himself out some seconds too soon.

At the first quarter Harvard led, and she was still leading, with
Dartmouth second, when the first half was passed.

Then came a fierce struggle for the lead, which ended with the weakening
of both Beatty and Jetting. Beatty weakened first, however, and fell
back, but Jetting was seen to stagger a bit, recover and go on.

Merriwell and Mansford passed Beatty and narrowed the gap between them
and Jetting. Mansford set his teeth and gained an advantage of ten feet
by a quick break. This advantage he was resolved to hold.

Jetting fought like a tiger to hold the lead, but Mansford crowded him
harder and harder, finally going to the front.

Then came a desperate struggle between Merriwell and Jetting, but Yale's
colors were carried into second place at the beginning of the last
quarter.

And now--now there was excitement. The finish was drawing near, and
Princeton had the lead, although the distance was short.

As Frank passed the Yale crowd he was given a rousing cheer, which
seemed to put fresh life and strength into his body. He crept up on
Mansford, who was running like the wind. The difference grew less and
less. Eight feet, six feet, four feet--could he close the gap?

Then, for a moment, a black cloud seemed to pass before Frank's eyes.
His heart was in his mouth, where it lay hot and dry, like a stone that
has baked in the sun. It seemed that he must fall.

"Win or die! win or die!"

Those words rang through his head as if some one had shouted them into
his ear.

"I will!"

He knew the end was close at hand, and still the black and yellow was
before him.

Then it was that Frank nerved himself for one last great effort, and
dashed forward with a fresh burst of speed that seemed little short of
marvelous. That burst carried him to Mansford's side--carried him into
the lead--carried him over the line at the finish--a winner!

There was a grand supper in New York that night, at which Frank
Merriwell was the guest of honor. He was toasted again and again by his
admiring friends, and it seemed that everybody was his friend at last.
There were speeches and songs and a general merry time. Old Yale had
carved her way to glory once more, and among her standard-bearers
Merriwell was the leader.

"Tell us, tell us, old man," cried Paul Pierson, "how was it that you
happened to be so late in appearing at the garden? Really we had given
up hope that you would come, and were