son's varsity. What a stocky lot of young chaps,
all consciously proud of the big letter on their shirts! Dale, the
captain and pitcher, was in the centre of the group. Ken knew his
record, and it was a splendid one. Ken took another look at Dale,
another at the famous trainer, Murray, and the professional coach,
Arthurs--men under whom it had been his dream to play--and then he
left the room, broken-hearted.

When the Christmas recess was over he went back to his lectures resigned
to the thought that the athletic side of college life was not for him.
He studied harder than ever, and even planned to take a course of lectures
in another department. Also his adeptness in dodging was called upon more
and more. The Sophs were bound to get him sooner or later. But he did not
grow resigned to that; every dodge and flight increased his resentment.
Presently he knew he would stop and take what they had to give, and
retaliate as best he could. Only, what would they do to him when they
did catch him? He remembered his watch, his money, and clothes, never
recovered after that memorable tug-of-war. He minded the loss of his
watch most; that gift could never be replaced. It seemed to him that
he had been the greater sufferer.

One Saturday in January Ken hurried from his class-room. He was always
in a hurry and particularly on Saturdays, for that being a short day
for most of the departments, there were usually many students passing
to and fro. A runaway team clattering down the avenue distracted him
from his usual caution, and he cut across the campus. Some one stopped
the horses, and a crowd collected. When Ken got there many students
were turning away. Ken came face to face with a tall, bronze-haired,
freckle-faced sophomore, whom he had dodged more than once. There was
now no use to dodge; he had to run or stand his ground.

"Boys, here's that slugging Freshie!" yelled the Soph. "We've got
him now."

He might have been an Indian chief so wild was the whoop that
answered him.

"Lead us to him!"

"Oh, what we won't do to that Freshie!"

"Come on, boys!"

Ken heard these yells, saw a number of boys dash at him, then he broke
and ran as if for his life. The Sophs, a dozen strong, yelling loudly,
strung out after him. Ken headed across the campus. He was fleet of
foot, and gained on his pursuers. But the yells brought more Sophs on
the scene, and they turned Ken to the right. He spurted for Carlton Hall,
and almost ran int