"But how did it all happen?" asked Outfield West breathlessly.

He had just entered and was seated on the edge of the bed whereon Joel lay propped up eating his Thanksgiving dinner from a tray. It was seven o'clock in the evening, and Dickey Sproule was not yet back. The yard was noisy with the shouts of lads returning from the dining hall, and an occasional cheer floated up, an echo of the afternoon's event. Joel moved a dish of pudding away from Outfield's elbow as he answered between mouthfuls of turkey:

"I was up here studying at the table there when I heard some one coming up stairs two steps at a time. It was Clausen. He threw open the door and cried: 'They're winning, March, they're winning! Come quick! Remsen says we can tie them if you play. It's all right, March. We'll go to the office and I'll tell everything. Only come, hurry!' Well, of course I thought first he was crazy. Then I guessed what was up, because I knew that Eustace had scored--"

"You couldn't have known; you were studying."

"Well, I--I wasn't studying all the time, Out. So up I jumped, and we raced over to the office and found Professor Wheeler there asleep on the leather couch under the window. 'It was Cloud and I, sir, that cut the rope!' said Clausen. 'I'm very sorry, sir, and I'll take the punishment and glad to. But March hadn't anything to do with it, sir; he didn't even know anything about it, sir!' Professor Wheeler was about half awake, and he thought something terrible was the matter, and it took the longest time to explain what Clausen was talking about. Then he said he was glad to learn that I was innocent, and I thanked him, and he started to ask Clausen a lot of questions. 'But St. Eustace is winning, sir!' I cried. He looked at me in astonishment. 'Indeed, I'm very sorry to hear it,' he said. 'But it isn't too late now, sir,' said Clausen. 'For what?' asked 'Wheels.' 'For me to go on the team,' said I. 'You know, sir, you put me on probation and I can't play.' 'Oh,' said he, 'but you were put on probation by the faculty, and the faculty must take you off.' 'But meanwhile Hillton will be beaten!' said Clausen. 'Can't he play, sir? He can save the day!' Wheels thought a bit. 'What's the score?' he asked. Clausen told him. 'Yes,' he said at last, 'run and get to work. I'll explain to the faculty. And by the way, March, remember that a kick into touch is always the safest.'"

"Isn't he a rummy old guy?" exclaimed West. "And then?"

"Then I struck out for the gym, got into my canvas togs somehow or other, and reached the field just about in time. Luckily I knew the signals. And then after I'd kicked that goal that big Eustace chap struck me like a locomotive, and I went down on the back of my head; and that's all except that they brought me up here and Professor Gibbs plastered me up and gave me a lot of nasty sweet water to take."

"And Clausen?"

"From the little I heard I think Cloud cut the rope and made Clausen promise not to tell. And he kept his promise until he saw Hillton getting beaten yesterday, and then he couldn't stand it, and just up and told everything, and saved us a licking."

"Didn't I tell you Cloud did it? Didn't I--" There came a knock on the door and in response to Joel's invitation Professor Wheeler and Stephen Remsen entered. West leaped off the bed--there is a rule at Hillton forbidding occupying beds save for sleep--and upset Joel's tea. Professor Wheeler smiled as he said:

"West, you're rather an uneasy fellow to have in a sick-room. Get something and dry that off the floor there, please.--Well, March, I understand you got there in the nick of time to-day. Mr. Remsen says you saved us from defeat."

"Indeed he did, professor; no one else save Blair could have done it to-day. That goal from the twenty-five-yard line was as pretty a performance as I've ever seen.--How are you feeling, lad?"

"All right," answered Joel. "I've got a bit of a headache, but I'll be better in the morning."

"Your appetite doesn't seem to have failed you," said the principal.

"No, sir, I was terribly hungry."

"That's a good sign, they say.--West, you may take your seat again." The professor and Stephen Remsen occupied the two chairs, and West without hesitation sat down again on the bed.

"March, I have learned the truth of that affair. Bartlett Cloud, it appears, cut the bell rope simply in order to throw suspicion on you. He managed to secure a letter of yours through--hem!--through your roommate, who, it seems, also bears you a grudge for some real or fancied slight. Clausen, while a party to the affair, appears to have taken no active part in it, and only remained silent because threatened with bodily punishment by Cloud. These boys will be dealt with as they deserve.

"But I wish to say to you that all along it has been the belief of the faculty, the entire faculty, that you had no hand in the matter, and we are all glad to have our judgments vindicated. An announcement will be made to-morrow which will set you right again before the school. And now, in regard to Richard Sproule; do you know of any reason why he should wish you harm?" "No, sir. We don't get along very well, but--"

"I see. Now, it will be best for you to change either your room or your roommate. Have you any preference which you do?"

"I should like to change my room, sir. I should like to go in with West. He has a room to himself in Hampton, and wants to have me join him."

"But do you realize that the rent will be very much greater, March?"

"Yes, sir, but West wants me to pay only what I have paid for this room, sir. He says he'd have to pay for the whole room if I didn't go in with him, and so it's fair that way. Do you think it is, sir?"

"What would your father say, West?"

"I've asked him, sir. He says to go ahead and do as I please." The principal smiled as he replied:

"Well, March, then move over to West's room to-morrow. It will be all fair enough. And I shall be rather glad to have you in Hampton House. Digbee is an example of splendid isolation there; it will be well to have some one help him maintain the dignity of study amid such a number of--er--well, say lilies of the field, West; they toil not, if you remember, and neither do they spin. Don't get up in the morning if your head still hurts, March; we don't want you to get sick.--Keep a watch on him, West; and, by the way, if he wants more tea, run over to the dining hall and tell the steward I said he was to have it. Good-night, boys."

"Good-night, sir." Remsen shook hands with Joel.

"March, I hope I shall be able to repay you some day for what you did this afternoon. It meant more to me, I believe, than it did to even you fellows. I'm going Thursday next. Come and see me before then if you can. Good-night."

When the door had closed Outfield shouted, "Hurrah!" in three different keys and pirouetted about the room. "It's all fixed, Joel. Welcome to Hampton, my lad! Welcome to the classic shades of Donothing Hall! We will live on pickles and comb-honey, and feast like the Romans of old! We--" He paused. "Say, Joel, I guess Cloud will be expelled, eh?" Joel considered thoughtfully with a spoonful of rice pudding midway between saucer and mouth. Then he swallowed the delicacy. "Yes," he replied, "and I'm awful glad of it."

But Joel was mistaken; for Cloud was not to be found the next morning, and the condition of his room pointed to hasty flight. He had taken alarm and saved himself from the degradation of public dismissal. And so he passed from Hillton life and was known there no more. Clausen escaped with a light punishment, for which both Joel and West were heartily glad. "Because when you get him away from Cloud," said West, "Clausen's not a bad sort, you know."

Richard Sproule was suspended for the balance of the fall term, and was no longer monitor of his floor. Perhaps the heaviest punishment was the amount of study he was required to do in order to return after Christmas recess, entailing as it did a total relinquishment of Mayne Reid, Scott, and Cooper. And when he did return his ways led far from Joel's. Very naturally that youth had now risen to the position of popular hero, and unapproachable seniors slapped him warmly on the shoulder--a bit of familiarity Joel was too good-natured to resent--and wide-eyed little juniors admired him open-mouthed as he passed them. But Joel bore himself modestly withal, and was in no danger of being spoiled by a state of things that might well have turned the head of a more experienced lad than he. It is a question if Outfield did not derive more real pleasure and pride out of Joel's popularity than did Joel himself. Every new evidence of the liking and admiration in which the latter was held filled Outfield's heart with joy.

At last Joel found time to begin his course in golf, and almost any day the two lads might have been seen on the links, formidably armed with a confusing assortment of clubs, Outfield quite happy to be exhibiting the science of his favorite sport, and Joel plowing up the sod in a way to cause a green-tender, had there been such a person on hand, the most excruciating pain. But Joel went at golf as he went at everything else, bending all his energies thereto, and driving thought of all else from his mind, and so soon became, if not an expert, at least a very acceptable player who won commendation from even West--and where golf was concerned Outfield was a most unbiased and unsympathetic judge.

One afternoon Whipple and Blair, the latter once more free from probation, played a match with Joel and West, and were fairly beaten by three holes--a fact due less, it is true, to Joel's execution with the driver than West's all-around playing. But Joel, nevertheless, derived not a little encouragement from that result, and bade fair to become almost if not quite as enthusiastic a golfer as West. At first, in the earlier stages of his initiation, Joel was often discouraged, whereupon West was wont to repeat the famous reply of the old St. Andrews player to the college professor, who did not understand why, when he could teach Latin and Greek, he failed so dismally at golf. "Ay, I ken well ye can teach the Latin and Greek," said the veteran, "but it takes brains, mon, to play the gowf!" And Joel more than half agreed with him.

Remsen departed a week after Thanksgiving, being accompanied to the train by almost as enthusiastic a throng as had welcomed him upon his arrival. He had consented to return to Hillton the following year and coach the eleven once more. "I had expected to make this the last year," he said, "but now I shall coach, if you will have me, until we win a decisive victory from St. Eustace. I can't break off my coaching career with a tie game, you see." And Christie occasioned laughter and applause by replying, "I'm afraid you're putting a premium on defeat, sir, because if we win next year's game you won't come back." He shook hands cordially with Joel, and said:

"When the election of next year's captain comes off, my boy, it's a pretty sure thing that you'll have a chance at it. But if you'll take my advice you'll let it alone. I tell you this because I'm your friend all through. Next fall will be time enough for the honors; this year should go to hard work without any of the trouble that falls to the lot of captain."

"Thank you, Mr. Remsen," Joel answered. "I hadn't thought of their doing such a thing. I don't see why they should want me. But if it's offered you may be sure I'll decline. I'd be totally unfitted for it; and, besides, I haven't got the time!"

And so, when two weeks later the election was held in the gymnasium one evening, Joel did decline, to the evident regret of all the team, and the honor went to Christie, since both Blair and Whipple were seniors and would not be in school the next autumn. And Christie made a very manly, earnest speech, and subsequently called for three times three for Blair, and three times three for Remsen, and nine times three for Hillton, all of which were given with a will.

As the Christmas recess approached, Joel spent a great deal of valuable time in unnecessary conjecture as to his chance of winning the Goodwin scholarship, and undoubtedly lessened his chance of success by worrying. The winners were each year announced in school hall on the last day of the term. The morning of that day found Outfield West very busy packing a heap of unnecessary golf clubs and wearing apparel into his trunk and bags, and found Joel seated rather despondently on the lounge looking on. For West was to spend his vacation with an uncle in Boston, and Joel, although Outfield had begged him to go along, asserting positively that his uncle would be proud and happy to see him (Joel), was to spend the recess at school, since he felt he could not afford the expense of the trip home. West hesitated long over a blue-checked waistcoat and at length sighed and left it out.

"Isn't it most time to go over?" asked Joel.

"No; don't you be in a hurry. There's a half hour yet. And if you're going to get the Goodwin you'll get it, and there isn't any use stewing over it," replied West severely. "As for me, I'm glad I'm not a grind and don't have to bother my head about such tommyrot. Just sit on the lid of this pesky thing, Joel, will you? I'm afraid that last coat was almost too much for it."

But even suspense comes to an end, and presently Joel found himself seated by West in the crowded hall, and felt his face going red and pale by turns, and knew that his heart was beating with unaccustomed violence beneath his shabby vest. Professor Wheeler made his speech--and what a long one it seemed to many a lad!--and then the fateful list was lifted from the table.

"Senior class scholarships have been awarded as follows," announced the principal. "The Calvin scholarship to Albert Park Digbee, Waltham, Massachusetts." Joel forgot his unpleasant emotions while he clapped and applauded. But they soon returned as the list went on. Every announcement met with uproarous commendation, and boy after boy arose from his seat and more or less awkwardly bowed his recognition. The principal had almost completed the senior list.

"Ripley scholarships to George Simms Lennox, New York city; John Fiske, Brookville, Mississippi; Carleton Sharp Eaton, Milton, Massachusetts; William George Woodruff, Portland, Maine. Masters scholarships to Howard McDonnell, Indianapolis, Indiana; Thomas Grey, Yonkers, New York; Stephen Lutger Williams, Connellsville, Rhode Island; Barton Hobbs, Farmington, Maine; Walter Haskens Browne, Denver, Colorado; and Justin Thorp Smith, Chicago, Illinois."

Joel's hands were cold and his feet just wouldn't keep still. The principal leaned down and took up the upper middle class list. West nudged Joel smartly in the ribs, and whispered excitedly:

"Now! Keep cool, my boy, keep cool!"

Then Joel heard Professor Wheeler's voice reading from the list, and for a moment it seemed to come from a great distance.

"Upper middle class scholarships have been awarded as follows:" There was a pause while he found his place. "Goodwin scholarship to Harold Burke Reeves, Saginaw, Michigan."

West subsided in his seat with a dismal groan. Joel did not hear it. It is doubtful if he heard anything until several minutes later, when the pronouncement of his name awoke him from the lethargy into which he had fallen.

"Masters scholarships to Joel March, Marchdale, Maine--"

"It's better than nothing, Joel," whispered Outfield. "It's fifty dollars, you know." But Joel made no reply. What was a Masters to him who had set his heart on the first prize of all? Presently, when the lists were over, he stole quietly out unnoticed by his chum, and when West returned to the room he found Joel at the table, head in hands, an open book before him. West closed the door and walked noiselessly forward in the manner of one in a sick-room, At length he asked in a voice which strove to be natural and unconcerned:

"What are you doing, Joel?"

The head over the book only bent closer as its owner answered doggedly:

"Studying Greek!"