it,” he replied, “not so much for the mere idea of trying for the prize, but for a purpose.” “What’s that?” “Well, Priddy,” he continued, seriously, “I’ve been up against it ever since I indulged in sports. It has eaten up much of my time, and there have been days and days when the grind of training and practise and of having to go to bed early, and all that, have been wearing and uninspiring. If it hadn’t been that I felt that I was maintaining the honor of the college by my playing, I should have quit the game long ago. Well, there are a lot of folks that think of college athletics as a waste of the student’s time and as a feature of college life not good in itself, but which must be endured, if men are to be won to college. Of course you know that’s not the truth; at least in this place.”