deal that it should count for the decencies of high-school
life. By senior year the sort of trouble that a Christian boy encounters
in school was almost all ended, but it had been more through his dogged
resistance to opposition than because of any special zest in Christian
service.

And then came the announcement of Win-My-Chum week, with J.W.
confronted by two stubborn facts. He had only one real chum, and that
chum was not a Christian. Pastor Drury had let fall a remark, a month
before the Week, to the effect that any Christian who had a chum could
dodge Win-My-Chum week, but he couldn't dodge his chum. When the week
was past, the chum would still be on hand.

Think as he would, there was no honest way of escape from whatever those
facts might require of him, so J.W., long accustomed to go ahead and
take what came, had known himself bound by the obligations of this
matter also, days and days before the activities of Win-My-Chum week
began.

The two were out one Saturday on the north road. They had been up to the
woods on Barker's Hill for nuts, and with good success. The day was
warm, the way was long, and there was no hurry. When they came to the
roadside at the wood's edge they sat on a fallen tree and talked. At
least Marty did. For J.W. was not himself.

It was his chance, and he knew it. But a thousand impulses leaped to
life within him to make him put off what he knew he ought to say. The
fear of being misunderstood--even by Marty--the knowledge that Marty, in
the qualities by which boys judge and are judged, was quite as "good" as
himself; and, above all, his sense of total unfitness to be a pattern of
the Christian life to anybody, filled him with an uneasiness that
actually hurt.

And Marty soon discovered that something was amiss. Willing as he was to
do his full share of the talking, he became aware that except for
inarticulate commonplaces he was having to do it all.

"What's the matter with you all at once, J.W.?" he asked. "You're not
taken suddenly sick, are you? You were all right when we were among the
trees. _Are_ you sick?"

J.W. laughed shortly. "No, old man, I'm not sick. But I'm up against a
new game, for me, and I'm not in training."

"Sounds interesting," said Marty, "but sort of mysterious. Is it
anything I can do team-work on?"

"It surely is, but first I've got to say something, and I want you to
promise that you won't think I'm putting on, or butting in, because I'm
not; nothi