ess
shirt, but obviously glad to be about his business. "I'll be through
in a minute and then----"

Whatever else the Harvard quarterback may have said was lost upon
Davies. He was quite instantly, unexpectedly, and acutely made
conscious of something extremely coincidental. The arm that reached
out to take the shirt from the locker had the slip of a crimson bow
tied about the wrist.

Davies rubbed a hand across his eyes and looked again. How he had
missed seeing that bow before he could not understand. But it was
certainly there. Infernally peculiar! It was certainly there.

Broadhurst, noting the stranger's stunned expression, stopped, his
shirt half on, to inquire what was the matter.

"Why--why nothing--only that bow. You--you'll probably think me
odd--but, do you mind my--my taking a good look at it?"

The Harvard quarterback held out his arm with a slight gesture of
impatience. Davies took the hand and studied the bit of ribbon. Of
course, it wasn't--but didn't it beat the devil how everything had
worked out this day? Either that or he was suddenly losing his mind.
Perhaps that was it. He had brooded so long over the affair of his
youth that at last it had affected his brain.

The ribbon was wet--and soiled--and--this, he thought, could easily be
his imagination--it was actually a trifle faded. But it did look
strangely familiar, strangely like the one that a dear, trusting girl
had tied about his wrist, and that he had sealed there with a kiss
twenty years before. It was infernally peculiar. That was all there
was to it. Infernally peculiar!

Davies straightened up, to find the Harvard quarterback at the point of
exasperation.

"I don't blame you for thinking me out of my mind," sympathized C. R.
D. "And I may be, for all I know. So many ungodly things have
happened to me to-day. But--if it's not being too personal--where did
you get that bow? From your sweetheart?"

There was almost a contemptuous note in Broadhurst's voice as he
started to button his shirt. "No! My mother."

Davies felt his knees give way beneath him and he dropped down heavily
upon the bench, staring up at the Harvard quarterback, unbelievingly.
"Your--your mother?"

"Yes. What's wrong with that?" demanded Broadhurst, picking up collar
and tie. "It's a good-luck charm," he explained curtly; then he added
with a smile: "And it sure worked to-day!"

"A--a good-luck charm?" echoed Davies weakly. "A good-lu