event into
pandemonium, and the jolly company into a veritable mob.

Meantime, as the teams were leaving their quarters early in the
afternoon, the coach said to Vic:

"Run up to Burgess and get your grades, Burleigh. It's a mere form, but
it will save that gang of game-cocks from getting one over us."

In the rotunda Vic and Vincent met face to face, the country boy in
his football suit and brown sweater, and the slender young college
professor, with faultless tailoring and immaculate linen. Ten minutes
before, Burgess had been in Dr. Fenneben's office, where Elinor Wream
and a group of fair college girls were chattering excitedly.

"See these roses, Uncle Lloyd." Elinor was holding up a gorgeous bunch
of American Beauties. "These go to Vic Burleigh when he gets behind
the goal posts. Cost lots of my Uncle Lloyd's money, but we had to have
them."

Small wonder that the very odor of roses was hateful to Burgess at that
moment.

"May I speak to you a minute?" Vic said as the two men met in the
rotunda.

Burgess halted in silence.

"The coach sent me after your statement of my standing. We've got a
bunch of sticklers to fight today."

"I have turned in my report," Burgess responded coldly.

"So the coach said, all but mine. I'm late. May I have my report now?"
Vic urged, trying to be composed.

"I have no further report for you." It was a cold-blooded thing to say,
but Burgess, though filled with jealousy, was conscientious now in
his belief that Burleigh was really a low grade fellow, deserving no
leniency nor recognition.

"But you haven't given me any standing yet, the coach says." Vic's voice
was dead calm.

"I have no standing to give you. You are below grade."

Vic's eyes blazed. "You dog!" was all he could say.

"Now, see here, Burleigh, there's no need to act any ruder than you can
help." Burleigh did not move, nor did he take his yellow brown eyes from
his instructor's face. "What have you to say further? I thought you were
in a hurry." Burgess did not really mean a taunt in the last words.

"I have this to say." Victor Burleigh's voice had a menace in its depth
and power. "You have done this infamous thing, not because I deserve it,
but because you hate me on account of a girl--Elinor Wream."

"Stop!" Vincent Burgess commanded.

"I forbid you to mention her name. You, who come in here from some
barren, poverty-stricken prairie home, where good breeding is unknown.
You, to presume to thi