tearing linen. The hastily
made garments of G. Lung Fat had proved unequal to the strain put upon
them. Percival lost his head completely when he realized that his
waistcoat was split up the back from hem to collar, and that he had
become an object of the wildest hilarity.

He might have fled the scene then and there, leaving Andy to enjoy
his laurels undisturbed, had he not caught sight of Bobby frantically
motioning him to go on. Setting his teeth grimly, he went down on all
fours and scrambled under the table, then resolutely tackled that
swaying, sagging network of ropes that barred his progress. Again and
again he got nearly to the top, only to have his foot go through the
wide bars and leave him hanging there in the most awkward and ungainly
position. It seemed to him an eternity that he hung ignominiously, like
a fly in a spider's web, while the crowd went wild with merriment.

Then suddenly all his fighting blood rose, and forgetting the
spectators, and even forgetting Bobby, he doggedly grappled with those
yielding ropes until he got a foothold, swung himself over the top,
cleared the entanglement below, and made a flying dash for the yawning
mouth of canvas at the far end of the deck. It was incredibly hot and
suffocating inside, but he wriggled frantically forward, clawing and
kicking like a crab. At last a dim light ahead spurred him to one final
gallant effort.

"Four minutes!" called the umpire as the Honorable Percival Hascombe
emerged, blinking and breathless, and staggered to his feet. His clothes
were soiled and torn, his hair was on end, there was dust in his eyes,
and dirt in his mouth.

The fickle audience went wild. The dark horse had won, and public favor
immediately swung in his direction. But it was not the favor of the
public that Percival sought; it was the homage of a certain rebellious
maiden, who must be taught that he was the master of any situation in
which he found himself.

Bobby was not slow to proffer her congratulations. She gave them with
both hands, to say nothing of her eyes and her dimple.

"I pulled for you!" she whispered eagerly. "I almost prayed for you. I
wouldn't have seen you beaten for the world."

As Percival, elated by her enthusiasm, stood shaking hands right and
left, he felt a curious and unfamiliar warmth stealing over him. All
these people whom he had looked upon until to-day as so many figureheads
stalking about suddenly became human beings. He found, to