38471	----	Transcriber's Notes: 1. Page scan source: http://books.google.com/books?id=kh5WAAAAYAAJ DICK RANDALL [Illustration: Dick stood dreaming, gazing across the yard] DICK RANDALL _THE YOUNG ATHLETE_ BY ELLERY H. CLARK WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY WALTER BIGGS INDIANAPOLIS THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY PUBLISHERS COPYRIGHT 1910 THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY PRESS OF BRAUNWORTH & CO. BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS BROOKLYN, N. Y. TO MY NEPHEWS WELD ARNOLD AND ALLEN WILLIAMS CLARK CONTENTS CHAPTER I The New Boy. II Dave Ellis Breaks a Record. III Dick and Jim Go On a Shooting Trip. IV The Shooting Trip's Unexpected Ending. V Duncan McDonald. VI A Question of Right and Wrong. VII A Battle Royal. VIII On Diamond and River. IX Foul Play. X The Pentathlon. DICK RANDALL DICK RANDALL CHAPTER I THE NEW BOY Fall term at Fenton Academy had begun. Dick Randall came slowly down the dormitory steps, then stopped and stood hesitating, as if doubtful which way to turn. Uncertainty, indeed, was uppermost in his mind. He felt confused and out of place in his new surroundings, like a stranger in a strange land. The day was dark and gloomy. The sky was overcast, and the afternoon sun shone halfheartedly from behind the clouds. A fresh breeze bent the trees in the quadrangle, scattering a shower of leaves about the yard. In spite of himself, Dick felt his spirits flag. 'A' thousand miles lay between him and home; and except for a few brief visits, made close at hand, this was his first real venture into the world. Unaccustomed to the change, unacquainted with his classmates, with the steady routine of work and play not yet begun, he was wretchedly homesick; and strive as he would, he could not keep his thoughts, for five minutes together, from his father and mother, and the white-walled farm-house on the slope of the mountain, looking down over the valley and the meadowland below. He felt ashamed and disgusted with himself, for he was no longer a "kid"; he was almost seventeen, and big and strong for his age; and yet, fight it as he might, the longing for home would not down. Thus he stood dreaming, gazing unseeingly across the yard, until presently, with a start, he came to himself. A friendly hand smote him between the shoulder-blades, a friendly arm was drawn through his, and he turned to meet the somewhat quizzical glance of his classmate and next-door neighbor in the dormitory--Harry Allen. Instinctively Dick smiled. He had sat next to Allen at supper the night before and had taken a liking to him from the start. Allen had chattered away steadily, all through the meal, yet his talk had been unaffected, entertaining, and wholly free from any effort at "trying to be funny" or "showing off." He was Randall's opposite in every way--as slight and frail as Dick was big and broad-shouldered, as light as Dick was dark, and apparently, at the present moment, as cheerful as Dick was depressed. "Well, Randall," he asked, "what you got on your mind? Composing a speech?" Dick flushed a little. "No, nothing like that," he answered; "I don't know just what I was doing. Just thinking, I guess. You see--" Allen interrupted him. "Oh, _I_ know," he said; "I've been through it, all right. You can bet on that. Don't I remember the first day I came? Golly, I should say I did. Talk about a cat in a strange garret. Well, that was little me. Don't worry, though. Just about three days, and you'll think you've lived here all your life. It's a dandy school. You'll find that out for yourself. And Mr. Fenton! Well, if there's a better master in the state, I'd like to see him. Teach! I guess he can. Languages, you know--that's his branch. He's got Latin and Greek down fine. And English! Why, they say his English course is the best thing outside of college. He starts away back with Chaucer--'well of English undefyled,'--Spenser, you know, _Faerie Queene_--and he brings us right down to Robert Louis Stevenson. Oh, it's great! No fellow from this school has flunked English for ten years. How's that? Going some?" He paused, a little out of breath. Dick smiled, finding something humorous in the contrast between his classmate's breezy speech, and the "English undefyled," for which his liking was so evidently sincere. Yet he found Allen's talk acting on him like magic, and by the time they had reached the end of the yard, his gloomy thoughts were forgotten, and he was himself once more. To the left, they could see the boat-house, and the faint blue of the river, just showing through the trees; to the right lay the athletic field, and it was toward the track that Allen turned. "Come on," he said; "let's walk down and watch Dave Ellis. He's going to try the Pentathlon. He's been training for it all summer. You met him last night, didn't you?" Dick nodded. "Yes, I met him," he answered. He had sat opposite Ellis at table, and had admired his rangy and powerful build. Yet something, too, in his manner, had repelled him as well; Ellis had seemed a little patronizing, with a trifle too much of the "Conquering Hero" about him. So that now Dick hesitated for a moment, and then asked, "Say, Allen, if it's a proper question, what sort of fellow is Ellis? Doesn't he seem pretty--well, I don't know just what word I want--pretty--cocksure of himself, somehow?" Allen did not answer at once, and when at length he did so, it was in rather a guarded tone. "Well, you see, Randall," he replied, "I don't believe I'd better say anything. Dave's a candidate for class president next spring, and he's pretty sure to get it, too. Only--some of the fellows have been sounding me to see if I cared to run, and if I should, why, I wouldn't want you to think, from anything I said--" Randall's face was scarlet with embarrassment. "Excuse me, Allen," he cried, "I didn't know. I didn't mean--" Allen hastened to reassure him. "Of course you didn't," He said; "that's all right, Randall. I only thought I'd let you know. And as far as that goes, there's really no reason why I shouldn't say what I think about Dave, if you'll give me credit for being fair about it, and won't think I'm trying to work any electioneering games. Here's just what I think about him. I think Dave's a good fellow. And he's certainly a remarkable athlete--one of the best, I guess, that we've ever had in the school. All I don't like about him is, that he hasn't much school spirit; I think he's for Dave Ellis first, and the school afterward. But still he's all right, you know. He's a good enough sort of fellow in most ways. One thing, though, he's got to look out for. And that's his studies. He had a close shave getting by last year, and I don't believe he's opened a book since school closed. Oh, Dave's all right, but you'll find he's a good deal bigger man outside the lecture room than he is in." Dick nodded. "I see," he answered; "and I'm much obliged, Allen, for telling me about the election. I won't go putting my foot in it again, in a hurry. I'll know enough after this to keep my mouth shut, till I begin to get the hang of things. Ellis must be a dandy athlete, though. I never saw a better built fellow in my life." Allen was quick to assent. "Oh, he is," he answered. "He's a corker. He's six feet one, and weighs a hundred and eighty pounds. He's awfully good on the track, and he pulls a fair oar, and I guess he's the best full-back we ever had in the school. _Was_ the best fullback, I mean. You knew we'd cut out football, didn't you?" "Yes," Dick answered, "I heard about it. Was a fellow really killed, Allen?" His companion nodded. "Yes, Faulkner, of Hopevale," he said. "It happened in the Clinton game. It was an awfully sad thing, too. His whole family had come on to see the match. It happened in a scrimmage. He was picked up unconscious. But no one thought it was really anything serious. They took him to the infirmary; pretty soon he was in a fever; went out of his head; and two days later he died. Injured internally, the doctors said. So of course we cut out foot-ball, and I'm glad of it, too." Dick drew a long breath. "That was tough!" he exclaimed. "Think how his father and mother must have felt! And the master at Hopevale, too. I suppose he considered himself somehow to blame, though of course he wasn't, really." Allen shook his head. "No, of course it wasn't his fault," he answered. "It was just one of those things no one could foresee. But I'm glad they've stopped it, anyway. So now Dave's going to put all his time into the track, because, you see, with foot-ball off the list, it makes the Pentathlon more important than ever. This spring is going to decide who wins the cup, and the way things look now, the Pentathlon may settle the whole business. They've got a dandy Pentathlon man over at Clinton--a fellow named Johnson--he won it last year, and broke the record--made two hundred and eighty points--so if Dave could beat him, it would be great for us, all right. I guess we can tell something from what he does to-day." They walked on for a few moments in silence; then Dick, with sudden resolve, turned squarely to his friend. "Look here, Allen," he said, "I know you'll think I'm greener than grass, but I read somewhere, once on a time, that if a fellow didn't understand a thing, he might as well own up to it, or else he'd never learn at all. And that's what I'm going to do now. I'm not up to date on school affairs. I don't even know what cup you're talking about. And I don't know what you mean by the Pentathlon. I suppose it's got something to do with athletics, but if you hadn't said anything about it, it might be something to eat, for all I'd know. So if you don't mind, I wish you'd explain things to me, and then, perhaps, I won't feel quite so much like a fool as I do now." Allen laughed. "Heavens," he said, "it isn't your fault, Randall; it's mine. Here I go rattling on about everything, as if you'd been in the school as many years as I have. No wonder I've got you mixed. Well, now, let's see; I'll begin with the cup. No, I won't either; I'll begin at the beginning; and that's with Mr. Fenton. Do you know anything about what he did in college?" Dick shook his head. "No, I don't," he answered humbly. "I told you I was green. We don't know much about athletics out our way. Unless plowing, and getting in hay, and chopping wood count for anything. If they do, we might have a show." Allen laughed again. "Well, they ought to, all right," he answered. "What a bully idea for a Pentathlon! I'm going to speak to Mr. Fenton about it. People couldn't say athletics were a waste of time then. Well, to come back to _him_. He was a hummer when he was in college. He was awfully popular, and he stood away up in his class, and they say, in athletics, there wasn't anything he couldn't do. They wanted him for the crew, and they wanted him on the nine, but he wouldn't do either. I guess he didn't have any too much money then, and he told them, straight out, that he'd come to college to work, and not for athletics. He wasn't a crank, though; he took his exercise every day, only he didn't waste any time over it. And finally the trainer of the track team spotted him and got him to come out for the jumps. Golly, but he surprised them. He never seemed to take such a lot of pains about it, but I guess he was what they call a natural jumper. Anyway, before he got through, he did six feet in the high, and twenty-three two and a half in the broad. Perhaps that didn't hold them for a while. So you can see he's a good man to be master of a school. He's been through the thing himself, and he's got this whole athletic business down fine. "I remember the talk he had with me when I first came to the school; it made me take a shine to him right away. He doesn't lecture you, you know, as if you were a kid; he talks to you just as if you were grown up, and knew as much as he did; maybe more. Well, first of all, he told me he didn't think any school could succeed where the master and the boys weren't in harmony; and then he went ahead and gave me his ideas on athletics. He said he liked them, and approved of them, and meant to do all he could to encourage them--but that he was going to keep them in their place. He said athletics were to help out lessons, and not to hinder them; and that there wasn't any need of any conflict between the two. But if there was a conflict, he said--if a fellow got so crazy over athletics that he couldn't study--then the athletics would have to go. And if that made the fellow feel so bad that even then he couldn't study--or _wouldn't_ study--why, then it would be the fellow himself that would have to go. But he meant that more for a joke, I guess; nothing like that's ever happened since he started the school. It's a pretty pig-headed fellow that can't get along with Mr. Fenton. He's got a great way with him, somehow or other; I don't know just how he does it, but he gets lots of fellows interested in studying that you'd think were too lazy even to want to learn the alphabet straight. Oh, I tell you, Randall, he's all right." Dick nodded. "I'll bet he is," he answered with enthusiasm. He was beginning to feel the genuine _esprit de corps_; was realizing, for the first time, that a school might be something more than a place where one came merely to "do" one's lessons, and to learn enough to enter college in safety. "Yes," he went on, "that sounds mighty sensible to me. And as you say, Allen, where a man's been an athlete himself, and a scholar, too, why, you can't help feeling a respect for what he thinks about things. I can understand, though, about fellows getting too much interested in athletics. I can see right now where I've got to look out for that, myself. You've seen such a lot of it here that you don't realize how it takes hold of a fellow that's never had any show to go into them. I feel as if I'd like to try everything in sight, if I didn't remember that my father's had to work good and hard to send me here. And he wouldn't care much for cups and medals, I guess. 'Book-learning,' that's what he wants to see me get. Still, I suppose there's time for studying and athletics, too, if a fellow goes at it right." Allen nodded. "Oh, sure there is," he answered. "And don't get the idea, from what I said, that Mr. Fenton's a crank about it, or that he's the preachy kind, because he isn't. He's keen on physical culture, you know. A fellow's got to take his exercise every day, whether he's a star athlete like Dave, or the worst grind that ever wanted to swallow a Greek dictionary, roots and all. Oh, Mr. Fenton likes exercise, only, as he says, there's a happy medium everywhere--in athletics, just as in everything else. He doesn't want the fellows to underdo; and he doesn't want them to overdo; and he keeps an eye on every boy in the school. He takes just as much pride in having the fellows in good shape physically as he does in having them go into college with honors; and I tell you we don't have much sickness around here. So you needn't worry about exercise; there's no reason why you can't try anything you want. And I should think, to look at you, Randall, you'd make a crack-a-jack at something. How much do you weigh? A hundred and sixty?" His companion's build, indeed, fully justified his admiration. Randall was strong and sturdy, from much hard work in the open, absolutely healthy, and as rugged and active as a young colt. It was small wonder that Allen, himself a member of the track team, looked him over with an appreciative eye. Dick flushed with pleasure. "I weigh a little more than that," he answered. "About a hundred and sixty-eight, I guess. That's nothing, though. Think of Ellis." "Oh, well," returned Allen, "weight isn't everything." Then added, with a smile, "You wouldn't think, to look at me, Randall, that I had any pretensions to being an athlete, now would you? As the song says, 'I'm as thin as the paper on the wall.' I hardly disturb the scales when I weigh myself." Dick looked at him. "Why, I don't know," he answered frankly, and half-doubtfully, "but I should think, somehow, you look as though you could run pretty well." Allen laughed. "Good guesser," he rejoined. "You've hit it, first crack. I don't mean, of course, that I'm any good, but running's the only thing I can do anywhere near well. It took a lot of hard work, too. I was certainly a lemon when I started in. But last year I won the quarter in the school games, and I got third in the big meet. So I won my 'F', and that makes a fellow feel good, you know. Shows he's done something for the school." Dick looked puzzled. "Won your 'F'?" he questioned. "What does that mean, Allen?" "Why," answered his friend, "if you make the crew, or the nine, or the track team, you get an athletic suit and a sweater. And on the shirt and the sweater there's a big 'F', and a little 'A' on each side of it. A. F. A.--Fenton Athletic Association. The crew fellows get a white sweater, with the letters in red; the nine have gray sweaters, with red letters; and the track team have red sweaters, with the letters in white. And if you're on a winning crew, or a winning nine, you can rip off the 'A. A.' from your sweater, and that leaves just the big 'F', and shows you're a point winner for the school. With the track team, it's a little different, because there it's more a case of every fellow for himself. You can't have the same kind of team work that you can with the nine and the crew. So when the big meet comes for the cup, no matter whether the school wins or not, if you get first, second or third in your event, then you're a point winner, and you've got a right to your 'F'. Now, do you see?" Dick nodded. "Sure," he answered, "I've got that all straight; but now there's another thing I don't understand. What's the big meet? And what's the cup? You were going to tell me about the cup when we started, and then we got switched off on to something else." Allen smiled. "I guess 'something else' was Mr. Fenton," he said. "I'm pretty apt to talk people to death about him. I think he's a corker, and I don't mind saying so. I'd rather have him think I was all right than win my 'F,' ten times over, and that's putting it pretty strong, too. Well, about the cup. That's a cinch to explain. It's just like this. There are three schools, you see, right around here, in a kind of ten-mile triangle. There's Clinton Academy and Hopevale and ourselves. We've always had some sort of league with one another, in all kinds of athletics, ever since the schools started, but six or seven years ago the masters and some of the graduates got together, and put things right on a systematic basis. Some rich old chap in New York, who was a graduate of Hopevale, and had a couple of boys in the school, donated a cup--a perfect peach--to be competed for every year until one school won it three times and then it was to be theirs for good. They put five sports on the schedule: foot-ball, base-ball, track and crew, which counted three points each; and the Pentathlon, which counted one. The school that won the most out of those thirteen points held the cup for that year. "Well, Hopevale made a great start. They had some dandy athletes in the school then--some folks were mean enough to say that was why the old fellow in New York gave the cup--but anyway, however that was, they won, hands down, for two years running. The next year they thought there was nothing to it--they thought they couldn't lose--and I guess they eased up a little, and didn't train quite so hard as they did the other years. Well, they got a surprise all right, for Clinton beat them out. They made six points that year, to four for Hopevale, and three for us. And then, the year after that, Dave Ellis entered school, and we had our turn. We got so, with Dave at full-back, we never thought about the three points in foot-ball at all--we figured them just like money in the bank--all we used to wonder about, was how big the score was going to be. And then, in the spring sports, we had Mansfield pitching on the nine, and Harrison stroking the crew, and of course Dave came in strong again on the track. Oh, we had things easy for the next two years. The second year we won all thirteen points--made a clean sweep of everything. So _we_ began to get cocky--same as Hopevale--but we never let up, you can bet; we worked as though we thought we hadn't a show, unless we kept on doing our darndest. "And then of course everything had to go wrong. Mansfield graduated that year, and Harrison's father died, and he had to leave school; and then this fellow Johnson came to Clinton, and he was certainly a find. He and Dave had it out, hammer and tongs, in the track meet, and again in the Pentathlon, and Johnson had the best of it both times. And Clinton beat us by four points, and evened things up again. So you can see what a scrap it's been, right from the start--it couldn't very well have been closer--and you can imagine what it's going to be next spring. Each school has won the cup twice, so of course this time's got to settle it. Clinton has it all figured out that they're going to win. They give us the crew, and Hopevale the base-ball, but they say that with Johnson right they're sure to take the track meet, and the Pentathlon, too. But of course no one can tell as far ahead as that--it's foolish to try. Still, that's a pretty good prediction, I think myself, unless Dave can show an improvement over last year on the track. He says he can--he says he's been training all summer, and that he's in the shape of his life. "I know what he's figuring on. If the three schools should be tied, and it should all hang on the Pentathlon, why, the fellow who won that would be a regular tin god, you know; he'd go down in the history of the school like George Washington in the history of the country. And Dave wouldn't mind being that fellow a little bit. Not that I'm trying to knock him, you understand. That's a good, legitimate ambition. I'd like to be the fellow myself; only I need a hundred pounds of weight, more or less, and about a foot more height, before I'd fit in the Pentathlon. And there's another reason for Dave's practising, too; he wants to get back at Johnson. Dave can't take a licking, you know; he isn't used to it, and it hurts. He claims he's going to square up this spring, but I'm not so sure. Johnson's an awfully good man, and the Pentathlon's no cinch for any one, no matter who he is." Dick, wholly absorbed in his friend's recital, drew a long breath as Allen concluded. "By gracious," he exclaimed. "That is exciting, isn't it? Suppose it did work out that way. Just think of it. To have it hang on a single point, and then to have our school win--to have Ellis beat Johnson. Oh, that would be great!" He paused a moment, and then added: "Just tell me one other thing, Allen, and I won't bother you any more. I've got everything else straight, but just what's the Pentathlon, anyway?" Allen laughed. "I'm going to send you in a bill for private tutoring," he said good-humoredly. "This is an awful strain on my mind, giving you so much information free. And it would take a Philadelphia lawyer to explain the Pentathlon straight. We go back a few thousand years, just for a starter, to the days of the Greeks. 'The glory that was Greece, and the grandeur that was Rome.' Edgar Allan Poe, Randall. Ever read him? Ever read _The Haunted Palace?_ No? Well, you just waltz into the library some day and take a crack at it. If I could write one poem like that, I'd quit work for the rest of my life; I'd feel I'd done enough. Well, never mind, that's not the Pentathlon, is it? I need a muzzle, I think; that's the only trouble with me. Now, then, reverse the power. Back we go, back to the Greeks. They had a kind of all-around championship in their sports, you know; they called it the Pentathlon. _Pente_, five; _athlos_, contest; five-event, I suppose we'd say, now. First, I believe, it was running, jumping, throwing the discus, wrestling and fighting; and then, later, they cut out the fighting and put in the javelin instead. We've got the same kind of thing to-day--the all-around championship they call it. Dave says he means to try it some time when he goes to college. But it's too much for school-boys, of course; it's ten events instead of five, and there's a mile run in it and a half-mile walk. "So our Pentathlon is modeled on the Greeks. We have five events, too: hundred-yard dash, sixteen-pound shot, high jump, hundred-and-twenty-yard high hurdles and throwing the twelve-pound hammer. You see, it's a pretty good test. You've got to have speed for the hundred and the hurdles, and spring for the high jump, and strength for the shot and the hammer. And something else besides; skill for all five of them. The four S's, Mr. Fenton says, speed, spring, strength and skill. He's a great believer in the Pentathlon; says it develops a fellow all over; arms and legs, back and chest; the whole of him. There's a dandy prize for it, too--a silver shield with an athlete on it, going through all the different events. But the scoring is the ingenious part; the man who thought that up was a wonder. You see it isn't like regular athletics--it's more like a kind of examination paper. Take the hundred, for instance. If you went into the Pentathlon and ran the hundred in nine and three-fifths--that's the world's record, you know--you'd get a hundred points; just the same as if you answered all the questions right in an examination. And then, at the other end, they set a mark so low that the smallest kid in school could beat it; twenty seconds, say. That's the zero mark, same as if you answered every question in the examination wrong. And for every second, and fraction of a second, in between you're marked according to what you do. "It's the same, of course, with the other events, so you _could_ make a total of five hundred; theoretically, I mean. Of course, really, no man ever lived--I don't suppose a man ever will live--who could be fast enough to be a champion sprinter and hurdler, and strong enough to be a champion weight man, and springy enough to be a champion high-jumper--all at the same time. Johnson made the record last spring--two hundred and eighty points--and that's awfully good for a schoolboy. He isn't such a big fellow, either; I don't believe he weighs much over a hundred and fifty; but he's fast--he can do a hundred in ten-two, all right--and he's a good hurdler and jumper, but he's not quite heavy enough for the weights. Still, Dave's got his job cut out for him; there's no doubt about that. Well, here we are; and, by gracious, we're late, too." CHAPTER II DAVE ELLIS BREAKS A RECORD While Allen had been speaking, they had reached the entrance to the field; and as they passed the gateway in the high wooden fence they could see Ellis, on the other side of the track, just getting on his marks for the hundred yards. Ned Brewster, the captain of the track team, stood behind him, pistol in hand. Farther up the track, at the finish, were the three timers: Mr. Fenton, Doctor Hartman, the physical director of the school, and Jim Putnam, the captain of the crew. "Come on," cried Allen, and breaking into a quick run they reached the farther side of the field, halfway up the stretch, just as the pistol cracked, and Ellis leaped away into his stride. They pulled up instantly to watch him. He seemed to run mainly on sheer strength, paying little attention to form. As he flew past them, Dick, gazing at him open-mouthed, was dimly conscious of a number of things. He noticed that Ellis' face was contorted with the effort he was making, and heard his breath coming in short, agonized grunts, "ugh--ugh--ugh--" as he strove to increase his speed. The cinders crunched sharply under his flying feet, and with a thrill of envy Dick saw on his crimson jersey the big white "F" of the school. He felt that Ellis was indeed a hero. "Golly," he said half aloud, "if I could only run like that!" Allen, more skilled in estimating a runner's speed, and more critical as well, showed little enthusiasm as Ellis, with a final effort, breasted the tape. "I guess that wasn't much," he observed. "I don't believe Johnson would worry a great deal if he saw that. Not better than eleven, anyway, and I don't believe as good. Speed was never Dave's strong point, you know. Let's find out how fast it was." They walked up to the timers. Ellis, jogging slowly back, shook his head as he neared the group. "Slow," he said. "I knew it, all the way down. Couldn't seem to get going. How bad was it, Mr. Fenton?" The master, a tall, finely-built man of middle age, with a pleasant, clean-cut face, snapped back his stop-watch, then looked up at the runner. "Why, it wasn't bad, Dave," he said cheerfully enough, "it's a cold day for good time. No one could expect to do much on an afternoon like this. You made it in eleven and two-fifths; all three watches were the same. And that's not bad at all; it gives you sixty-six points, to start with. Take your five minutes' rest now, and we'll try the shot." Ellis nodded, and walked away into the dressing-room to change his light sprinting shoes for the heavier ones, with extra spikes in the heel, to be used in the shot put and high jump. Five minutes later he came out again and walked across the field to the whitewashed circle, took an easy practice put or two, and then made ready for his first try. The doctor and Putnam stood by to act as measurers, with the tape unrolled along the ground. Mr. Fenton stood near the circle, as judge. "Remember now, Dave," he said, "only three tries. Make the first one safe and sure, and don't forget to walk out the rear half of the circle, or I shall have to call a foul." Ellis nodded, and at once made ready to put. Dick watched him admiringly, as he stood motionless, his weight thrown well back on his right leg, the toe of his left foot just touching the ground, the big iron shot resting easily against his shoulder. All at once he raised his left leg, balanced for a moment, and then sprang forward. The instant his right foot touched the ground he brought his body around like lightning, his right arm shot forward, and the big iron ball went hurtling through the air, landing a good six feet beyond his practice marks. Mr. Fenton gave an involuntary exclamation of surprise. "Well, well," he cried, "you _have_ improved, Dave; that's excellent form; and good distance, too. That must be thirty-eight feet, at least." The doctor held the tape against the inner edge of the toe-board; Putnam, at the other end, pulled it tight, and bent critically down over the mark left by the shot. Then he straightened up, waving his arm, with a broad smile on his face. "Bully!" he shouted, "thirty-eight, five and a half." Ellis laughed, well pleased. "I told you I'd improved, Mr. Fenton," he said, "and I can beat that, too. I guess that's going to make Johnson's thirty-four feet look pretty sick, all right." He seemed wholly unconscious of the disagreeable boastfulness of his tone. Allen, however, threw Dick a significant glance, which seemed to find a reflection in the rather grim expression on Mr. Fenton's face. The master looked as though he wished he had withheld his words of well-meant praise. "Perhaps, Dave," he said quietly, "Johnson may show improvement, too. It's better to overrate the other man than to underrate him." If he intended to throw any reproof into his tone it was lost on Ellis, who seemed, indeed, scarcely to heed what the master was saying. "Throw her back, Jim," he called to Putnam. "I'm going to get her out for fair this time." Putnam rolled back the shot. Ellis grasped it, balanced as before, knitted his brows, stiffened his muscles, and then, with every atom of strength at his command, delivered it. The result was disappointing. Something seemed lacking, and Putnam rose from making his measurement with a shake of his head. "Not so good," he called. "Thirty-seven nine." Ellis turned to Mr. Fenton. "That was queer," he said disappointedly. "I thought I was going to lose it that time. Wonder what the trouble was." Mr. Fenton smiled. "You tried too hard," he said. "That's one thing to remember, Dave, in the shot. The more you grit your teeth, and brace yourself for a great attempt, the worse you're apt to do. On your first try you stood up to it naturally, with your muscles relaxed; but on that last put your right arm was so rigid there was no chance to get your body into it. Now make this next try like the first one; only when you land from your hop, then come smashing right through with it; put all your strength on, just in that one second, and we'll see if we don't get results." Dick laughed to himself. Here, he thought, was a modern master with a vengeance. What would the folks at home think of a teacher, renowned for giving "the best English course outside of college," vigorously telling one of his pupils to come "smashing right through" with a sixteen-pound shot. And yet, while Dick smiled, he felt his respect for Mr. Fenton in nowise diminished, but, indeed, rather increased, by seeing him thus display his knowledge of track and field. For the master, while always in friendly contact with his boys, never for a moment overstepped the proper bounds of the relationship. He was a hundred times more their friend, yet no whit less the master. Dick could scarcely have reasoned it out, step by step, yet with instinctive judgment, he found himself echoing Allen's words of a few moments before, "Mr. Fenton's all right." Ellis, with a nod of comprehension, made ready for his third try. He started slowly, and then, as the master had suggested, put forth all his strength in one tremendous lunge. The effort was successful; the put was a splendid one. Putnam hurried to the spot, measured with care, and then triumphantly announced: "Thirty-nine, seven and a quarter." Mr. Fenton nodded. "Very good, indeed," he said cordially. "This is a fine start, Dave." He drew forth his note-book from his pocket, calculated a moment, and then added: "Sixty-four points; that makes one hundred and thirty, in two events. This looks like a record." With the trials in the high jump, however, Ellis' chances appeared less favorable. Even to Dick's inexperienced eye, it was evident that the big full-back was never cut out for a jumper. He ran slowly at the bar, from the side, clearing it awkwardly, with very little bound or spring. Mr. Fenton shook his head. "Still the old style?" he queried. "I thought you were going to try running straight at the bar in your vacation, Dave?" Ellis looked a little shamefaced. "Well," he answered, "I did try it, Mr. Fenton, but I couldn't seem to get the knack, so I dropped it. It didn't come natural, somehow." The master smiled. "How long did you keep at it?" he asked. Ellis considered. "Oh, quite a while," he answered. "A week, I guess, anyway." Mr. Fenton's smile broadened. "I think I told you, Dave," he said, "before vacation, that you mustn't get discouraged too soon. It's one of the hardest things in the world when you've once acquired your form in an event, to try to alter it. I know, in my day, I went through the experience. And it took me six months before I began to reap the advantage of the change. Here's a more modern instance, too. I was talking only this summer with the best pole-vaulter at Yale, and he told me that to change from the old-fashioned style of vaulting to the new had meant, for him, nearly a year of steady, monotonous work, with the bar scarcely higher than his head, before he felt satisfied that the knack was so thoroughly a part of him that he couldn't miss it if he tried. Then he put his knowledge into practice, and a thirteen-foot man was the result. So a week wasn't so very long, comparatively, Dave." Ellis shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I can't jump anyway," he responded. "I'm going to get the agony over with. I'll have to make up what I lose here in the hammer." The bar was raised, two inches at a time, until four feet ten was reached. Here Ellis missed twice, and just managed to get over in safety on his last try. He had plainly reached his limit, and at four eleven made three disastrous failures. He shook his head ruefully. "I can't jump," he repeated. "It's no good my trying." Mr. Fenton figured the result. "Forty-two points," he announced. "That brings you up to a hundred and seventy-two. But if you'll practice steadily at the other style, Dave, and not try to do too much at first, until you've really learned the knack, you can jump three or four inches higher, I'm sure. However, never mind that now. The hurdles are next, and I think you'll make a better showing there." Putnam and Allen had been setting out the hurdles on the track. To Dick, they looked terribly formidable. Ten of them in a row, each three and a half feet high, placed ten yards apart, with fifteen yards of clear running at start and finish. "Gracious," he thought to himself, "how can he ever get over all those without tripping. This Pentathlon looks like a hard proposition to me." Scarcely, however, had Ellis cleared the first hurdle than Dick felt his enthusiasm return. It was all so different from what he had imagined--the whole race was so pretty and graceful to watch. When Putnam fired the pistol Ellis dashed away at full speed; then, nearing the first hurdle, leaped forward, his body crouched, his legs gathered under him, cleared it handsomely in his stride, and was off for the next. Dick felt like shouting aloud, as Ellis swept down toward the finish. Three strides between each hurdle, and then that quick forward bound; Dick found himself catching the rhythm of it. One--two--three--up! One--two--three--up! Ellis cleared the last hurdle and flashed past the tape. The three timers consulted, then Mr. Fenton announced: "Eighteen four; fifty-two points; that's a total of two hundred and twenty-four." He figured for a moment with pencil and paper, then turned to Ellis, as he came walking back toward the finish. "First-rate, Dave," he said. "A hundred and forty feet with the hammer, now, and you'll beat Johnson's total. Do you think you can do it?" Ellis nodded. "I can do that all right," he answered confidently. "Just wait a minute, till I get my breath." A few moments later he had taken his position in the seven-foot ring, and was preparing to throw. Dick looked with interest at the leaden ball, with the slender wire handle, and the stirrup-shaped grips at the end. "Is that what you call a hammer?" he asked. Allen nodded. "Sure, that's a hammer," he answered. "It is a kind of misfit name, though, when you come to think of it, isn't it? They really did use a sledge hammer, I believe, once on a time, but they've changed it so much, you wouldn't think the kind they use to-day belonged to the same family. Just watch Dave throw it, though." Ellis crouched slightly, extending his arms straight out from his body. He swung the hammer around his head, once, twice, three times, constantly increasing its speed; and then, at the third revolution, spun sharply around on his heel and made his throw. It was a splendid try. The hammer went sailing out, high and far, landing with a thud in the soft grass half-way down the field. Dick's eyes kindled. "Oh, say, Allen, but that was pretty," he cried. "That's the best event of all of them. I wonder if he did a hundred and forty." There was a little delay over the measuring. Then Putnam put his hand to his lips and shouted in across the field, "One hundred and forty-two eleven." Ellis picked up his sweater. "I'm not going to take my other throws, sir," he said to Mr. Fenton. "I don't think I could better that one much; and as long as I've beaten Johnson's total, I don't care. I think, when I get a good warm-day next spring, I can do twenty points better, too." Mr. Fenton nodded. "I think you can," he answered. "It's too cold to-day to do your best work. Everything considered, your performance was excellent. If we can increase that high jump a little, you'll be the next Pentathlon winner, unless Johnson shows great improvement over last year. And I hardly think he will. His lack of weight is against him for all-around work." Ellis, visibly elated, jogged back toward the dressing-room. Mr. Fenton and the doctor started to leave the field. The boys who had been looking on walked after Ellis, in a little group, discussing his performance. Dick turned to Allen. "Any harm in my trying that shot?" he asked. "No, indeed," Allen answered. "You've got just as much right as any one else. Go ahead!" Dick, a little shamefaced, picked up the iron ball; stood, as nearly as he could remember, in the same position he had seen Ellis assume; made a cautious hop, and a slow and awkward put. Yet Allen, watching where the shot struck, turned and looked curiously at his friend. "Golly, Randall," he observed, "you must have some muscle somewhere. There wasn't a thing about that put that was right, but it went just the same." He paced back toward the circle. "Close to thirty feet," he said. "That's awfully good for a fellow just beginning. Try another." Dick, secretly pleased at the impression he had made, determined to give Allen a still greater surprise. Promptly forgetting what he had heard Mr. Fenton tell Ellis, he braced his muscles, made a quick, long hop, tried to turn, caught his foot in the toe-board, and measured his length upon the field. Allen roared. "Oh, bully, Randall," he cried, "I wouldn't have missed that for money. 'Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself.' That's you, all right. Didn't hurt yourself, did you?" Dick, picking himself up, grinned a little ruefully, as he contemplated the grass-stains which decorated the knees of his trousers. "No," he answered; "I didn't, but I surprised myself a little. I was going to show you something right in Ellis' class that time. I guess I'll own up that's one on me. I'm going to try that high jump, though. That's one thing I did use to do when I was a kid. I don't believe I'll break my neck on that." They walked over to the jumping standards. "How high will you have her?" Allen asked. Dick smiled. "Oh, I'm cautious now," he rejoined. "Put her at four feet. Maybe I can do that, if I haven't forgotten how." Allen adjusted the bar. Dick backed away from the standards, measured the distance with his eye, and ran down the path, increasing his speed with his last three bounds. Then, easily and without effort, he shot up into the air, sailed high over the bar, and landed safely in the pit beyond. Allen gasped. "Good Heavens, Randall," he exclaimed; "what have I struck? Why, man, you went over that by a foot. You've got an awful spring." Dick laughed. "Well, I had to do something to make up for the shot," he said. "But, honestly, it did feel good. I haven't jumped for a long time, though I used to be pretty fair; or at least they thought so at home. But that doesn't count for very much; it's a big world." While they stood talking, the door of the dressing-room swung open, and Ellis came out, followed by two or three of his friends. As they passed Allen turned. "Say, Dave," he called; "did you hear about the new Pentathlon champion?" Ellis stopped. "What's the joke?" he asked, not over pleasantly. Allen laid a hand on Randall's shoulder. "It isn't any joke," he replied; "Randall here. He's just been beating all your marks. You won't have a show with him by next spring." [Illustration: Dick looked vengefully after Ellis] He spoke banteringly, but any allusion to a possible rival always had a sting for Ellis. He looked Dick over from head to foot; then slowly smiled. "Guess he'll have to grow a little first," he said cuttingly, and turned on his heel. Two or three of his followers laughed. Dick felt his face grow red. "Confound him!" he muttered. Allen's grip on his shoulder deepened. "Don't you mind," he said consolingly. "That's Dave, every time. Only one toad in his puddle, you know. But you wait. If I know anything about athletics, you'll show him something some day." Dick looked a little vengefully after Ellis' retreating figure. The athlete's words and tone both rankled. "If I could," he said slowly, "I'd like to--mighty well." CHAPTER III DICK AND JIM GO ON A SHOOTING TRIP. Two months of the fall term had come and gone; Thanksgiving Day was close at hand. Dick stood in front of his locker, dressing leisurely after his practice on the track, and chatting with Jim Putnam, the captain of the crew. Athletics were uppermost in their talk. They discussed everything in turn--the arguments, pro and con, for winning the cup; the chances of the crew, the nine, the track team; the rival merits of Dave Ellis and Johnson for the Pentathlon; then all at once Putnam abruptly changed the subject. "Oh, say, Dick," he remarked; "I was going to ask you something and I came pretty near forgetting it. What about Thanksgiving? You're not going home, are you?" Dick shook his head. "No, it's too far," he answered. "I'm going to wait till Christmas. I suppose, though, most of the fellows do go home." Putnam nodded. "Yes," he answered, "it's so near for most of them, they can do it all right without any trouble. I guess you and I live about as far away as any two fellows in the school. But I was thinking--as long as we're going to be here--I've got what I call a bully good scheme. Did I ever tell you about the lake, away up north of the village, where they get the ducks?" Dick shook his head, his interest at once awakened. "No," he answered; "I didn't know that there were any ducks around here, Jim." "Well, there are," returned Putnam; "but most people don't know it. I didn't get on to it until last spring. I was taking a tramp up through that way in the spring recess, and I stopped at a farm-house for the night. The folks were as nice as they could be. There's a young fellow that runs the farm, and his wife and three or four kids. Well, after supper we got talking about the country around there and the lake, and then he started telling me about the ducks. He says there are a lot of them every fall that keep trading to and fro between the lake and salt water, and that stay around, right up to the time things freeze. They leave the lake at daylight and don't come back till afternoon. And that's the time to shoot them. You set decoys off one of the points, and make a blind, and he's got a dandy retriever that brings in the ducks. He only shoots a few. He says he's busy about the farm, and he lives so far away there's not much use gunning them for market. So he just kills what he can use himself. But he told me any time I wanted to come up, he'd give me a good shoot and I've been meaning to do it all the fall; only the crew has taken so much of my time, I haven't got around to it. It takes a day to do it right, anyway. "So I figured like this. First of all, we'll ask Mr. Fenton if we can go; but that will be only a matter of form. As long as he knows we're used to shooting, and are careful with our guns, he'll let us go all right; that's just the kind of a trip he likes fellows to take. Then we'll get word up to Cluff--that's the farmer, you know--that we're coming; and then we'll hire a team down in the village and we'll start Thanksgiving morning. It'll take us two or three hours to get up there, and then we'll have dinner, and have plenty of time to get everything ready for the afternoon. Cluff's got decoys, and I suppose, as long as it's Thanksgiving, he'll go along with us, and see that we get set in a good place. Then we'll have the afternoon shooting, and we can get supper there, and drive home in the evening. It's full moon, so if it stays clear it'll be as light as day. How does that strike you, Dick? Are you game?" "Am I game?" repeated Randall. "Well, I should rather say I was. I haven't fired a gun for a year. They laughed at me at home for packing away my old shooting-iron in the bottom of my trunk; but I'll have the laugh on them now. I do certainly like to shoot ducks. What kinds do they have here, Jim?" "Why, Cluff says there are lots of black ducks," Putnam answered; "and pintails, and teal. And some years, if there comes a good breeze outside, they have a flight of blackheads and redheads. Oh, if what he said was so, I guess we'll get some ducks all right. Let's make a start, anyway. I vote we go and see Mr. Fenton now." They found the master in his study, and were forthwith questioned and cross-questioned, with good-natured thoroughness, until Mr. Fenton had satisfied himself that it would be safe to let them take the trip. Then, as Putnam had predicted, permission was readily enough forthcoming, though Mr. Fenton was frankly skeptical as to the amount of game they were going to bring home. "I doubt the ducks, boys," he told them smilingly; "but you'll have a fine time, just the same, no matter how many you kill. And don't forget that I'm trusting you. Take care of yourselves in every way. Don't shoot each other, and don't fall into the lake; and be sure and bring yourselves back, anyway; it won't matter so much about the ducks." With many promises of good behavior they left him and hastened down to the village to hire their team and to send word to Cluff that they would arrive in time for dinner, on Thanksgiving Day. All that evening they talked of nothing but their plans; and that night, as Dick fell asleep, he was busy picturing to himself the appearance of the lake, seeing himself, in imagination, concealed upon a wooded point, with the retriever crouching at his side, and a big flock of redheads bearing swiftly down upon the decoys. So real did the scene become that half-asleep as he was, he came suddenly to himself to find that he was sitting bolt upright in bed, trying to bring an imaginary gun to his shoulder. Then, with a laugh, and with a half-sigh as well, to find that the ducks had vanished before his very eyes, he lay down again, and this time went to sleep in good earnest. Thanksgiving Day dawned clear and bright, warm for the time of year, with a fresh breeze blowing from the south, and a faint haze hanging over the tops of the distant hills. By nine o'clock the boys were ready at the door of the dormitory, guns under their arms, shell-bags in hand. Shortly they perceived their buggy approaching, and Putnam gave a shout of laughter at sight of their steed, a little, shaggy-coated, wiry-looking black mare, scarcely larger than a good-sized pony. As the outfit drew up before the door, Putnam walked forward and made a critical examination; then turned to the driver, a rawboned, sandy-haired countryman, with a pleasant, good-natured face, and a shrewd and humorous eye. "Will we get there?" he demanded. The man grinned. "You worryin' about Rosy?" he asked. "No call to do that. She's an ol' reliable, she is. Ben in the stable twenty-five years, an' never went back on no one yet. Oh, she'll _git_ ye there, all right, ain't no doubt o' that at all; that is--" he added, "'thout she sh'd happen to drop dead, or somethin' like that. No hoss is goin' t' live for ever; specially in a livery stable. But I'll bet ye even she lasts out the trip." Dick laughed, though there was something pathetic, as well, in the resigned expression with which the mare regarded them, as one who would say, "This may be all right for you young folks, but it's a pretty old story for me." "Well, I guess she won't run away," he hazarded hopefully. The man shook his head with emphasis. "No, _sir_," he answered, "I can't imagine nothin' short of a tornado and a earthquake combined, would make Rosy run. But then again--" he added loyally, "she ain't near so bad as she looks. O' course, she couldn't show ye a mile in two minutes, but that ain't what you're lookin' for. Six mile an hour--that's her schedule--an' she'll stick to it all right, up-hill and down, good roads an' bad, till the cows come home. An' that's the kind o' hoss you want." Putnam nodded. "Yes, sir," he returned, as they stowed away the guns in the bottom of the buggy, "horse or man--we're for the stayers, every time. And if Rosy's been sticking it out for twenty-five years, we'll see she gets treated right now. I guess she deserves it. All aboard, Dick?" "Sure," Randall answered; then, turning to the man, "You'd better get in behind. We'll be going pretty near the stable, so we might as well give you a lift," and somewhat heavily laden they started, with light hearts, on their journey toward the lake. They found their passenger decidedly communicative. "It's lucky for you boys," he presently remarked, "that you ain't no older'n ye be. 'F you were men, now, you might fairly be expectin' trouble, 'fore ye git through town." Both boys looked at him with some curiosity. "Why, what do you mean by that?" asked Putnam. "What's wrong in the village?" "Big row," the man answered, "over in the paper mills. They ben havin' trouble all the fall, fightin' over wages, an' hours, an' most everythin' else. They'd kind o' manage to agree, an' then, fust thing you know, they'd be scrappin' again, wuss'n ever. They got a passel o' furriners in there now," he added with contempt; "guess they think they're savin' money employin' cheap labor. Mighty _dear_ labor, I expect 't'll be, 'fore they git through with 'em. These dagoes an' sich, a-carryin' knives--I do' know, I ain't got much use for 'em. My opinion, ol' Uncle Sam would do better to have 'em stay home where they b'long." He paused and spit thoughtfully over the side of the buggy, evidently contemplating with disgust the presence of "dagoes an' sich," on New England soil. "Well," queried Dick, "what's happened? Have they struck?" The livery man nodded with emphasis. "Surest thing you know," he answered. "They went out yesterday, the whole gang, an' they ben loafin' round the town ever since. Things look kind o' ugly to me. 'Cause the owners, they got their sportin' blood up, too, an' they sent right out o' town for a big gang o' strike-busters, 'n they got in this mornin'. So there we be; an' as I say, it's lucky you boys ain't no older, or you might see trouble 'fore night. Well, guess this is about as near th' stable as we'll come. Much obliged to ye for the lift. Enjoy yourselves now, an' don't let Rosy git to kickin' up too lively, so she'll run with ye, an' dump ye out in a ditch. You keep her steadied down, whatever ye do." With a good-natured grin, he jumped from the buggy and disappeared in the direction of the stable. The boys, driving onward through the village, looked around them with interest. The state of affairs appeared, as their friend had said, "kind o' ugly." Little knots of dark-skinned foreigners stood here and there about the streets, sometimes silent and sullen, again listening to the eloquence of some excited leader, haranguing them in his native tongue, accompanying the torrent of words with wildly gesticulating arms. As they turned into the road leading to the north, a dark-browed, scowling striker at the corner glared angrily at them as they passed, muttering words which sounded the very reverse of a blessing. Putnam whistled as they drove on. "Golly, Dick," he observed, "what did you think of that fellow? If looks could kill, as they say, I guess we'd be done for now. I hope they don't have a row out of it. Imagine running up against a chap like that, with a good sharp knife in his fist. I guess it takes some nerve to be a strike-buster all right." Dick nodded assent, but twenty minutes later, strikes and strike-breakers were alike forgotten, as they left the village behind them, and struck into the level wood road leading northward to the lake. The change from civilization to solitude was complete. To right and left of them, squirrels chattered and scolded among the trees; chickadees bobbed their little black caps to them as they passed. Farther back in the woods a blue-jay screamed; overhead, high up in the blue, a great hawk sailed, circling, with no slightest motion of his outspread wings. The road stretched straight before them, narrowing, in the distance, to a mere thread between the wall of trees on either hand. The wind blew fair from the south; old Rosy settled down to the six miles an hour for which she was famed. Both boys leaned back in the seat, extended their legs ungracefully, but in perfect comfort, over the dashboard of the buggy, and then heaved a long sigh of well-being and content. Dick was the first to speak. "Jim," he observed, "this is great. This is what I call living. It's just as Mr. Fenton said; this is good enough as it is if we don't get any ducks." Putnam nodded assent. "You bet it is," he answered, "but we'll get the ducks, too. We'll surprise Mr. Fenton, if we can." He was silent for a moment, then added, "Say, Dick, you've been here two months now. What do you think of the master anyway; and what do you think of the school?" Dick did not hesitate. "I think they're both bully," he answered promptly. "At first I used to laugh at Harry Allen for the way he went on about Mr. Fenton. I thought it sounded pretty foolish; but everything he said is so. I can't imagine how any one could be much nicer. It's just as Allen told me once--he doesn't preach, you know; I hate the pious kind of talk like anything; but he's just--well, I don't know--just so darned _square_ to a fellow, somehow. And then, if you try to do anything yourself--just in little ways, I mean--you've kind of got the feeling that he's on to it, right away. He never gives you any soft soap, either, but if you're trying to plug along about right, you've got a sort of idea that he knows it; and if you're up to something you oughtn't to be up to, you've got just the same feeling that he's on to that, too. It's hard to explain; it's just like--just as if--oh, well, confound it, Jim, I can't put it into words, but you know what I mean." Putnam nodded. "Sure I do," he answered; "and it _is_ hard to put into words just the way you say. That was the reason I asked. I wanted to see how it hit you, coming into the school new the way you have. But it's so, isn't it? He never _talks_ about being good, or about doing your duty, or any of that sort of thing--he only makes a speech once a year, at commencement, and that's a short one. But I'll tell you what I guess the secret is. I could never have expressed it--I'm not smart enough--but my father was up here last year, at graduation, and I asked him afterward, when we got home, what he thought it was about Mr. Fenton that made every one like him so. He said that was an easy one; that every man, who really made a success of his life, had two things back of him. First, he was in love with his work, and second, he had high ideals _about_ his work. And he said you couldn't talk with Mr. Fenton for five minutes, without seeing what an interest he took in his school, and in his boys, and that more than making scholars out of them, or athletes out of them, he wanted to make them into men. And I guess that's about what we were trying to put in words, and couldn't." Dick thought hard; then nodded. "Well, I guess so, too," he answered, and then, after a pause, "But now look here, Jim, if that's so, what do you think about this business of class president? Because that's an awfully important thing for the school. It shows people at graduation the kind of fellow we want to put forward to represent the class; and the honor sticks to him in college, and really, you might say, in a kind of way all through his life. And you can't tell me that you think Dave Ellis is the fellow Mr. Fenton would honestly like to see elected president, now can you?" Putnam shook his head. "No, I can't," he answered; "but that isn't up to Mr. Fenton, Dick; he never would interfere in anything like that. And I'll tell you why. I met a fellow last summer who was quite prominent here in the school four or five years ago. We got to talking about different things and finally I told him about Dave and the presidency. He said that the year he graduated there was a lot of feeling in his class over the election and that finally some of the fellows went to Mr. Fenton and asked him if he wouldn't use his influence to try and get the right man in. He told them that was something he couldn't do; that if school life did anything at all it fitted fellows to meet some of the obstacles they'd have to run up against later in their lives and that this was just one of the things they would have to do their best to work out by themselves without coming to him. And, of course, you can see, when you come to think of it, that he was right. It's just like a republic and a monarchy; we wouldn't want even as good a man as Mr. Fenton to rule us like a king. It's his part to get as much sense into us as he can, and if he can't make us smart enough to tell a good fellow from a bad one, why, that isn't his fault. We've got to take the responsibility for that ourselves." "Yes, I see," Dick assented; "but it's too bad, just the same, if we elect Dave. Because he isn't in it with Allen as a fellow. Harry's _white_ clear through. But it's funny about Dave. He's certainly got an awful following; and I suppose he's dead sure to win." Putnam nodded. "Yes, I think he is," he answered; "and really you can't wonder at it, either. Athletics count for such a lot nowadays--too much, I think--and somehow if a fellow is a star athlete, that seems to blind every one to his faults. And then you know what they say--that nothing succeeds like success. And Dave's really done a lot for the school in an athletic way. And they all think he'll be the big winner this spring; they think he'll land the Pentathlon, and help win the track meet, and of course that all helps. And then he's got that kind of a don't-give-a-darn manner. It jars a lot of the fellows, of course, just as it does you and me, but then, on the other hand, with a lot of the younger boys, it goes in great style. I think they imagine it's just about the sort of air that a really great man ought to have. It's funny to see some of them trying to imitate it. No, Dave's got the inside track. "Allen's the better fellow, of course--Harry's about as nice as they come--but I don't see how he can win. And it's queer, too, you know; but his being such a corker in a literary way hurts him just as much as it helps him. He doesn't mean any harm by the way he's quoting his old poets all the time, but it doesn't go with the crowd. You know how it is. If you don't know a thing, and the other fellow does know it, and you have kind of a guilty feeling all the time that you ought to know it and don't, why then you sort of square up with yourself by getting to dislike the other fellow for knowing more than you do. That's sad, but it's true. And yet, of course, as I say, right down at the bottom, there's no comparison between the two fellows. Allen's as fair and square as a die, and the most kind-hearted chap that ever stepped, nice to everybody, big boys and small. And Dave--well, I don't know. I wouldn't slander a fellow for anything, but I don't think I'd trust old Dave very far. Did I ever tell you about Ned Brewster and the daily themes?" Dick shook his head. "No, I don't think you ever did," he answered. "What about it?" "Why," said Putnam; "it happened like this. There's an English course in college, you know, where they have to write a theme every day. We have the same thing here, for a month, second half year--English Fourteen. Well, Ned Brewster was talking to a crowd of fellows one day about a letter his brother had written him from college, telling quite a lot about this daily theme business--all about the good ones, and the funny ones, and a lot of things like that. Ned never thought anything more about it, but a little while after that Dave came to him, and asked him if he didn't think it would be an awfully good scheme to get Ned's brother to have copies of all his themes made and sent down to Ned, so they'd be all solid for that month of English Fourteen. Bright idea, wasn't it?" Dick whistled. "Well," he ejaculated; "the mean skunk! What nerve! What did Ned say?" Putnam grinned. "Not very much," he answered. "He told me he thought at first Dave was joking, but when he got it through his head that he was really in earnest I guess his language was quite picturesque. Dave hates him like poison now, and it makes it hard for Ned, being captain of the track team, you know, and Dave being the star athlete. It gives Dave all sorts of mean little chances to try to make the fellows think Ned isn't being square about the work, and all that sort of thing. You know what I mean. He keeps grumbling all the time, and saying that Ned shows favoritism to fellows he likes, and a lot of rot like that. And it hurts, too, because there are always some fellows foolish enough to believe it, and the first thing you know, you've got a split in the class. However, we're none of us perfect, so I suppose we can't be too hard on Dave. Maybe we can elect Allen, anyway. Something may happen in the next six weeks. I know one thing, anyway; Dave's got to hustle like a good one if he means to keep up in his work. I understand that he's right on the danger line now, and the mid tears are always pretty stiff, harder than the finals, I always thought. If he shouldn't pass, he wouldn't be eligible for the presidency--and as far as that goes, he wouldn't be eligible for athletics either. Wouldn't that raise the deuce? I suppose the track team would crumple like a piece of paper without Dave in the weights and the Pentathlon. Golly, though, that reminds me, Dick. Ned Brewster says you're the coming man on the track. Is that straight? Did you really do five six in the gym?" Dick nodded. "Well, yes," he answered; "I believe I did. Only once, though. You know how it is. A fellow will get in a lucky jump, once in a while." Putnam laughed. "Don't be so ashamed of it," he said good-naturedly. "That's a corking good jump for any one. Some fellows go plugging along half their lives, and don't get that high. Who can beat it, besides Johnson?" Dick pondered. "Well, I can't think of any one," he said at last; "still, there may be a lot of fellows I don't know about--" Putnam cut him short. "Oh, nonsense," he cried; "don't we get all the gossip from the school papers, and from the fellows we see? Didn't we know, the very same day, when Johnson broke the Clinton record, that time he did five eight and a half? No, sir, you're good for second place in the high, in the big meet, and that means your 'F.' What more do you want than that? Your first year at the game." Dick was silent. Finally he said hesitatingly, "Well, Jim, I know I'm a fool, but I'd like awfully well to have some show for the Pentathlon." Putnam looked at him in amazement. "Well, for Heaven's sake!" he ejaculated. "You don't want a great deal, do you? With Dave and Johnson both in the game? Why, where would you fit with them, Dick?" Randall reddened a trifle. "Oh, well, probably I wouldn't," he returned; "but you see, they've both got their weak points. Dave's mighty good in the weights--I couldn't touch him there--but then in the jump he's really poor, and in the hundred and hurdles he's no more than fair. And Johnson's a great jumper, and a good man at the hundred and hurdles, but he isn't up in the weights, by a long shot. I don't mean," he added quickly, "that I think I can beat either of them now; maybe I never can beat them; but they could be beaten, just the same, easier than people think. It isn't as if either of them was so good that you'd know right away it was no use tackling them; and I don't know about Johnson, but I don't think Dave's going to improve a great deal on what he did when school began. He's really pretty stupid about athletics, just the way he is about books. He can't learn the knack of that high jump, to save himself. No, they could be beaten, all right, if a fellow could only get good enough." Putnam considered. "Well, maybe that's so," he doubtfully admitted at last. "What can you do with the shot, Dick? And the hammer?" "I'm putting the shot around thirty-five," Randall answered; "but the hammer is my weak spot. I can throw it pretty well from a stand, but I can't seem to learn the turn. I can beat Ellis sprinting, though, and I'm pretty sure I can beat him hurdling. But, of course, the hammer and shot would make all the difference. Still, it doesn't matter, anyway--the whole thing--as long as Dave can win for the school, only I figured that since it was so close between him and Johnson, it would be better for us to have two men training, in place of one. But I guess it's only a dream, anyway; I've got to learn to throw a hammer before I can make any sort of show." Putnam nodded. "Yes, that's so," he answered. "The Pentathlon's an event where you've got to be pretty good at everything; you can't have any one weak spot, where you won't score at all, or you might as well stay out. Still, if you could get the knack with the hammer, I don't see but what you really might have a chance, after all. I didn't realize you could put a shot thirty-five feet. But for goodness' sake, Dick," he concluded, "promise me one thing. If you get to be the best that ever happened, _don't_ go and get a swelled head; I've seen that so many times, where a new fellow makes good. It's natural, I suppose, but awfully painful for his friends." Dick colored. "Of course I wouldn't," he replied with some indignation. "I don't believe there's much danger of my getting anywhere, in the first place; but even if I ever did, I wouldn't be such a fool as that. There's no sense in it. Mr. Fenton gave me a dandy book the other day--the best book I ever read--_Rodney Stone_. There's a lot about prize-fighting in it, and it tells about Lord Nelson, and Beau Brummel, and all about those times. But the prize-fighting was the best. There's one chapter, _The Smith's Last Fight_, why, I could feel the shivers running up and down my back, just as if I'd been there myself. Oh, it was bully! And it comes in, in the book, how every one of the champions, first and last, had to meet his match. 'Youth will be served, my masters,' that's what one old fellow keeps saying, and you can learn something from a book like that, now I tell you. You can learn that no matter how good you are, there's always some one that will beat you and the greatest athlete in the world has to go down with the rest. But it's all right to try to win, just the same. You want to turn out a winning crew just as much as I want to see the track team win, but I don't tell you not to get swelled headed. Come, now, isn't that right?" Putnam hastened to assent. "Oh, sure," he answered; "I was only warning you; I didn't really believe there was any danger. 'And speaking of the crew, Dick, I think, by gracious, we've got more show than people imagine. Most of the fellows have an idea that Clinton's going to win, because they made a fast time row this fall, but I'm not worrying much over that. They only beat us half a length last year, and we're seconds better now than we were then. This new fellow, Smith, is a dandy at three, and Jimmy Blagden is twice the man he was last spring. He was really the weak spot in the crew, but now he's as good a bow as I'd want to see. So don't think your old track team is the only pebble; you're going to hear from us, too. We want that cup." For two hours the talk flowed steadily along. Athletics, lessons, the presidency, the ducks, all taking their turn. And then at last, a little before noon, they passed the northern limit of the woods; the lake lay bright and blue before them, and a half mile or so ahead, in the middle of a sunny clearing, they beheld Cluff's farm. CHAPTER IV THE SHOOTING TRIP'S UNEXPECTED ENDING Evidently visitors in this neighborhood were something of a novelty, for there was quite a bustle of excitement as they drew up before the door. Cluff himself came hurrying from the barn to meet them--a sturdy figure of a man, ruddy and bronzed from constant toiling in the open air. Colonel, the retriever, barked himself hoarse, trying vainly to jump up into the buggy, his tail wagging in eager welcome. Cluff's eldest boy, a tow-headed youngster of ten or eleven, came strolling around the corner of the house, barefooted, clad in blue overalls, a straw in his mouth, surveying them with critical interest. The farmer's pretty wife appeared in the doorway, two of the younger children peering forth shyly from behind her skirts. No greeting could have been heartier. Introductions were soon made, and then Cluff turned to his boy. "Now, you, Nathan," he directed, "take the hoss out to the barn. And you boys, you come right into the house, and pretty soon we'll have a bite to eat, and then we'll get started on our cruise." Putnam could no longer keep from asking the momentous question. "How about the ducks?" he ventured. The farmer grinned. "Ducks?" he echoed. "By golly, boys, you certainly have struck it right. We ain't had a better flight for twenty years. Lots of marsh ducks, and there's a big raft of redheads and blackheads been trading to and fro, regular, for the last two weeks, and there ain't nobody bothered 'em at all. Oh, you'll see plenty of ducks; there ain't no doubt about that. Only question is," he added humorously, "whether you can hit 'em or not. I ain't ever seen either of you boys shoot, so I don't know. What kind of guns you got?" They produced them from the rear of the buggy. Jim's was a twelve bore, hammerless; Dick's a more ponderous and old-fashioned ten-gage hammer gun. At the sight of this latter weapon, Cluff nodded in approval, but looked a little askance at the lighter of the two. "A twelve bore is good for quail and partridges," he remarked, "but you need a ten gage for ducks. You want a big gun to stop those fellers. A ten gage is what I use. Guess I'll put you over in the marsh, Jim. You can do closer range shooting there. And I'll give you my wading boots, so you can pick up your ducks yourself. 'Tain't deep over there, and the bottom's good. Then we'll fit your friend on Pebble P'int, and give him Colonel to fetch his ducks for him and I'll go over across to t'other side of the lake, and fit there, near the cove. That way, we'll keep the birds pretty well stirred up, and it'll make better shooting for every one." An hour later, fortified with a good dinner of turkey and "fixings," they shoved off from the beach at the easterly end of the lake, Cluff and Putnam at the oars, Dick seated in the stern, and Colonel curled comfortably up forward, on the heap of wooden decoys. Parallel with the course they were steering, a long strip of land extended out into the lake, wide and well-wooded at its base, narrowing gradually to the westward, and ending in the sloping pebble beach that had given the point its name. Here Cluff backed the boat in close to land, and set Dick and Colonel ashore; showed Dick how best to conceal himself in the blind, half-raised, half-hollowed among the stones; and then, unwinding the cord wrapped loosely around their bodies, he threw overboard some twenty or thirty of the wooden redhead and blackhead decoys, each securely weighted with a lump of iron, and then, with a wave of farewell, again bent to the oars, and rowed off down the lake. Dick made himself comfortable in the blind, and whistled to Colonel, who crept in beside him, and curled up snugly at his side. Dick heaved a sigh of satisfaction. "Now we're ready for 'em, old boy," he said, stroking the retriever's silky ears, "and I suppose, if they come in, and I miss 'em, you'll despise me for the rest of your natural life." Far down the lake, he watched the boat disappearing against the outline of the western shore. In front of him, his little flock of decoys dipped gaily to the breeze, looking so lifelike, that half-closing his eyes, he could almost persuade himself that they were really alive. He glanced at his watch. It was half-past two, and Cluff had said that the flight would begin by three. Yet eager as he was, he did not grudge the time he had to wait. It was pleasant lying there, with the warm sun shining in his face; pleasant to listen to the wind, as it swept through the tree-tops, and to hear the ripple of the tiny waves against the smooth, clean gray of the beach, flecked here and there with foam. Presently he could see the boat returning, with one figure only at the oars, and he knew that Putnam must be safely tucked away among the marshy sedges, at the other end of the lake. Cluff made for the cove, a short distance to the south, set his decoys, dragged his boat up into the bushes, and disappeared from sight. All was at last in readiness. For the hundredth time, Dick looked at his watch. Five minutes of three. And then, as he glanced up once more toward the north, he shrank down still lower into the stand. A pair of ducks were winging their way up the lake, heading almost directly for the spot where he lay. He watched them eagerly, hardly daring to breathe, and then, little by little, they swerved, flying closer to the water, and finally passed, just out of reach, keeping on toward the cove where Cluff was concealed. All at once, Dick saw them wheel, set their wings, and sweep gracefully in toward the little flock of decoys. "Why doesn't he shoot?" he wondered, "Why doesn't he shoot?" A puff of smoke leaped from the bushes; a dull report came down upon the wind. One of the ducks towered straight into the air; the other Dick could not see. Then, in a flash, the survivor crumpled up and dropped headlong, motionless, into the waters of the lake. The second report came borne across the water. Dick drew a long breath. "By gracious," he murmured, "he can certainly hit 'em, for fair." The minutes passed. Then, from across the lake he heard, very faint and far, the sound of Putnam's little twelve gage; and a moment later he saw three ducks flying toward the cove. Would they decoy again? he wondered. Would Cluff get another shot? They seemed to be coming straight on-- "Whew--whew--whew--whew--whew--" came the whistle of flying wings; on the instant he turned his head, and his heart jumped at the sight. Unperceived, a flock of a dozen blackheads had come down along the point, had swung in to him, and now were fairly hovering over the decoys. Quick as thought, his gun was at his shoulder--Bang! Bang! sounded the double report and one duck fell dead to each shot. Dick felt himself trembling like a leaf at the suddenness of it all. Colonel, awaiting the word, lay quivering at his feet, his eyes, glowing like coals, fixed on the ducks, as they lay floating in the water. "Fetch 'em out, old man," Dick cried, and like a shot, the retriever was down the beach, breasting the waves, head and tail high in air, like the sturdy veteran he was. One at a time, he brought them in, and laid them proudly at Dick's feet; then once more crouched in the stand, waiting until his chance should come again. Nor did they have long to wait. Now, far off in the northern sky, the ducks began to come in a steady flight, flying singly, in pairs, and in flocks of varying size. The marsh ducks, Dick noticed, made, for the most part, straight down the lake, toward the point where Putnam lay hidden in the reeds, and from time to time, the faint report of his companion's gun came to him over the water, though at such a distance that Dick could only guess at what luck he might be having. It was different with Cluff. The cove was so near that Dick could keep a rough account of the number of ducks falling to the farmer's share, and it was seldom indeed that a flock swung into the cove, without leaving one or more of their number behind. Dick's own aim was scarcely as good. He put a number of good shots to his credit, stopping a pair of widgeon with one barrel, just as they drew together in the air; again knocking three redheads from a flock of five, passing at full speed overhead, without swinging to the decoys; and twice scoring a clean right and left on blackheads as they lowered handsomely to the blind. Yet his kills were offset by some villainous misses, over which he could only shake his head dejectedly, and turn away in shame from the reproachful glance of the retriever's eye. Once, indeed, just at sundown, a flock of about fifty redheads swung in, at just the proper range, just the proper elevation, just the proper everything; and yet somehow, flurried by the magnitude of the opportunity, he waited too long, sighted first at one bird, then at another, and finally fired one ineffectual barrel, just as the last bird in the flock was getting out of range. For a moment he almost wept, and then found a crumb of comfort in the thought that only Colonel was there to see, and that he could not tell of it, even if he would. All too soon the sun sank behind the hills at the westerly limit of the lake. Dick left the stand, walked around to relieve his cramped muscles, and then counted up his bag. Eight blackheads, five redheads, two widgeon, a black duck and two teal, eighteen in all. He stood regarding them with pride. Now and again in the dusk he could hear the whistle of passing wings overhead; once, halfway down the lake, Cluff and Putnam, returning, fired at some belated flock, and with the report of their guns two jets of living flame leaped upward against the dark. A little later and he could hear the sound of their oars; then presently a dim black shape loomed up ahead and Cluff's friendly hail sounded through the gloom. "Well, son," he called, "I heard you dottin' it into 'em. And I saw there was some that didn't get away. How many did you kill?" "Eighteen," Dick called back, "and if I'd shot straight I'd have killed forty. How many did you folks get?" "Jim got fourteen," answered Cluff, "and I scored up twenty-two. Guess maybe Mr. Fenton's going to be a mite surprised. I told you we'd do well. You just wait, now, till I take in these decoys, and we'll come ashore and get you." They rowed home through the darkness and trudged up the path, well-laden with their spoils, glad when the lights of the farm-house gleamed cheerfully across the clearing, welcome enough in any case, but now suggesting, as well, the thought of supper preparing within. And what a supper it was! Just comfortably tired and hungry, the boys made an onslaught on the fare which surprised even their host, accustomed as he was to the demands of a healthy country appetite. "Well, I don't know," he remarked at last, "I rather thought I had you fellows beat on shooting ducks, but when it comes to putting away turkey I guess you've pretty well squared up the count." By seven o'clock their horse was at the door, and putting in their guns and their share of the game, they bade good-by to Cluff and his wife, thanking them again and again for their kindness, and set out on their homeward way. They were scarcely as talkative, after the first few miles, as they had been on the way out, but sat in silence, each living the day over again in his mind. Retrospect had taken the place of anticipation, and their pleasure, while perhaps fully as great, was of a kind more tranquil, and less keen. Perhaps, too, the spell of the night quieted their tongues. The full moon rose high in the heavens, putting the stars to rout, and lighting the long, straight road ahead of them almost as clearly as if it had been day. And thus they jogged steadily along in silence until they had traversed the greater part of their journey home. Scarcely a sound had disturbed the quiet of the drive. Now and again they heard the hooting of an owl; once a fox yapped sharply, and in answer there came a distant, long-drawn chorus of barks and howls, as if every dog within a dozen miles was giving answer to the challenge. But of fellow-travelers, either driving or on foot, they saw no sign until they had come within a mile or so of town. Then Dick, half lulled to sleep by the steady, monotonous thud of the mare's feet on the road, started up suddenly, rubbing his eyes, for ahead of them he saw two shadowy figures, one tall, one short, striding along the path in the gloom. "Look at those men, Jim," he said. "I wonder what they're doing out here at this time of night?" As he spoke the figures rounded a bend in the path and disappeared from sight. And then, before Putnam could answer, all in the same breath, there arose ahead of them a quick, sharp outcry, the sounds of a scuffle, and then a shrill and frightened scream, echoing wildly through the silent forest, "Help! Help!" As quick as thought Putnam leaned forward, snatched the whip from its socket and brought it down with all his force across the mare's flanks. Old Rosy bounded forward under the blow and Putnam cried, "Load up quick, Dick! Load up your gun!" It had been Randall's first thought. Even as Putnam uttered the words he reached down, drew out the ten bore from under the seat, slipped in two shells, and sat alert and ready, his body bent a little forward, his weapon across his knees, as they sped forward, the buggy rocking and swaying beneath them like a ship in a gale of wind. A moment later they rounded the curve and Putnam, with a mighty jerk on the reins, pulled the mare back almost to her haunches to avoid running over the huddled group of figures fighting in the road. At the same instant Dick leaped from the buggy and ran forward. [Illustration] A quick glance revealed the situation. One man was being attacked by three others, while on the outskirts of the group a little boy hovered, terror-stricken, still crying out for help. The man upon the defensive was holding his own manfully. He was tall and active, and made shrewd play with a stout cudgel, apparently his only weapon, striving constantly to prevent his adversaries from attacking him in the rear. Yet three to one was heavy odds; knives gleamed in the moonlight; and while two of the attacking force advanced warily on him the third was creeping stealthily around behind just as the boys appeared on the scene. With a shout Dick leaped forward, discharging his right hand barrel over the heads of the contestants as he ran. The effect of his shot was well-nigh magical. On the instant the three men broke and ran, diving into the bushes as if they knew the country well. The tall man started to follow, fumbling vainly in his pocket as he did so, then drew up with a suppressed cry of pain and turned to his rescuers. "Much obliged," he said. "Just about in time, I guess; they pretty nearly had me--" He broke off suddenly, lurching unsteadily toward the buggy. "Don't know but what they've done me, now," he muttered. Dick could see that his face was deathly pale. "Here, Jim," he called, "take him and the boy. Drive right in to the hospital. I'll get back, all right; it isn't far--" He helped the man into the wagon and lifted the boy in behind. Putnam gave the mare a cut with the whip and the buggy shot forward toward the town. CHAPTER V DUNCAN MCDONALD On a Saturday afternoon, a fortnight after the shooting trip to the lake, Dick Randall and Jim Putnam, on their way across the yard, came face to face with Harry Allen and Ned Brewster, sauntering leisurely over toward the gym. The day, although the month was December, was warm and clear; the ground lay bare of snow; altogether it was an afternoon when out of doors seemed far more attractive than in. Allen, halting them, struck an attitude, raised one arm, and started to declaim. "Whither away, whither away--" he began, and then, as Brewster planted a well-aimed blow in the small of his back, he came abruptly to a stop. "Confound you, Ned," he said, "that hurt. Can't you appreciate good poetry? I never saw such a fellow. Well, if I've _got_ to descend to vulgar prose, where do you chaps think you're going, anyway?" Randall laughed, and in a tone of exaggerated deference, answered, "With your kind permission, Mr. Poet, we are 'whithering away' to the rustic cottage of Mr. McDonald, leader of strike-breakers, who has now recovered, and has been out of the hospital for some days. Mr. McDonald has won his fight; the 'passel o' furriners,' as my friend at the livery stable calls them, has been put to rout, and Mr. McDonald wishes to have an opportunity to thank his gallant rescuers in person. Isn't that what we are, Jim? Gallant rescuers? Of course we are." Putnam nodded. "Sure," he answered, "of course. At least you are. I don't know whether I can qualify or not. I was driving the mare, you know. But still, on the whole, I believe that took more courage than fighting strikers. Oh, yes, we're heroes, all right, and we're going down to be properly thanked." Brewster groaned. "My, but you're a chesty pair," he scoffed. "I don't suppose you'd let two ordinary mortals come along and breathe the same air with heroes, would you, now? Harry and I were just saying that the gym doesn't seem to offer much attraction on a day like this." Randall bowed low. "My dear young men," he said, "if my co-hero, Mr. Putnam, the gentleman on my left, has no objection, we will permit you to go. I think that the sight of virtue rewarded would be a most useful lesson to you both. Perhaps Mr. Tennyson here might immortalize the whole thing in what he thinks is verse." Brewster mournfully shook his head. "Oh, this is awful," he said, "we'll have to go with them, Harry. I wouldn't trust them alone, now. They're so puffed up that one good gust of wind would blow them clear away, and then we'd be minus our best high jumper, and our star quarter miler. So come on and we'll look after them. It's hard on us, I know, but it's our duty to the school." They left the yard, walked down past the track, and then struck out straight across the fields on their long tramp. As they left the school boundaries behind them Allen turned quickly to Dick. "Well, all jokes aside," he exclaimed, "your friend's recovered, hasn't he?" "Yes," Randall answered, "he's all right again now. They hit him a pretty good crack on the arm--broke a bone in his wrist, I believe--and he had a nasty cut in the shoulder, and lost quite a lot of blood. But they fixed him up at the hospital. It wasn't really anything serious." "How did the boy come into it?" asked Brewster. "Why," returned Randall, "it was quite a story. The boy was a French Canadian. His mother's dead and he was living alone with his father, up north of the village. The father was one of the strikers, but I guess he was rather a chicken-hearted kind of individual, for when the strike-breakers arrived and things began to look squally he got out of town, and left the little boy up there in the shanty, all alone. McDonald was the head man among the strike-breakers, and in the course of the evening he happened to hear about it and he said right away that he was going up to get the boy. His friends told him he was a fool to do it, but he said no one was going to bother him, anyway, and if they did he guessed he could look out for himself. Well, the strikers got wind of it and three of them laid for him when he was coming back with the boy. He said it was the neatest ambush you could imagine. He was on the watch for them, he thought, and he had a revolver in his pocket, and yet he walked right into them before he knew it. And I imagine he was having about all he wanted when we blew along and pulled off the great rescue scene. So that's all there was to that." It was a good hour later when they finally came in sight of the cottage, standing by itself, far to the southward of the town. Everything about the place looked neat and clean. There was no sign of McDonald, but a little wisp of smoke curled upward from the chimney, seeming to hang motionless against the still, clear air. Putnam turned to Randall. "Think we've struck the right place, Dick?" he asked. Dick nodded. "Seems to answer the description," he replied, and then, as they started to climb the fence surrounding the field which lay between them and the cottage he gave a little exclamation of surprise. "Why, for Heaven's sake," he cried, "talk about your track sports. What do you think of that, now?" The others paused to follow the direction of his gaze. Sure enough, in the center of the field, between them and the cottage, were a set of high-jump standards, a take-off board for the broad jump, a shot ring, and three or four circles for throwing the hammer. They walked hastily forward, and then stopped, wondering, for, allowing for the necessary roughness of the field, everything was arranged in excellent style. Dick examined the ground in front of the standards with a critical eye, then voiced his approval. "The fellow who fixed up this place," he said, "knew his business. I believe, on a dry day like this, I could jump as high here as I could on the field at home. Who on earth do you suppose is interested in athletics around here? Couldn't be McDonald, could it, Jim?" Putnam shook his head. "No, of course not," he answered. "A man who works in a paper mill all day isn't going to bother to build a place to practise jumping and throwing weights. Some of the boys from the village, most likely, I suppose." They walked on across the field and knocked at the door of the cottage. Immediately they heard footsteps within, and a moment later McDonald himself appeared on the threshold. He was a tall, active-looking man, splendidly proportioned, with a keen and intelligent face. A slight pallor, and a little stiffness in the way he held his left shoulder, were the only signs which he showed of his recent encounter. "Come in, come in," he cried, "the whole of you. I'm glad to see you, boys. I had considerable courage to ask you to come way over here, but the doctor wouldn't let me walk to the school, and I wanted to see you before I started back to work, to get a chance to thank you, fair and square, for that night. I guess, if you hadn't happened along, I wouldn't be here now. There isn't much I can do, I'm afraid, in return, only to tell you that I shan't forget it, if I ever have a chance to pay you back for what you did. And I thought--" He rose, took from the mantel two small leather cases, oblong in shape, and held them out to Randall and Putnam, one in either hand. "I thought maybe you'd like to have these for a kind of souvenir--most young fellows nowadays are interested in such things--perhaps, though, you boys aren't--" The boys took the cases from his hand, pressed the spring which opened them, and the next moment were gazing with delighted surprise at the heavy gold medals within. At the same instant they read the inscriptions upon them, and then, both at once, gave a gasp of surprise, for the name, traced in tiny letters on the gold, below the word "Championship," was that of the man who had been known, a dozen years before, through the length and breadth of the country, as the foremost athlete of his day. Both boys cried out in chorus. "Oh, golly!" from Putnam; and from Dick, "_Duncan_ McDonald! Why, for Heaven's sake! We never guessed--" There was a moment's silence; McDonald flushing a little under the gaze of frank hero-worship which the four boys bent on him. And then, to break the pause, "Yes, I'm Duncan McDonald," he said, "or what's left of him. Not quite so spry, I guess, as when I won those, but I still answer to the same name." There was another pause, until Brewster suddenly exclaimed, "Then that's your athletic field out there. We were wondering whose it could be." McDonald smiled. "Athletic field is rather a big name for it," he answered. "It's a little place I fixed up so that I could go out once in a while, on a Saturday afternoon, and throw weights, and jump, just for the sake of old times. Why, do you boys care for that sort of thing?" "Do we?" cried Brewster. "Well, I should say we did! You see--" and for ten minutes he talked steadily, telling the story of the cup, the Pentathlon, and everything else concerning the rivalries of the schools. As he finished McDonald nodded. "I see, I see," he said. "Well, that's a nice sporting situation, isn't it? Perhaps I could help you boys out a little, after all. When the weather gets better, along toward spring, if you would send your all-around man--Ellis, did you say his name is--over here, I might be able to show him something about his events. I'd be glad to try, anyway." "Oh, that would be great," cried Brewster, "that would help a lot, I know. And we've another Pentathlon man right here. We think he'll be almost as good as Ellis by spring. Stand up, Dick, and be counted." Randall laughed. "Don't talk about Pentathlon men," he said, "in present company. I don't believe Mr. McDonald would see much hope for me." McDonald eyed him critically. "Well, I 'don't know about that," he said at length. "You've a good build for an all-around man. We all have to make a start. No one gets to be a champion all at once. By and by, if you like, we'll walk over to the field; I'll lend you a pair of spikes and we'll see what you can do. How would you like that?" Dick's face was sufficient answer. "That would be fine," he replied. "You're mighty kind to offer to do it." "Yes, indeed," chimed in Brewster, "it might make a big difference to our chances. We'd like nothing better;" and then, suddenly changing the subject, "Mr. McDonald," he asked, "if it isn't an impertinent question, why did you give up athletics? You're not old yet; you must be as good as you ever were. And I should think working in a mill would seem awfully slow, after all the fun you've had." McDonald smiled. "Well, now, I know how it seems to you boys," he answered. "I can remember just how it looked to me when I was your age. But I'll tell you the honest truth. Athletics are a thing you want to go into for fun, and not for money. If I had my life over again, as the saying is, I'd stop right short where I turned professional, and take up some good trade instead. But of course I couldn't see it then. I was crazy about the game, and I had no money to speak of, so it seemed to be a choice between quitting athletics, or turning 'pro.' And I turned. But I've regretted it ever since. It isn't a sensible profession, you see. It's a job where you're best when you're young, and with every year that's added to your age, there's so much of your capital gone. No, professional athletics don't pay." The boys looked only half convinced. "But think," said Allen, "of all you've done; and all the places you've seen. If I'd won championships in half a dozen different countries I don't believe I'd swap with any one." McDonald smiled again. "Oh, I did have a good time, when I was an amateur," he replied, "but all the enjoyment that a fellow gets from looking back on pleasant memories stops right there. After you've turned pro, and are out for the stuff, the good sporting spirit is knocked right out of the thing. You think every man who's competing against you is a robber who's trying to take away your bread and butter, and that spoils most of the fun, to start with. And then a man can hardly make a living if he stays right on the square. There's always a cheap crowd of betting men who keep after a fellow, trying to get him to come in on some game that isn't quite on the level. They've pulled off some funny things, too, first and last. "I remember one chap I knew who was a corking good shot-putter. He joined forces with a couple of betting men and they certainly rigged up a good plant. It was at a big fair in Canada. The two betting men dressed as farmers, and then they fixed this fellow up in a blue smock, and had him drive a cow into the fair. Oh, they staged the thing fine; and when the shot-putting came off this fellow makes a lot of talk about what he can do, and picks up the shot, and puts it around thirty-three or four feet. Then the two betting men make a holler, and work off a lot of farmer talk about 'that there feller with the caow'--oh, they do it slick, all right--and that begins to make fun, and pretty soon there's an argument started, and the two farmers get excited and fumble around in their pockets and pull out some old, dirty bills; and finally, there are so many wise guys in the crowd looking to make an easy dollar, the money's all put up and covered. "The farmers breathe much easier after that--the rest of it is just a slaughter. The shot man plays the part, though, just to amuse himself. He gets into the finals--they're putting around thirty-seven feet or so--and then he makes a great holler about spiked shoes, 'them shoes with nails in the bottoms of 'em' he says, and at last he pretends to borrow a pair--which are really his own, that he has given to another of the gang to keep for him--and he stamps around in those, and spits on his hands, and goes though a lot of foolishness, and then steps into the circle and drives her out. Forty-four, ten! And then there's an awful silence in the crowd among the fellows who've bet their money against the man with the cow, and they sneak away kind of quietly, and here and there you'll hear one of them murmur to himself, 'Stung!' And that's professional athletics for you." The boys had listened breathlessly. "Well," cried Allen, "that was a pretty dirty trick, all right, and yet," he added with a chuckle, "there's something funny about it, too. It isn't like taking in innocent people. The other fellows were out to do the crowd they thought were farmers, and they got about what was coming to them." McDonald nodded. "Oh, yes, it's diamond cut diamond," he said. "If you bet on anything in this world, it's a good idea to get used to being surprised. But the trouble comes in mixing up a nice, clean game like athletics with such dirty business as that." He hesitated a moment, and then went on, "But it's mighty little right I've got to preach. I've done some things that I regret, and that I'd give a good deal to have undone, if I could. Because when you're right square up against it for your next dollar, or maybe your next dime, it beats all how a man will juggle with his conscience to make a scheme seem right. I'll tell you what I did once, away out west, if you care to hear." The boys' faces, without their eager assent, would have been enough to tell him that he was speaking to listeners who could talk athletics by the hour, with never a sign of weariness. And presently he began. "This happened a good long time ago. It was in the fall of the year. I was quite a ways from home, and I was discouraged. I'd made application for a training job for the winter in three different colleges, and I'd been turned down, for one reason or another, in all three. It was early in September, just the time for the big fairs, and though the weather was beautiful, there was a kind of frostiness about the mornings that made me think of a cold winter coming back home, and reminded me that I had just two hundred dollars in my clothes, and not another cent in the whole wide world. It certainly seemed to be up to me to make some sort of a play, and to make it quick, while I had the chance. "There were three or four pretty good men around at these games, and a lot of others not so good, but I wasn't particularly afraid of any of them. I didn't have any great reputation then, to speak of; I'd only turned pro a little while before; and I'd grown a mustache, and no one knew me by sight or name. But I had been training all summer, and I was right at the stage where any athlete, amateur or pro, has the chance of his life to make a killing; when he knows just how good he is, and nobody else in the world except himself does know. Well, I worked things about as well as I could. I went into two good-sized meets, under the name of Alan Stewart, and never won so much as a third place. I managed to finish just short of the money in every event I entered, and then, afterward, I mixed with the betting crowd, and took pains to do a lot of cheap talking. I told them that when I was really in form I was the greatest athlete who ever wore a shoe, and that as soon as I got some money from home I was willing to back up what I said. "Well, I contrived to make the crowd pretty tired. One of the leading gamblers, a shrewd, wiry little chap, called me down one day in front of the whole bunch. 'Young man,' he said, 'you talk a good deal, and it wearies me. Don't you think, if you kept that mouth of yours shut until you'd earned a dollar to bet on yourself, it would be a good thing for every one, and make the town a pleasanter place to live in?' That pleased the boys, but I pretended to get mad over it, and shook my fist in his face. 'You think,' I said, 'that you can insult me, because you've got money and I haven't; but you just wait; I've wired home to San Francisco for some cash and I'll have it for the Atlasville meet, and then my money'll talk as good as anybody else's.' That didn't rattle him a mite. 'Well,' he came back, 'if it talks half as loud as you do they'll know you're betting, away over in China,' and that pleased the crowd more than ever. So, altogether, I had no trouble in making a reputation as a conceited young fool--I've thought sometimes, since then, that wasn't such a strange thing, after all--and I kept under cover, and lay low for Atlasville. "It was a nice affair all right. There was a local weight man, a fellow named Brown, who was really good; and Harry King, the high jumper, who was making a regular circuit of the western meets, so altogether it was a pretty classy field, and I had every chance in the world to back my good opinion of myself. It was an old game, of course, but I worked it for all it was worth. As I say, when it's win out or bust, a man's wits are apt to move quicker than they do other times. Among my different bluffs, I struck up a great friendship with a fellow whom I knew to be hand and glove with the betting crowd. I was sure he'd keep them posted on everything that happened, so I made him my confidential friend--had him come out to watch me practice, and told him what a wonder I was, and how I was going to get square with the betting gang for giving me the laugh, and all that sort of thing. Only everything that he saw me do, and everything I told him I could do, was on sort of a mark-down scale. I told him, for instance, that I was going to put the shot forty feet, and high jump five feet, eight, and do the other events in proportion, and that I knew the rest of the men couldn't come near those marks; and all the time I could see how he was jollying me along, and laughing at me up his sleeve, for he knew, of course, just what the other chaps _could_ do, on a pinch, and it was bully fun for him to hear me go on about wiring for money and betting on myself, and cleaning out the crowd, and such talk as that, when he supposed, all the time, that separating me from my roll was just like taking candy from a child. "So the time went by. Presently my money arrived, or I pretended to have it arrive--as a matter of fact, I fished it out of my inside pocket; and then I went out on a hunt for my gambling friends. I couldn't get quite the odds I wanted--I still had to make a bluff at being awfully confident of myself--but I did pretty well, on the whole, for there were so many of them anxious to get a chance at me that it wasn't a hard job, after all. I put the bulk of the money on the shot and the high jump--I happened to be right at my best in both of those events just then--but I had five or ten dollars on about everything, and some of it at mighty long odds. Well, the day came. I shall never forget it, one of those perfect autumn days, warm without being hot, cool without being cold, if that doesn't sound like a fool way of trying to describe it, and the whole county was at the games. Oh, what wouldn't I have given for a thousand dollars, to keep company with my two hundred, but I didn't know a soul in the place, and I wasn't looking for any free advertising, either. So I let it go at the two hundred. "I've had days before and since when I've felt good, but that day--well, I was fit to compete for my life. I began the fun with the hammer and broad jump; I kept it up with the pole vault, the caber and the fifty-six; and I finished it with the high jump and the shot-put. I'll never forget the look on my gambler's face when I got down to work on my first try in the shot, and the man at the other end of the tape called out, 'Forty-five eight and a half.' It was a study. And the high jump. They couldn't believe, out that way, that there was a man on earth who could trim Harry King. And he was jumping good, too. We kept together up to six feet, but at six, one and a half, he failed and I got over, on my second try. "Well, I raked in my prize money, and my bets--I'd cleaned up between seven and eight hundred dollars, all told--and the next day I started east. I was feeling pretty good till I'd got about ten miles from town, and then I took the local paper out of my pocket and started to read the sporting news. Right there was where my good opinion of myself experienced a shock. For what should I find but a very nice write-up on Mr. Alan Stewart, describing him as the most promising young athlete yet seen in the West, and going on to say that as a matter of local pride, it would be an interesting thing to see Mr. Stewart matched for a series of events with Mr. Duncan McDonald, the eastern champion. Just at first I laughed, and then I stopped and began to think. And the more I thought, the less I seemed to fancy myself. I never did a thing like that again, and I can tell you, boys, once more, the pro game in athletics is no good." His audience had sat listening with the keenest interest. There was a little pause and then Allen spoke. "Well," he said, "it was the same principle, of course, as the man with the cow. But, somehow, I don't think that was such a terrible thing to do. You weren't deceiving innocent people. You were up against a crowd of gamblers who wouldn't have had any scruples about doing you out of your money, and you relieved them of theirs, instead. And I think," he added, "that the part about matching you against McDonald was great. I call that really humorous." McDonald nodded assent. "It did have kind of a funny side," he admitted. "And I don't mean I felt ashamed of myself because I considered it really a wicked thing to do, because I didn't. But look here--well, it's hard to express--those two medals I gave you boys to-day were won when I was an amateur, good and straight. There's no taint to them. I was in the game then for the fun of it. And I certainly liked athletics. I don't believe any man who ever lived liked them better than I did. And so, to get mixed up in the pro game, well, I felt the way I did once about a man I knew--a big, fine-looking chap, brave as a lion--who served in the British army. He got into trouble, no matter how, and disappeared, and I never heard of him again for years, until a friend of mine ran across him down in South America--a soldier of fortune, waiting for some little tuppenny rebellion to come along, to put a job in his way. Well, you know, that seemed bad to me--I didn't like to hear it--and so, about myself, I felt as if getting into this betting game, and all that, I was kind of disgracing my colors--you know what I mean--" The boys nodded in quick sympathy. McDonald rose. "Well, I'm getting to be a regular old woman," he said apologetically. "My tongue's running away with me. Let's step over to the field and try a little athletics, for a change. Here's my outfit, in here." He threw open a closet door, disclosing upon the floor three or four shots, two hammers, a fifty-six pound weight, several pairs of spiked shoes--clear evidence that he still retained, as he had said, his native love of the game. "Now, then," he said, "if one of you will take a shot, I'll take the light hammer, and Randall here can pick out a pair of shoes; then we'll be all right to start. Hullo, here's Joe." As he spoke, the door opened, and a little boy of nine or ten, dark and swarthy, with big, wide-open, black eyes, peered into the room; then, seeing the visitors, promptly dodged out again. McDonald laughed. "That's the little fellow you heard yelling for help that night," he explained. "No one seemed to want him, and his father hasn't been heard from since, so I've kind of adopted him, for the present. He's a good little chap, and smart as a steel-trap. But shy as a squirrel when he sees strangers around." Once arrived at the field, McDonald proceeded to put Dick through his paces. He watched him high-jump with great approval. "Good, man, good!" he cried. "You've got an elegant spring, and a very nice style, besides. I'll have you jumping fine, by next May." But over Dick's shot-putting he was not so enthusiastic, and at the hammer-throwing he shook his head. "No, no," he cried, "you haven't got the first principles. You stand wrong. Your weight is wrong. You swing wrong. You do everything wrong. Here, let me show you. I wish I dared throw, myself, but I suppose I'd rip my shoulder open. Now look--" For ten minutes he explained, illustrated, had Dick throw, again and again. And finally he good-humoredly gave it up. "I can show you," he said. "But you've thrown the wrong way so long that it's going to be a job. Let the hammer go, for the next month or two, and when spring comes we'll go at it. I'll have you so you'll be throwing a hundred and seventy feet. No reason in the world why you shouldn't. It's like all the other things. It's knack--knack--knack--that counts. You've got weight and size enough to throw it, and when I get the double turn drilled into you we'll surprise some of these boys from the other schools. You see if we don't." The afternoon shadows were lengthening across the fields as the boys started on their homeward way. And all through the tramp their tongues wagged ceaselessly of their new friend, his accomplishments, his interest, the medals he had given his rescuers, and most of all, how much his knowledge might mean to them, and to their chances in carrying off in triumph the coveted cup. Truly, it had been an eventful day. CHAPTER VI A QUESTION OF RIGHT AND WRONG An air of gloom hung over the breakfast-room. Search as one might, up and down the long tables, it would have been hard to find one smiling countenance. Most of the boys were eating absent-mindedly, as if they had small relish for their food; their foreheads were wrinkled and knotted, as if their thoughts were far away. To any one at all acquainted with school affairs, the trouble was not far to seek. The first day of the mid tear examinations was at hand. Of all these troubled faces, perhaps Dave Ellis' was the most moody and depressed. English Thirteen--how he dreaded it! He had sat up almost all night, in defiance of the rules, stealthily flashing an electric bull's-eye on his notes, and now, with aching head and jaded nerves, he was paying the penalty. His brain was in confusion. Names of books and authors sang themselves over and over in his mind. Now an absurd, annoying jingle, "Fielding, Smollett, _Rich_ardson; Fielding Smollett, _Rich_ardson;" and then, no sooner had he managed to stop the monotonous refrain than off it went again, "Dickens, Trollope, _Thack_eray; Dickens, Trollope, _Thack_eray." He groaned, turned desperately to his cup of coffee, gulped down half of it at once, scalded himself, and then--it was all of no avail--the tune began once more. Suddenly, and without warning, he thought of another name, and to his horror, everything connected with it had gone wholly from his mind. He glanced despairingly across the table at Allen. "Harry," he cried, "for goodness' sake, what school did Jane Austen belong to? And what did she write?" Allen gazed gravely back at him. "Jane Austen?" he repeated. "Why, she was the head of the Romantic school. She wrote _The Maniac's Deed_, and _Tracked to his Doom_, and _The Bandit's Revenge_. She's been called the founder of the Modern Romance--Old Sleuth, you know, and Nick Carter--" Ellis had sat listening, his mouth a little open, his eyes troubled, his whole expression a study in amazed bewilderment. Two or three of the boys snickered, and at once he came to his senses. "Oh, shut up, Harry," he cried, "that's an awfully dirty trick--to jolly a fellow that way. If you felt as rotten as I do--" Allen relented. "Well, excuse me, Dave," he said, "but you know what she wrote, just as well as I do, if you'd only stop to think. She was the great realist. _Pride and Prejudice_, _Sense and Sensibility_, all that list." Ellis' face cleared. "Oh, yes," he said hastily, "of course. _Mansfield Park_, _Emma_, and some kind of an Abbey; I've got 'em all in my notes. But what if it had come on the exam? I never would have remembered it in the world. Confound English Thirteen. I'm going to flunk; I know I am." With a sigh he returned to his half-finished breakfast. Then, looking around him, "Pass the salt, Randall," he said, none too pleasantly. On Dick, himself in none too amiable a frame of mind, the tone jarred. He paused, his hand on the salt-cellar. "Did I hear you say 'please?'" he questioned. Ellis' face flushed. "Oh, don't be a fool," he cried, "if you had the things to bother you that I have, you wouldn't be so particular. Please--please--please--as many times as you like, only pass it, anyway." Dick complied. "Well, you needn't make such a row about your hard times," he retorted. "I can't see that you're any worse off than any one else. These confounded mid-years. They put us all in the same boat." Ellis scowled. "Oh, you don't know everything," he grumbled. "I guess if you--" He pulled himself up sharply, and went on with his breakfast. Five minutes later, as they filed out of the hall, Allen drew Dick to one side. "Say," he whispered, "what's our friend Dave got on his mind? He's awfully down in the mouth lately. Has he ever tried to borrow any money of you?" Dick looked at his friend in some surprise. "Why, yes," he answered rather unwillingly, "he has. I told him I was sorry, but I didn't have any I could spare. Why, has he tried you, too?" Allen nodded. "Sure," he answered briefly, "and Steve Lindsay, and Ned Brewster. I guess that's where the trouble is. He must be in some sort of a money scrape, and that and the mid-years together have got him feeling pretty blue. Anyway, it looks like that to me." Half an hour later the unfortunates who took English Thirteen assembled in the upper hall. It was Dick's first examination of importance since he had been in the school, and he felt extremely nervous. His mouth was dry; his heart was pounding against his ribs. To divert his mind he looked around the room to see where his friends were seated. Brewster and Putnam were far away, across the room. Lindsay was three seats to his right. Dave Ellis was in the next seat, on his left, and Allen was stationed directly behind Ellis. The nine o'clock bell rang, and Mr. Fenton mounted the platform. "Now, boys," he said cheerfully, "just a word, before we begin. This paper, for the period which it covers, is fully as hard as the average of the college entrance examinations. Yet, as a test, it is a perfectly fair one, in every way; an honest attempt to find out how much you know of the course. There are no catch questions, or anything of that sort. So go to work in good earnest. Read the paper through from beginning to end before you touch pencil to paper; don't lose your heads; take your time in thinking out your answers. And if there are questions which you _can't_ answer, they will at least show you where your weak points are, before the final examinations next spring." A minute later, the last paper had been distributed. Dick read the questions through, slowly and deliberately, as the master had suggested, and then drew a long breath of relief. It was a "fair" paper, as Mr. Fenton had said; none too easy, but to a boy who had taken an interest in the course, and had kept up with references and outside reading, one almost certain to be passed, and to be attacked with real interest and enthusiasm. Allen and he had prepared for the examination together, and Dick saw more than one question where his classmate's devotion to his "old poets," as Jim Putnam called them, was now to serve him in good stead. For the better part of an hour, he wrote steadily; and then, with the easier questions out of the way, used greater deliberation in answering those which remained. Once or twice, as Dick glanced up from his work, he noticed, half abstractedly, that Ellis, on his left, was sitting always in the same position, gazing straight before him at his paper, without writing a word. And then, a little later, as he was about to begin on the question next the last, a faint cough from his neighbor, three or four times repeated, attracted his attention. He looked up from his book, and the next instant a little ball of paper came spinning along the bench, so well aimed that it stopped just at the left of his examination book, lying almost within his grasp. Dick hesitated for a moment, leaned forward a trifle, unfolded the pellet, and read. At the top, three times underlined, were the words, "Help, please," and then, underneath, "Who wrote _Barry Lyndon?_ When was Fielding born? Did Trollope write _The Moonstone?_" Below each question Ellis had left a little space for the answer. Dick felt himself flush, almost as if he himself had been detected in something wrong. With a quick movement, he thrust the telltale slip into his pocket; then waiting until he caught Ellis' eye, he frowned slightly, shook his head in decided negative, and bent again to his task. He finished the paper some twenty minutes before the time had expired, re-read his answers with care, and made up his mind that no matter what his mark would be, he had at least done as well as he could. He sat back in his chair, and looked around him. Most of the boys were still hard at work. And then, as his glance fell upon his neighbor, he gave an involuntary start of surprise. Ellis was writing busily, as if his very life depended on it, yet even as Dick looked, he saw him pause, and tug gently at his left sleeve with the fingers of his right hand. Gradually, he pulled a long slip of paper into view, studied it carefully for a moment, then relaxed his hold, and the paper, evidently fastened to an elastic of some sort, slid smoothly back again out of sight. Dick looked quickly away, a feeling of disgust overcoming him. He had heard of such things, but this was the first time he had seen actual cheating taking place before his very eyes. Ten minutes later the bell clanged, papers and books were gathered up, and the test was over. The mid-years lasted for a week; at the end of that time the results were made known. Dick did fully as well as he had expected. Out of a total of seven subjects, he had one A, three B's, two C's, and one D. Harry Allen topped the list with five A's and two B's; Brewster did a trifle better than Dick; Putnam and Lindsay not quite so well. But the surprise of the whole affair was Ellis' good showing. It was nothing brilliant, compared with the records of the really fine scholars in the class, but he did far better than any one had supposed he would do, and in those subjects where memory played an important part, his marks were fully equal to the average. Thus all doubts of his being eligible for the spring games were removed, and Brewster, as captain of the track team, heaved a sigh of relief that this anxiety was off his mind. Dick found himself unable to share in Brewster's pleasure. The thought of that strip of paper, and those cautious fingers pulling it gently downward, rankled in his mind. He wondered what a fellow ought to do in such a case. He ought not to tell tales, of course; that wasn't right; and yet--it was such a downright, dirty trick on Ellis' part--such a sailing under false colors-- And then, one morning, he found his perplexities increased. In the excitement of the mid-years, he had forgotten another matter of importance, and now, on the bulletin in the hall, appeared the notice that in a fortnight the election for class president would be held. Only two names were put in nomination--those of Dave Ellis and of Harry Allen--and suddenly Dick felt his doubts increase. Ought he to keep silence, after all? It was a mean thing to tell on a fellow--he had always known that--but on the other hand, where could you draw the line. If he saw a man commit a murder, he would certainly tell the authorities. There was a duty in both directions, it seemed. And so he thought and thought, until finally, on one rainy afternoon, he gathered his four most intimate friends--Allen, Putnam, Brewster and Lindsay--together in his room, and proceeded to unburden his mind. "Look here, you chaps," he began, "I want your advice. This is my first year in the school, and the last thing I want to do is to butt in, or to make a nuisance of myself. But I'm in a mix-up about this business of class president, and I want to put the thing up to you fellows, and see what you think of it. Of course, I'm with Harry, as you all know, just as the rest of you are, but we're not the school--I'm afraid, this time, we're not even a majority of the school--and I suppose the chances are all in favor of Dave's getting it." Allen nodded. "Sure thing," he replied, "I think I know the sentiment pretty well. There are forty-two fellows in the class, who are entitled to vote, and I should say that just about twenty-five were for Dave, and seventeen were for me. Of course you never can tell, for sure, until the last vote is counted, but I guess that's a pretty fair estimate. What do you fellows say?" and he turned to Putnam, Lindsay and Brewster. "That's about it, I think," Putnam answered, and the others nodded assent. "Well, then," Dick continued, "here's the question. In the first place, Dave Ellis isn't a fit fellow to be president of the class. I know it, for a fact. A class president is supposed to represent the school; it's really the highest honor the class can give; and the fellow we elect, whatever else people might find to say about him, ought at least to be square. Now, I'll admit that I'm prejudiced against Dave, because he rather rubbed it into me when I came here first, and it didn't make things any too agreeable, for a while. But that's got nothing at all to do with what I'm telling you now. This is something more than prejudice. Dave isn't on the square, and I can prove it. He cheated in the English Thirteen exam." There was a chorus of surprised ejaculation. Allen alone said nothing. And then Brewster asked, "How, Dick? Are you sure? That's a pretty serious charge to make against a fellow, if you can't back it up." But Dick seemed in nowise disposed to retract what he had said. "Oh, I can back it up, all right," he answered. "First, he threw me a note, asking for help. And after that I saw him pull a paper out of his sleeve--you know the kind I mean, the ones they fasten to an elastic--and he was cribbing his answers from that. I saw him as plainly as I ever saw anything in my life. I'd swear to it, on my oath. There's no doubt of it at all." There was a long silence. Then Dick spoke again. "Well," he asked, "what ought I to do? What ought we to do, rather? Because it's up to you fellows now, just as much as it is to me. You represent the element that stands right back of Mr. Fenton here in the school. What's the best way to act? We can't go to Mr. Fenton, of course; that would be a kid trick; worse than what Dave did. But oughtn't we to tell the fellows? Isn't it only fair, if they want to elect him president, to let them know first what kind of fellow they're picking out to represent the class? Or ought we to go to Dave himself, before we do anything else, and tell him that if he'll withdraw from the election, and promise not to cheat again, we'll keep our mouths shut on the whole thing? I don't know. I've thought about it a lot. People always tell you to do what's right, but they forget to explain how you're going to know what is right, and what's wrong. So I've come to you fellows to help me out. Now what do you say?" There was a little silence before Brewster spoke out impulsively, "I vote we tell the whole school. It isn't right that a thing like that should happen, and a fellow get away with it. It's a downright dirty trick, I think. I move we tell the whole crowd, right away." Putnam shook his head. "No," he objected; "that would be foolish. It's the worst mistake you can make to blaze ahead too quick, before you've figured out the things that may happen. Suppose Dave denies the whole business, what then?" Dick's cheeks flamed. "Why, Jim," he cried; "you don't think I'm lying, do you? You don't mean to say you doubt my word?" Putnam smiled. "Of course I don't, Dick," he answered. "I know you too well for that. But I was thinking of what I've heard my father say, when he's been talking about his law cases. 'Put yourself in the other fellow's place,' is his great expression, 'and see what you'd do then. That will help you in working up your side of the argument.' And that's a good idea, isn't it, Harry?" Allen nodded. "Sure," he replied; "they do something like that in literary criticism. 'Playing the devil's advocate,' they call it. Which means thinking up all the possible objections any one might make, and then going ahead and demolishing them. Yes, that's a good principle to go on." "Well, then," continued Putnam, "here's what occurs to me. Suppose we do as Ned says, and spread the story through the school. Some one of Dave's friends will come running to him with it right away, and what's Dave going to do then? What's to prevent him from saying that Dick is lying--that Dick's a friend of Harry's, and that this is all a dodge to get Harry elected? And if he does do that, then how does Dick stand? Dave's got an awful following here in the school, and there are some of the fellows, I'm afraid, who wouldn't care a great deal whether he cheated or not. They might consider it was rather a brave thing to try a dodge like that, and carry it through without the master seeing him. And even the decent fellows, who wouldn't stand for such a thing--what are they going to believe? It's Dave's word against Dick's and if they believe Dave, it puts Dick in an awful hole. They're going to say, 'Here's a new boy in the school, who's trying to make all the trouble he can. And he picks out the best athlete we've got, and tries to blackmail him. That's an awfully mean trick, and we'll see that we make the school too hot to hold him?' What do you say to that, Dick?" Dick looked a little staggered. "Well, I hadn't thought of anything like that," he reluctantly admitted. "I hated to mix up in this thing anyway; yet it didn't seem right to let it slide, without saying a word. And if you go through the world on your principle, Jim, you'll always be keeping quiet, unless you're sure you can prove what you set out to prove. And there are times, I should think, even when you know you're going down to defeat, where you would have to speak out, just because it's the right thing to do. At least, I should think that was what Mr. Fenton would say." Lindsay, usually a boy of the fewest possible words, spoke up quickly. "You're right, Dick," he said. "This is too important a thing for us to let go. Whether you get into trouble or not, isn't the point. It's a question of our duty to the school. Let's get Dave in here, now, and see how he acts. He may get scared, and own up to everything. If he doesn't, then we can make up our minds what we ought to do next. What say, Harry?" Allen had been unusually silent, although listening with the keenest interest to all that was being said. Now he nodded. "I think that's a good idea," he said. Lindsay rose. "Any objection?" he asked of the room in general. No one answered, and he went out, and a few moments later returned, bringing Ellis with him. If the boy who was about to be accused had any suspicions of what was going to take place, he concealed them admirably. "Hullo, fellows," he said; "what's this gathering for? Track team, or crew?" Lindsay, acting as spokesman, wasted no time in beating about the bush. "It's neither, Dave," he said at once, "it's a meeting on the class presidency." Ellis smiled. "Rather an Allen crowd, I guess," he remarked. "I don't see what you want _me_ for. I'm going to vote for myself, I'll tell you that now. So Harry needn't waste any politeness on me; he can vote for himself, too, and then we'll be square." He had thrown himself back into a chair, perhaps a little too elaborately at his ease. Lindsay spoke again. "We're not here in Harry's interests, Dave," he said quietly, "we're here in the interests of the school. We believe you have the better chance of being elected president, but there's a matter that we should like to have explained. We want the president of the class to be a fellow above suspicion in every way, and we want to ask you whether it is true that you were seen to cheat in the examination in English Thirteen?" Ellis looked at him with well-assumed indignation. "I? Cheat?" he echoed; "well, I guess not. Who the devil dares to say such a thing as that about me? I'll punch his head for him." Lindsay turned to Randall. "Fire away, Dick," he said. Dick did not flinch, but looked Ellis squarely in the eye. "I was telling these fellows, Dave," he said, "that I didn't think you were the man to represent the class as president. I've told no one else, but I've told them, in confidence, what you did in the English Thirteen exam. That you first asked me for help, and then cribbed from that paper up your sleeve--" He got no further. Ellis leaped to his feet, his face white with wrath. "You liar!" he cried. Dick in his turn started from his seat, his face as angry as Ellis' own. "Hold on," he cried sternly. "I don't like that word, Dave. You'd better take that back." Ellis sneered. "Not by a long shot," he answered, "that's what you are. And how you've got the nerve to start a story like that--" Dick drew a little piece of paper from his pocket, and handed it to the boy he was accusing. "You didn't pass me that in the exam?" he demanded. [Illustration: Ellis leaped to his feet, with wrath] Ellis' denial was almost too ready. "Of course I didn't," he flung back, "that's not my writing. I never saw the paper before. I never cheated in an examination in my life. You're playing dirty politics, Randall, to help Allen; that's what you're doing. But you can go ahead. It won't hurt me. I'll tell the story myself, to every boy in the school, and they can judge who's lying, and who isn't. You'd like to see me in a scrape, I guess, so you might have a chance at the Pentathlon, with me out of it. Oh, I'm on to you and your schemes--" He was storming on, half beside himself with rage. But as he uttered the words, Allen looked quickly up at him, as if taking a sudden resolve. "Just a minute, Dave," he said. His tone was quiet, but there was that in his voice which made Ellis pause, half against his will. "Well?" he queried, "what have you got to say?" Allen turned to the others. "Fellows," he said, "this is a dirty business--the whole thing. It makes me sick and disgusted to be mixed up in it. But I've no choice now. I've kept my mouth shut, because, since I was running against Dave, it put me in rather a queer position, and I thought I'd better not speak. But now that Randall's good name is brought into it, I'll tell you what I know. Dave did cheat. I sat behind him in English Thirteen. I saw him write the note and pass it. I saw him use the paper up his sleeve. And he worked the same trick again in History Four." He swung around to Ellis. "Dave," he said, "you have no right to be running for president, and you know it. You'll withdraw right away, or I'll give this story to the school myself. And one thing more. You're trying to make Dick Randall out a liar. Dick's gone into this thing against his will and risked a chance of getting into trouble, for the sake of the school. It was a plucky thing for a fellow to do, and if you breathe one little word to slander him, I'll do something that I wouldn't do in any other case for anything under the sun. I'll go straight to Mr. Fenton with the whole story. And you can take your chance on an investigation. Now then, will you pull out, or not? You can have your choice." There was a tense silence. An utter change had come over Ellis' face. He had the look of an animal hunted down. "You're mistaken, Harry," he said at last, with an effort at composure, "you're mistaken, I assure you. You don't understand--" His stammering sentences died away on his lips. No one spoke, and presently Ellis seemed to make up his mind. He raised his head with an expression of resolve. "Look here, you fellows," he said, "I don't want to make any trouble over this thing. But there's something else comes into it, that you don't know. I'm in a row over some money I--lost--and if I don't get it pretty soon, I'm going to be in an awful hole. I might have to leave school," he added craftily, "and then I'd be out of it for the Pentathlon. Let's compromise this, all around. I'll pull out of the presidency, and give Harry a walk-over, and we'll let the business of the English exam drop. It will be the best for every one. If I did anything I ought not to have done, I'm sorry. I was doing it for the school, so that I wouldn't be cut out of the spring athletics. Why don't you fellows, among you, raise me two hundred dollars, and we'll let things go on, just as if nothing had happened at all." The very effrontery of the proposal almost took away his listeners' breath. Finally Allen spoke. "No, Dave," he said, "that isn't quite the way we do things here. We don't buy our athletes. We want the cup, all right, but we want it on the square. And if you cheated for the sake of the school, I'll only say that's the most remarkable way of showing school spirit that I've heard of yet. No, you will have to withdraw from the presidency, and give us your word never to cheat again. And if you'll do that, we'll let this whole matter rest. I don't know whether that's the fairest way or not, but I think it is. If you're not up for office, it's a private matter then, and one that there's no need of publishing around. So it's up to you, Dave. Quit or not. We'll meet you half-way, whatever you do." Ellis scowled, and bit his lip. He thought for some moments in silence, then turned to go. "I'll let you know in two days," he said. "You keep quiet till then, and so will I." He took his departure, leaving the group behind him busy with speculations as to what he meant to do. Yet no one even dreamed what his final decision would really be, and it came to them with a shock of surprise and disgust. For two days later, they learned that Dave Ellis had suddenly left school, and a week after that, Jim Putnam burst quickly into Dick's room, where he and Allen sat studying. "Golly, fellows," he shouted; "what do you think now? Dave's got it in for us, all right. He's entered Hopevale, and I'll bet a dollar it costs us the cup." CHAPTER VII A BATTLE ROYAL It was four o'clock on a bright, warm afternoon in early May. Mr. Fenton, walking briskly toward the athletic field, stopped for a moment at the entrance, to gaze at the scene before him. In the ball-field, beyond the grandstand, the nine was playing a practice game against the subs. The tennis courts were filled, and the track and field men were putting the finishing touches to their afternoon's work. Ned Brewster, captain of the track team, was standing by the side of the high-jump path, and Mr. Fenton, as he crossed the field, stopped for a moment to talk with him. "Well, Ned," he queried, "what are our prospects? Will we draw first blood in the track meet next week, or will Ellis' desertion cost us the games?" Brewster hesitated. "I don't really know, sir," he said at last. "A week ago, I should have said that everything looked fine, but now I'm not so sure. You see, Greenough's injury makes a big difference. I think he would have been certain of the hundred, and would have taken second in the two twenty, besides, but pulling that tendon puts him out of everything. The doctor says he can't possibly go into the meet. "And then there's Dick Randall--I was never more disappointed in a fellow in my life. A fortnight ago, he was coming fast--his friend McDonald was simply doing wonders with him. Why, one Saturday afternoon I went over there with Dick, and he was certainly in great form. I measured everything myself, or really I could hardly have believed it. He did five seven in the high, and he cleared the bar by an inch and a half at that. He did twenty feet ten and a half in the broad, on his first try, and McDonald told him not to jump any more-- that that was good enough. And then he took his six tries with the shot, and did thirty-eight three. McDonald told me that day that if he could bring Dick up a little in the hammer, and if he'd get a little faster at the hundred and the hurdles, that he'd give Ellis and Johnson the fight of their lives in the Pentathlon. And then, just when all he needed was a little improvement, instead of going ahead, he started to go back, and he's been growing steadily worse ever since. It doesn't seem to be his fault, you know; he feels more disappointed about it than any one. He never sports at all, and he's the most conscientious worker on the squad. But there's something wrong. He isn't nearly so good as he was two weeks ago. You just watch him now. The bar is only five feet four." Mr. Fenton looked on attentively, as Randall prepared to jump. There seemed to be a nervous hesitancy about his style. He started twice on his run before he could seem to catch step correctly, and even then, he ran more slowly than usual, as if he lacked confidence in himself, and rose awkwardly at the bar, without much of his former spring. Yet even with these faults, the attempt was none the less a good one. His body was higher than the stick, and he seemed, indeed, just on the point of clearing it in safety; but the necessary momentum was lacking, and despite his efforts, he fell heavily on the bar, knocking it off for the third successive time. He walked dejectedly out of the pit, and stood gazing at the uprights with wrinkled brow, as if striving to figure out the reason for his failure. Mr. Fenton walked over to him. "That was a good try, Randall," he said cheerfully. "A little more speed, and you would have had it. How are you feeling these days? Pretty well?" Dick paused a moment before answering. "Well, to tell the truth, sir," he said at last, "I don't know what's got into me lately. I was doing quite well, two weeks ago, but now I'm no good at all. My weight is all right, and I feel all right, but I don't seem to have any ginger about me. Why, a month back I should have laughed at five feet four; I should have called that just a practice jump; and now today I try my hardest, and miss it three times running. And I've gone back in the broad jump--I can't do twenty feet now--and I'm not up to standard with the shot, either. The hammer is the only thing I've improved with, and I was so bad with that I couldn't very well have grown worse. Taking everything together, I'm really doing about as badly as a fellow could; and I don't see what the trouble is. I never practised so hard; I never thought so much about my events; I'm really discouraged." Mr. Fenton glanced him over critically, from head to foot. He seemed worried and anxious, and while he appeared to be well up in weight, and while his muscular development was better than ever, his color was none too good, and his face looked somewhat drawn. Mr. Fenton gave a little nod, like a doctor who diagnoses a patient's condition. "Well, you look pretty well," he said, "but of course you've been doing quite a lot of work. I should say, in the trainers' language, that you were a little 'fine.' Why don't you take a rest, a complete rest, from now until the day of the games?" Dick shook his head, without intending it, a little impatiently. "Oh, I couldn't, Mr. Fenton," he answered. "There's so much to learn yet, if I go into the Pentathlon. There's a knack I'm trying to work out in the broad jump, and that confounded hammer does bother me so. I think and think about it, and finally I imagine I've got the idea, and then I go out the next day and practise, and find I'm worse than ever. Why, one night, I even dreamed about it. I thought I threw it two hundred and fifty feet, and broke the world's record. Oh, but it felt fine. I was taking three turns, and spinning around like a top, and when I let it go, it went sailing off as high as the roof of a house. So the next morning I tried to remember how I stood in my dream, and how I swung the hammer, and everything, and then I went out in the afternoon and tried to put it all into practice and what do you suppose? I fouled about a mile, and got all tangled up in my feet, and fell down, and pretty nearly broke my neck; so I've lost all faith in dreams." Mr. Fenton smiled. "I don't blame you," he answered, then added, "How have you been sleeping this last week or two, Randall? As well as when you came here first?" Dick hesitated; then a little unwillingly replied, "Why, I haven't been sleeping so awfully well. It seems to take me a long time to get to sleep, to start with, and then I usually have some crazy nightmare or other about athletics, and then I wake up with a jump about three or four in the morning, and can't get to sleep again. But I feel all right, just the same. I'm not sick, sir." Mr. Fenton laughed. "No, you look fairly rugged to me," he answered; "but take a rest from now on, Randall. Don't do any more work to-night; go in and get your rub; and forget all about athletics for a while." Dick nodded, picked up his sweater, and jogged off across the field. The master walked back to where Brewster was standing. "Well, Ned, there's no mystery about your Pentathlon man," he said, "it's as clear as day. He's going 'stale,' as the trainers say; he's been doing too much work. I don't mean too much for his health. That's all right, or the doctor would have notified me. But Randall's a fellow with nerves, in spite of his strength. And he's lost just enough energy, with all the work he's been doing, to take the edge off his speed and his spring. You must tell him to quit, right where he is; to lock up his spikes and his athletic clothes; and not to come near the track again until the day of the games. If he will do that, you will have him ready for the meet, in as good shape as he ever was in his life. I feel sure of it." That evening Brewster went over the whole situation with Dick, and gave him his orders, to be carried out to the very letter. Dick promised to obey, and yet to keep from worrying was no easy task. The whole school could talk of nothing but the coming games. Every one was going around, with paper and pencil, figuring the final distribution of the points. There were twelve events altogether; first place counted five, second two, and third one; a total of ninety-six. School spirit ran high, and no one figured in any other way except to give Fenton the victory. Forty points was the favorite figure, and about thirty each for Hopevale and Clinton. It was an interesting, if rather unprofitable employment. And for Dick to keep out of the prevailing excitement was next to impossible, especially when his schoolmates would say, "We've got you figured for second in the high, Dick," or "Do you think you can get third in the broad?" Again, the program of resting, and keeping away from the field, worried him more than anything else. Accustomed as he was to his daily exercise, his muscles, after the first day's lay-off, began to stiffen, and lacking the experience to know that this was something which would disappear with his rub-down, and his first trial jump in the competition, Dick fretted over it as if it had been some serious muscle strain. Yet somehow, the week went by, and the day of the games came at last. It was a perfect afternoon, just pleasantly warm and still, with no wind to trouble the distance runners on either stretch. The games were scheduled for two o'clock. By one, the Clinton athletes had arrived; shortly afterward, the Hopevale team put in an appearance; and by half-past one the grandstand and the bleachers were filled, and the boys were beginning to limber up on the track. Dave Ellis, with the blue "H" of Hopevale on his chest, seemed in nowise embarrassed at thus revisiting his old quarters, but came out to practise with the rest, and put the shot well over thirty-eight feet in a preliminary try. Shortly afterward, Dick had his first glimpse of Johnson, the mainstay of the Clinton team. He was a good-looking, pleasant-faced boy, who went about his "warming-up" so quietly and unobtrusively that one would scarcely have selected him, at first, for an athlete of prominence. Yet Dick, watching the play of his long, smooth muscles, and noting how easily and springily he moved up and down the track, knew that he was looking at a first-class man. Promptly, at five minutes before two, the clerk of the course came hurrying across the field. "All out for the hundred," he called, "hundred yards, last call. All out for the hundred." The games had begun at last. Dick took his seat on the balcony of the dressing-room, and gazed out at the animated scene. All at once it occurred to him that if he were only a spectator, and not a contestant, he should be thoroughly enjoying the whole affair. It was an inspiriting sight; the level green of the field, the darker oval of the track, the grandstand, bright with color; and now, walking slowly over toward the start of the hundred, the six contestants, two from each team, each bound to do his utmost to score for his school. He could distinguish Steve Lindsay; the tall figure of Harris of Clinton, the favorite, conspicuous in his striped jersey of red and black; and the figures of the two Hopevale men, of whom little was known, with the light blue "H. A. A." on their shirts. There was the usual warming-up, a word or two of caution from the starter, and then his whistle blew loud and shrill. There came an answering wave of a handkerchief from the spot where the judges and timers stood grouped around the tape. In the hush that followed, Dick could hear the starter's voice sound sharp and clear across the field. "On your marks!" The six figures crouched. "Get set!" They bent forward, tense, expectant. And then a puff of smoke from the starter's upraised pistol--"Bang!" and they were off, to a perfect start. Dick's hands clenched; his eyes strained to distinguish the entries from his school. For a moment the crowd was silent, and then, as the first thirty or forty yards were covered, and the runners began to separate and draw apart, there arose a tumult of shouts and cheers, above it all the cries from Fenton, "Lindsay! Lindsay! Lindsay!" It was true enough. Lindsay was ahead, a foot or two in front of Adams of Hopevale, with Harris several yards behind. At fifty yards it was the same--and at sixty--and then all at once Harris seemed to settle to his stride. He drew up on the leaders with a rush, at eighty yards was on even terms, and then, forging steadily ahead, crossed the line a safe winner, with Lindsay just beating out Adams for second place. In a moment, Dick could hear the scorer's stentorian tones echoing over the field. "Hundred yards dash--won by Harris of Clinton; Lindsay of Fenton, second; Adams of Hopevale, third; time, ten and two-fifths seconds." And then, on the big score board at the end of the field, the huge figures were hoisted that all might see. Clinton--Fenton--Hopevale 5 2 1 With the cheers of the Clinton delegation still ringing out on the air, the runners came jogging back to the dressing-rooms, and the next event--the hundred and twenty yards high hurdles--was called. Already the men employed on the field were setting out the obstacles on the track. There were but four entries, for Barker and Jones, the Hopevale hurdlers, so far outclassed their field that Arnold of Clinton, and Taylor of Fenton had been entered with no hope of first or second, but merely to battle for the single point which would reward third place. Yet the race displayed the uncertainties of athletics in general, and of the high hurdles in particular; for while Barker, the winner of the previous year, took the lead at the start, and was never headed, Jones, his team-mate, loafing comfortably along in second place, got in too close at the sixth hurdle, struck it heavily, staggered a few steps, and plunged headlong into the seventh, bringing it down with him to the ground. After this disaster, there was no hope of a recovery, and Arnold took second place, and Taylor third, making unexpected and welcome additions to the winnings of their schools. The figures on the blackboard were shifted, and Clinton's lead was reduced, while the Fenton score looked somewhat small beside the other two. Clinton--Fenton--Hopevale 7 3 6 So ran the totals, and even as Dick studied them, the clerk's cry sounded quick and sharp, "All out for the quarter; all out for the mile; all out for the pole vault, hammer throw, broad jump." Dick started. For the moment he had almost forgotten that he was to compete at all. Quickly coming to himself, he rose, picked up his spikes, and made his way down-stairs and across the field. Just ahead of him were Harry Allen, Jack Morrison and Jim Egan, the three Fenton entries in the quarter, and Brewster himself, rated as sure winner of the mile, came jogging up behind him, and fell into step by his side. "How's your courage, old man?" he asked. "Oh, pretty fair," Dick answered, "we haven't made much of a start, though." Brewster shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, never mind the hundred and the hurdles," he said, "we didn't count on much there, anyway. But we'll score big in the quarter, I think; and if I don't go to pieces in the mile, we might get something there, too. You tear down at that old take-off, now, Dick, and we'll rip those A's off your shirt for you to-night. You get us a point, anyway." "I'll do my best," Dick replied, and an instant later he was answering to his name, with the half-dozen other contestants in the event. Stripping off his sweater, he took an easy practice jump, and as he did so, a great load seemed lifted from his mind. He knew that he had recovered his spring, and the excitement of the competition made him feel that he could beat anything he had done in practice. "I guess Mr. Fenton knew what was the matter with me, all right," he murmured to himself. His name was the first called. He made his mark at exactly fifty feet from the take-off, laid the sleeve of his sweater at the edge of the path, and walked back another forty feet or so for his preliminary run. He tried to remember all the instructions that McDonald had given him, but in his excitement, he could think of little more than of hitting his mark correctly, and of getting a good lift into the air. "All ready," cried the scorer, "Randall, Fenton, first try." Dick stood erect, drew a long breath, and then, with muscles tense and rigid, began his run. One--two--three--four--five--six-- seven--eight--came his preliminary strides, and he sensed, rather than knew, that he had brought the toe of his jumping shoe just even with the sweater's crimson sleeve. And then, for the last eight strides, he ran with every ounce of energy he possessed; bang, he hit the take-off fair and square, and landed far out in the pit, his knees thrown well in front of him. There was a ripple of applause from the grandstand, and he knew that the jump must at least have been a fair one. He stood waiting at the side of the pit, while the measurers did their work. Then the man at the farther end of the tape straightened up, announcing, "Twenty feet, six and one-quarter." Dick jogged back, well satisfied. The distance was nearly as good as his best, and he felt confident of qualifying for the finals. Two or three of the other contestants jumped in the neighborhood of nineteen feet, and then Harding of Hopevale jumped twenty feet, three. No one else equalled Dick's mark until Johnson's name was called. The Clinton athlete stood waiting for the dirt to be raked over in the pit, and Dick found himself, half against his will, admiring the Pentathlon man's graceful, clean-cut build. He was an inch or two taller than Dick, not so broad-shouldered or so muscular, but with that indefinable stamp of the athlete, which for want of a better word, we characterize as "rangy." As he started for his jump, Dick watched him critically, noticing that he ran hard, with his knees lifted well into the air, and then, as Johnson struck the take-off, and leaped, he gave a little gasp of surprise. Here was form, indeed, beside which the efforts of the others appeared as nothing. This was no mere run from the board; it was a real jump. Johnson shot into the air, feet in front of him, sailing along like a cannon ball. Instantly, the grandstand burst into a shout of applause. From the Clinton section came a continued burst of organized cheering, and the announcer threw an extra impressiveness into his voice as he shouted, "Mr. Johnson jumps twenty-one, three and three-quarters." Johnson came walking back, a smile on his face. Dick accosted him good-naturedly. "That was a dandy," he said. "You can have this event, I guess. You won't have to jump again." Johnson took the other's speech in good part. "Oh, I don't know," he answered, sitting down at Dick's side and drawing his bath-robe around his knees. "You can't ever tell till the last man's had his last try." Then, after a little pause, he added, "Are you going to try the Pentathlon, Randall?" Dick nodded. "I think so," he answered, "though I don't expect to do much against you and Ellis. Still, I guess I'll give it a try, anyway. There doesn't seem to be any one else to represent the school. But if I can't win," he added, "I tell you, right now, I hope you give Ellis the worst licking he ever had in his life." Johnson nodded. "I know just how you fellows feel about Ellis," he said, "and I don't blame you a bit. A chap that will leave his school in the lurch like that can't have much of the right stuff in him. But I don't know about licking him. He's awfully good in the weights. And the Hopevale crowd say that since he came there he's improved a lot, too. I don't know whether it's so or not, but they claim he's beating forty feet with the shot, right along. And that he's throwing the hammer a hundred and sixty. But you can't tell. They may be trying to scare us, so we'll think it's no use to enter, even. Never can tell beforehand--that's my motto in athletics." Dick nodded, and was about to answer, when the scorer called, "Randall, second try." Dick rose, and was making ready for his run, when the scorer waved him back. "No, don't jump, Mr. Randall," he cried. "Sit down again, please. Wait till they run the quarter mile." Dick nodded, and complied. Every eye in the field was turned on the start of the quarter. The nine athletes stretched straight across the track. Dick saw that Morrison of his own school was on the pole; that Harry Allen was sixth in line, and that their third entry, Egan, was on the extreme outside. "Bang!" went the pistol, and the runners were off, in a mad burst for the lead to the first turn. There was little to be distinguished for a moment or two, and then, as they rounded and squared away for the back stretch, Dick's heart gave a great leap of excitement. Morrison had held his lead, Egan had cut clean across in front of the others, and was second; only Allen lay back, in seventh position, apparently "pocketed" and unable to extricate himself. Up the stretch they swung, in steady, rhythmical procession; from across the field one would have said that they scarcely moved; so greatly did the added distance deceive the eye. Once a Hopevale runner spurted and tried to pass the leaders, but they quickened their pace in turn, and he fell back into the ruck, beaten and exhausted. Dick could not take his eyes from Allen's figure. He hardly realized, until that moment, how much he cared for his friend; he felt as if he himself were running the race; under his breath he was muttering, "Go it, Harry! Go it, old man!" Around the curve they swung, and squared away for home. A great shout came from the grandstand "Fenton, Fenton, Fenton!" and then "Morrison! Egan!" "Go it, Morrison! Go it, Egan!" again and again. It was a Fenton victory; there was no doubt of that. The two runners were yards ahead of the field, and though both were tiring, they seemed certain of keeping their lead to the tape, well ahead of the rest. Dick felt a mixture of emotions. He was glad, first of all, of course, for the school, and yet, mingled with his joy, there was a tinge of sorrow for his friend. For he knew Allen's ambition had been to wind up his last year with a win, and he felt that after all the work he had done, it would be only a fair reward. Yet, barring the impossible, Allen was beaten. And then, while all these thoughts were flashing through his brain in a hundredth part of the time it takes to put the words on paper, the seemingly impossible did happen. All at once, as Dick sought for his friend's figure in the struggling ruck, he caught sight of him, running wide on the outside of the field, but cutting loose at last, with all the energy which he had held in reserve, while he had been forced to wait and hang back, pocketed, against his will. He did not merely pass the wearied runners from the other two schools; he flashed by them as if they had been standing still. It was a sight to bring a crowd to its feet, and to its feet it came. Never for one instant did Allen's splendid stride relax. His eyes were half closed, his head was thrown a little to one side, his lips were drawn back from his teeth, but he ran like a race-horse, true, steady, and game to the core, putting out the last ounce in him in a finish such as Fenton Field had rarely seen. Twenty yards from the tape he passed his schoolmates, still locked shoulder to shoulder, and keeping still to his tremendous pace, swept by the post--a winner. The whole Fenton section of the stand was in an uproar. First, second and third; a clean sweep--all eight points in the quarter--here was something to buoy up their hopes at last. Nor did this end their good fortune. A moment later the mile runners were started on their long four circuits of the track, and Ned Brewster justified all the predictions that had been made for him. He had the rest of the field outclassed, and saving himself for the half-mile which was to come later, made no effort at fast time, winning easily in four minutes and forty-eight seconds, with Sheldon of Clinton second, and Marshall of Hopevale third. The scorer at the bulletin board again shifted his big figures, and now they read: Clinton--Fenton--Hopevale 9 16 7 Dick went back to his broad jump trials with a light heart. It seemed that the meet was as good as won. On his second trial he stepped over the take-off and made a foul jump, and on his third, in his anxiety not to repeat the mistake, he fell short of the board by almost a foot, and though the actual distance was greater than anything he had yet done, in measurement it amounted to but twenty feet and one-half an inch. Yet he qualified for the finals, for Harding of Hopevale was the only man who bettered his mark to any extent. On his second attempt he cleared twenty feet, eight inches; while Johnson, after his first good jump, waived his next two trials, watching the work of the others to see whether he need jump again, or could save himself for the high. Dick had felt himself grow more limber with each successive jump, and now felt sure that if he could once catch the take-off correctly, he could improve his mark. On his first trial, in the finals, he accomplished what he wished, and knew, even while still in midair, that he had excelled his first performance. The measurer pulled the tape up carefully to the mark left by Dick's heels in the soft, well-rolled earth, and then announced, "Twenty-one one and a half." Dick grew suddenly elated. It was the best jump he had ever made. He was ahead of Harding; almost up to Johnson himself. For a moment he even dreamed that he might prove the winner, after all. But his triumph was short-lived. Johnson pulled off his sweater and took his second try, and this time, putting a trifle more speed into his run, cleared twenty-one, seven and a quarter. Dick failed to improve on his second and third tries, yet he seemed sure of second place until Harding's last jump. The Hopevale man put all his energies into his attempt, and even from where Dick stood he could tell that the jump was a good one. A moment later the announcer called, "Mr. Harding jumps twenty-one, five," and Dick was put back to third. Yet he had won a point for the school, and with it the right to wear his "F." And now the clerk came running up with two sheets of paper in his hand. He gave them to the announcer, who forthwith called out, "Throwing the sixteen-pound hammer--won by Ellis of Hopevale--second, Merrihew of Hopevale--third, Robinson of Fenton. Distance, one hundred and fifty-eight feet, eleven inches." There followed a storm of cheers from the Hopevale section, and the announcer, raising his hand for silence, continued, "Pole vault, won by Garfield of Fenton--second, Amory of Hopevale--third, Hollingsworth of Hopevale--height, ten feet, six inches." Applause from Fenton, and again from Hopevale, for the second and third had not been looked for. And now the score board showed: Clinton--Fenton--Hopevale 14 23 19 Decidedly, matters were growing interesting. The next three track events were run off quickly, and without making much change in the relative positions of the schools. Brewster won the half for Fenton, in the good time of two, two and a quarter, with Cartwright of Hopevale second, and Donaldson of Clinton third. The two-twenty, as is so often the case, resulted exactly as the hundred had done, Harris of Clinton winning in twenty-two and four-fifths, with Lindsay of Fenton second, and Adams of Hopevale third. In the low hurdles Fenton was shut out altogether, while Hopevale was deprived of two points on which she had counted, for though Barker, who had been first in the high, repeated his victory in the longer race, and won handily in twenty-six and three-fifths, Jones' injured knee was too stiff to allow him to start, and Ballantyne and Salisbury of Clinton took second and third for their school. Thus but two events--the shot and the high jump--were left, and the score board showed: Clinton--Fenton--Hopevale 23 30 17 The shot was called first, and Brewster, his eyes gleaming with excitement, came hurriedly up to Dick. "Do your best, old man," he whispered. "Every point is going to count now. If you could get second it would be great; even third would help a lot. This is going to be the closest meet we ever had." Dick nodded, though feeling little confidence in his chances. Ellis and Merrihew, he considered, were practically sure of first and second; with Ross of Clinton he felt that he had a fighting chance for third. Every eye was turned on the shot ring, and the scorer called, "Ellis of Hopevale, first try." Ellis, big and strong and brawny, stepped forward with perfect confidence, poised for a moment, and then leaped into his put. Even Dick, much as he disliked the performer, could not repress a thrill of admiration for the performance. It was a splendid try--clean, fast, with a fine follow--and all done so easily that Dick could scarcely credit his ears when the measurer gave his result to the announcer, and the latter shouted, "Mr. Ellis puts thirty-nine, four and a half." Two other contestants made tries which fell five or six feet short of Ellis', and then Ross put thirty-seven, four. Directly after him Merrihew, big and ungainly, with brute strength enough to move a mountain, made a slow, awkward put of thirty-eight, two. Then Dick's name was called. Again Brewster whispered, "Do your best, old man," and Allen slapped him encouragingly on the back. "Remember not to try too hard, Dick," he said. Both meant their advice in the kindest possible way, but it was a mistake of inexperience. Dick, for the first time in his athletic career, in a really tight place, felt as if he were moving in a dream, and his schoolmates' words only served to increase his nervousness. He took his place in the ring. The shot seemed to have grown terribly heavy, and forgetting everything that McDonald had been drilling into him for the past weeks, he put blindly, and walked out of the circle, scarcely knowing whether he had done well or ill. There was an ominous silence, and then the scorer announced, "Mr. Randall puts thirty-two, ten and a half." Dick felt himself flush. There was a sneer on Ellis' face. He spoke loudly enough for every one around the circle to hear. "That's the Pentathlon man from Fenton," he said to Merrihew. "He's all right, isn't he? He's a dandy." With an effort Dick kept control of himself. And then the second round began. It resulted in a general improvement. Ellis put forty feet and one inch; Ross thirty-seven, eleven; Merrihew thirty-eight, nine. When it came Dick's turn he forced himself to imagine that he was practising alone in McDonald's field, with no crowd to trouble him. He put his whole mind on his form, and as a result, did better, getting in a try of thirty-six, seven. Yet he felt far from satisfied, and all at once it flashed upon him that he was doing the very thing which McDonald had told him, long ago, was his besetting fault, that he was stiffening up too soon in his effort, and not getting the powerful, sweeping drive which made Ellis' trials so successful. The third round began. Ellis fell back a few inches, putting thirty-nine, ten and a half; Ross improved to thirty-eight, four; Merrihew put an even thirty-nine feet. "Thirty-eight four to beat," Dick kept thinking to himself. He had never done it in practice, but now, if ever, was the time. His name was called. He was perfectly cool by this time; he knew exactly what he wished to do; and poising easily at the back of the ring, he swung into his put, and finished through with every bit of strength he possessed. It was a better try than his others--he knew that, on the instant--but was it good enough for the point. The measurers seemed to take longer than usual over their task. Finally the announcer cried, "Thirty-eight, three and a half." Dick turned away, sick at heart. He had failed; the point was lost. Brewster and Allen were at his side in an instant, cheering him as best they could. "That's all right, old man," Brewster cried; "don't you care. You beat your record. You can't do impossibilities. Don't you mind." But Dick refused to be comforted. "A half an inch," he kept repeating to himself, over and over again. "The least little bit more ginger; the least little bit better form; a half an inch; confound the luck!" and he sat gloomily watching the finals, which resulted as expected, Ellis first, Merrihew second, Ross third. And the score board showed: Clinton--Fenton--Hopevale 24 30 34 The high jump alone remained. Brewster figured for a moment, and then came over to Dick. "I don't want to rattle you, old man," he said, "but there's just one chance in a hundred still. Hopevale hasn't a man that's any good in the high; Clinton's got Johnson and Robinson. If you could get a streak of jumping and beat Johnson, we'd win by a point." Dick nodded. "I'll do everything that's in me, Ned," he said quietly, and Brewster felt satisfied with the reply. The high jump was soon under way. At five feet, two, only Johnson, Robinson and Dick were left. At five four, Robinson failed, scoring a single point for Clinton. And then ensued a duel between Johnson and Dick. Dick was jumping in his old time form, with plenty of speed and spring, and all the stimulus of knowing that he might yet save the day. Both boys cleared five, five, and five, six, in safety. At five, seven, Johnson failed on his first trial, and the Fenton supporters felt a sudden gleam of hope. Dick made ready for his try, every muscle working in unison, every fiber in his body intent on clearing the bar in safety. He ran down easily, quickened his pace on his last three strides, and leaped. It was a splendid effort, save that he had taken off a trifle too far from the bar. He was almost over and then, in a last effort to work his body clear he lost his balance, just grazing the bar, and fell into the pit, landing with one leg under him. There was a moment's suspense; the bar hung undecidedly, springing up and down under the impact of Dick's body--and then, just as the Fenton crowd were getting ready to cheer, it gave one final shiver and dropped into the pit at Dick's side. The cheers were changed to a groan of disappointment, and then the silence grew almost painful as Dick did not rise. Brewster hurried over to him; Randall's face was white with pain. "Ankle, Ned," he said. "Give me a hand up, please." A moment later the doctor was examining him. "No break," he announced at last, "and nothing really serious. But that ends it for to-day. Another wrench, and you can't tell what would happen. Sorry, but it's the fortune of war." Dick protested vigorously. "I can get around on it," he cried, "let me jog up and down, Doctor, and then take one more try. I don't care what happens." The doctor shrugged his shoulders. "Don't be foolish, Dick," he said. "You couldn't jump three feet with that ankle. Don't walk on it, either, you must give it absolute rest." Yet Dick insisted, and gamely tried to hobble back to the jumping path. The effort was vain. Things swam around him, and with a long sigh of disappointment he sank back on the ground. "All right, I'll quit," he said, and a moment later Johnson cleared the height, and the games were done. Clinton--Fenton--Hopevale 30 32 34 It had been the closest meet in the history of the schools. Half an hour later, as Dick left the locker-room, leaning on Allen's shoulder, he heard Dave Ellis' voice, holding forth to a knot of admiring supporters from Hopevale. "Turn his ankle? Not a bit of it," he was saying. "That's an old gag. He knew when he was licked. He's got no sand. He won't go into the Pentathlon now." Dick shook off Allen's detaining hand and thrust open the door. "Sounds natural, Dave," he said, meeting Ellis' surprised glance with a rather grim smile, "but if it interests you to know it, he will go into the Pentathlon, and perhaps he'll make you hustle, too." He banged the door behind him and limped away, his hand on Allen's shoulder, down the stairs. CHAPTER VIII ON DIAMOND AND RIVER The track meet was over, and Hopevale had scored three points toward the cup. Another victory, either in the ball game or the boat race, and the competition would be ended. And this victory they were bent on winning, while the other two schools were equally determined to wipe out defeat, and to overcome their rival's lead, in the three contests which remained. On the Saturday after the track games came the first round in the base-ball league. Luck was with Fenton; they had the good fortune to draw the bye, and the small party of boys who went to see the game between Clinton and Hopevale was composed largely of experts, anxious to "get a line" on the opposing teams, and to note the strong and weak points in their play. Until the last two innings it was a close and interesting contest. Prescott, the Clinton pitcher, proved a puzzle to his opponents, but his support was none of the best; and thus, while the Clinton team hit the Hopevale pitcher freely, the home nine, on the other hand, put up a splendid fielding game, and for seven innings the score was a tie, five to five. And then, in the eighth, there came, for Hopevale, one of those unhappy times, when things go from bad to worse with the rapidity of lightning. A base hit, a base on balls, and a sacrifice put men on second and third, with only one out; and then a clean two-bagger between center and right scored them both. After which the Hopevale team, in the slang of the game, "went up into the air." On the next play their short-stop, in an endeavor to catch the runner coming from second base, threw wild to third; another base on balls followed; and then, just at the psychological moment, Ferguson, the heavy hitter of the Clinton team, sent a screaming three-bagger far over the center-fielder's head. Altogether, by the time Hopevale had steadied again, and the inning had ended, they found the score eleven to five against them; and although they made one run in the eighth, and another in the ninth, that was all, and it was Clinton's game, eleven to seven. Supporters of both Fenton and Clinton breathed again. One of them would win, and the other lose, but Hopevale, their common enemy, had not yet secured the cup. The succeeding Saturday was the banner day of the sports. Ten o'clock in the morning was the time set for the final ball game; and the boat race was scheduled for three in the afternoon. The ball game was played on the Clinton grounds, yet four carloads of spectators went down from Fenton to cheer for their nine, and filled a good-sized section of the grandstand with their crimson flags. Jim Putnam, with the rest of the crew, stayed at home, to store up the last final ounce of energy for the afternoon. Dick, Allen, Brewster and Lindsay sat together, watching the tall and ungainly Prescott going through his gyrations as he warmed up for the game. He appeared, as Allen remarked, to be a "tough proposition." His delivery was so deceptively easy that one scarcely realized the speed and power behind it, until the ball struck, with a vicious "thut," in the catcher's glove. And his curves looked as formidable as his speed. Brewster sighed as he watched him. "Now how are they going to hit a fellow like that?" he asked. Allen, the optimistic, made haste to answer, "Oh, you can't tell," he said, "he may get tired before he gets through. And we've got a better fielding team than they have, I know. Besides, when you're talking about pitchers, Ed Nichols is no slouch. You can bet they won't knock him out of the box. Our show is as good as theirs." As he spoke, the umpire consulted for a moment with Jarvis, the Fenton captain, and Crawford, the leader of the Clinton team. Then the coin spun upward into the air, and immediately the Clinton players scattered to their positions in the field, and the Fenton nine took their places on the visitors' bench. "There," said Brewster, "bad luck to start with. We've lost the toss." There followed the tense hush which always precedes the beginning of a championship game. The umpire tossed out a new ball, which the elongated Prescott at once proceeded to deface by rubbing it around, with great thoroughness, in the dirt. Abbot, the Fenton short-stop, stepped to the plate, and the umpire gave the time-honored command, "Play ball!" The redoubtable Prescott eyed the batsman for an instant with what seemed to the Fenton crowd a glare of hate, held the ball extended before him, then, in Allen's phrase, "tied himself up into a number of double bow-knots," and let fly. Abbot made no attempt to strike at the ball; it appeared to be traveling too high; yet just before it reached the plate it shot quickly downward, and the umpire called, "Strike--one." At the second ball Abbot made a terrific lunge, but met only the air, and a moment later, as Stevens, the Clinton catcher, moved up behind the bat, a fast inshoot neatly cut the corner of the plate, and with the words, "Strike--three--striker out," Abbot walked dejectedly back to the bench. Crosby, the second man up, had slightly better fortune, for, as Allen remarked, in an endeavor to keep up the courage of the others, "he had a nice little run for his money," hitting an easy grounder to second base, and being thrown out at first. Sam Eliot, the third man to face Prescott, followed Abbot's example, and struck out. The Fenton half of the inning ended in gloom. Now came Clinton's turn at the bat. Bates, the first man up, had two strikes called on him, and then hit a clean, swift ball over second base, and reached first in safety. Crawford, the Clinton captain, bunted, advancing Bates to second. Then Nichols settled down to work, and Davenport, the third batsman, was retired on strikes. Two out, a man on second, and Ferguson, the much-dreaded heavy hitter, at the bat, Nichols and Jarvis held consultation, and as a result Ferguson was given his base on balls. It seemed good generalship, yet in the sequel, it proved unfortunate, for Gilbert, the next man up, made a tremendous drive far out into center field and never stopped running until he had reached third, while Bates and Ferguson crossed the plate. The Clinton section of the grandstand became delirious with enthusiasm, in the midst of which Manning, the sixth man at bat for the home team, hit weakly to Nichols, and was thrown out at first. Two to nothing. It looked like Clinton's day. Nor did Fenton's chances seem brighter in the second. Again three men came to bat, and again they were retired, without one of them reaching first. Yet there was comfort in the latter half of the inning, for Nichols steadied down, and proved as much of a puzzle as Prescott himself. The Clinton men, in their turn, went out in one, two, three order, and the hopes of the Fenton supporters faintly revived. Four more innings passed without another run being scored. It was a genuine pitchers' battle, man after man, on either side, striking out, hitting easy grounders to the infield, or popping up abortive flies. The beginning of the seventh, however, brought a change. Jarvis was the first man at bat for Fenton, and he started things auspiciously by making a pretty single, close along the third base foul line. It seemed like the time for taking chances, and on the next ball pitched, he started for second, and aided by a poor throw by Stevens, the Clinton catcher, made it in safety. Taylor, the next man at bat, struck a sharp, bounding grounder toward second base, and the Hopevale second-baseman ingloriously let it go through his legs. The Fenton crowd in the grandstand, long deprived of a chance to cheer, shouted themselves hoarse. A man on third, and one on first, and no one out. The chances for tying the score looked bright. At this point, however, Prescott exerted all his skill. Warren, coached to hit the ball at any cost, tried his best, but in vain. One strike--one ball--two strikes--two balls--three strikes, and out. It was Clinton's turn to exult. Nichols, the weakest batsman on the Fenton team, was next in order, and to the surprise of friends and foes alike, he made as pretty a single over short-stop's head as one could have wished to see, scoring Jarvis and advancing Taylor to second. Then came Abbot's turn, and this time he had his revenge for two successive strike-outs by making a long drive between left and center, good for two bases, and bringing Taylor and Nichols home. Fenton was in the lead, and the grandstand became a mass of blazing crimson. Such a batting streak, however, was too good to last. Crosby hit a pop fly to Prescott, and Eliot struck out. Yet Fenton was well content. Three to two; and only two innings and a half to play. Clinton's half of the seventh resulted in no score; and in the eighth both sides retired in order, Prescott and Nichols again on their mettle, and pitching as if their very lives depended on the outcome of the game. In the ninth Fenton made a splendid effort to increase their lead. With two out, and with men on second and third, Crosby hit a liner that looked good enough to score both men, and then Bates, the Clinton short-stop, pulled off the star play of the game, leaping high into the air, and getting his right hand on the ball just at the one possible moment--a clean, sensational catch that set the followers of both schools cheering, and stopped the Fenton scoring where it stood. Then came the last of the ninth. The inning opened well for Fenton. Prescott hit a long fly to center field, which Irwin captured without difficulty. Bates bunted, and aided by his fleetness of foot, beat the ball to first. Crawford struck out. The game was almost won, and then came one of those sudden plays, that in a flash changes a defeat into a victory. Davenport swung on the first ball pitched, met it fair and square, with a crack that sounded like a rifle shot, and lifted it, as if on wings, clear over the left field fence. Red and black had its turn; flags waved; throats grew hoarse with cheering; Bates jogged home, and Davenport made the circuit of the bases at sprinting speed, while the crowd poured out on the field and bore him away on their shoulders in triumph. The game was ended--four to three--and Clinton was even with Hopevale for the cup. It was a silent procession of Fenton followers who walked down from the field, to take the train for home. An hour later Dick entered Putnam's room, to find his classmate stretched, resting, on the bed. He looked up eagerly. "Well?" he queried. Dick shook his head. "They licked us," he answered, "but there's no kick coming. It was a dandy game. I never want to see a better one. It looked as if we had it--" and he went over the whole story for Putnam's benefit, detailing every play, as it had occurred. "And so they licked us," he concluded, "and now, Jim, it seems to be most everlastingly up to you." Putnam rose and began to pace up and down the room. "That's about the size of it," he answered, "and, thank goodness, we've got no hard luck stories to tell. We're in good shape--every one of us--and right on edge, too. If we're licked, it's because they've got better crews. But, by golly," he added, "they've got to go some, Dick. I don't care if I row the whole crew out, and we don't come to for a week, but we'll do our darndest, anyway. It's make or break, now." Dick nodded. "Yes, it's win or nothing," he said; "but I'm glad of one thing. I guess Clinton's got a better crew than Hopevale, and if we _can't_ win, then the cup goes to Clinton. And our old friend, Dave, can win all the Pentathlons he likes; it won't do him any good then. But we won't back down till we have to. You may lick 'em, after all." Putnam squared his shoulders. "Dick," he said solemnly, "you watch us in the last half-mile, and if you can come to me afterward, and tell me that I didn't hit things up to the last notch, then you can hold my head under water till I drown. If I don't do my level best, and then some, I'm a Dutchman." Dick laughed. "I'll watch you, all right," he answered, "but not to criticize; only to yell for all I'm worth, whether you're ahead or behind. We're with you, Jim, win or lose. The crowd of us have hired a launch, so if our moral support is going to help you any, on your way down the river, why you'll know you've got it." The time before the race dragged away somehow, and shortly before three, the launch, with Allen, Brewster, Lindsay and Dick on board, came to a halt, with a dozen other craft, off the starting buoys, marking the beginning of the two-mile course. It was the perfection of racing weather, the water calm and smooth as a mirror, yet with the sky overcast, so as to temper the heat of the sun. One by one the crews came paddling out from the big boat-house on the shore. First came Hopevale, their blue-bladed oars dipping prettily together, and the blue cap on their coxswain's head making them easy to distinguish from the others. After them came Clinton, the winners of the previous year, a rangy, speedy-looking crew, their red and black jerseys looming up more prominently than the quieter colors of their rivals. And last of all, their own boat left the shore, Blagden at bow, Selfridge at two, "Big" Smith at three, and Putnam at stroke. Little "Skeeter" Brown, the eighty-pound coxswain, sat in the stern, megaphone strapped around his head, his big, long-visored crimson jockey cap pulled down about his ears. The referee's launch tooted a warning blast. The three crews increased their speed a trifle, and one by one took up their positions, Hopevale on the outside, Clinton in the middle, Fenton nearest the boat-house shore. The coxswains gripped the starting-lines, the referee talked briefly to the three captains in turn, and then, backing his launch, made ready to give the signal for the start. It was a pretty sight: the rival crews, tense and ready, awaiting the word; the little fleet of pleasure craft which was to follow in their wake; on shore the eager enthusiasts who were to pursue them on bicycles or in motors along the bank. And Dick, as he gazed around him, could not but think of that other crowd, waiting so eagerly at the finish, two miles away, and turning the sober old river into a garden of variegated color, with the flags and ribbons of the different schools. The referee's right arm was outlined in silhouette against the sky. A moment's silence and then the pistol cracked, the little wreath of smoke curled upward, and the twelve oars caught the water like one. A tooting of whistles, a medley of shouts and cheers; the race was on. The boys stood well forward, as the bow of their launch cut through the water, their eyes fixed on the three crews, as they shot away down stream. Clinton had the lead, that was already evident. They had gained it in the first half-dozen strokes, and had increased it, first to a quarter length, then to a half, Hopevale and Fenton fighting, bow and bow, for second place. For a quarter-mile they kept the same positions, and then, all at once, Hopevale--the crew the boys had rated as the least dangerous--took a sudden spurt. Quickening their stroke perceptibly, they drew away from Fenton, then came even with Clinton, and finally were a clear length in the lead. "Look at 'em!" cried Lindsay. "I didn't know they could row like that. Look at 'em go!" Allen eyed them critically. Their boat did not move as smoothly as the others; there was a perceptible roll from side to side; there was some splashing by bow and two; yet for all that, the crew was made up of big, strong oarsmen, and despite their evident lack of form, they drove their shell ahead at a tremendous pace. But Allen shook his head. "They won't last," he said. "They'll be rowed out at a mile." Dick hastened to dissent. "I don't believe it, Harry," he replied. "A two-mile race isn't like a four-mile. I think they can hold that pace, and if they do, they'll win. Look at 'em 'dig. There! There goes Clinton after 'em! Why doesn't Jim hit 'er up, too? There! Now he's quickened. Oh, good boy, Jim! That's the stuff! Soak it to 'em!" He was shouting as if he fancied Putnam could hear every word he said, unmindful of the fact that every one else around him was shouting as well. Hopevale had drawn away still more, and then, as a half-length of open water showed between them and Clinton, the Clinton crew had at last begun to quicken in their turn. Slowly they drew up on the leaders, and then, just as Dick had begun his yells of encouragement, for the first time Putnam had raised his stroke, and the three boats passed the mile-post with Hopevale a length ahead, and Clinton a half-length in front of the Fenton crew. For another quarter-mile there was practically no change. Brewster began to worry. "Why doesn't Jim spurt?" he cried. "If Hopevale keeps it up, they win. It's only a quarter-mile to the turn." Sure enough, they could see, ahead of them, the bend that marked the last half-mile of the course. Yet still Putnam did not quicken; in fact, he dropped back a trifle, and the boys' hearts sank like lead. Only Dick, remembering what Putnam had said to him that morning, kept repeating to himself, "The last half-mile; the last half-mile." And now, into the swarm of boats along the banks, into the noise and din of the crowds, the three crews steered around the bend, and squared away for home. The race between Clinton and Hopevale was so close and pretty to watch that for a moment the boys had taken their eyes off their own crew; and then, suddenly, Dick began shouting like a maniac, "Oh, Jim, give it to 'em! That's the boy, Jim! Give it to 'em! That's the boy!" With one accord the others turned, and the next moment were joining in Randall's frenzied cries. For the spurt had come at last. Putnam had cut loose with every ounce of power at his command; Big Smith at three was backing him gallantly, passing forward the heightened stroke, and Selfridge and Blagden were quickening like heroes in their turn. Nor were the boys in the launch the only ones to note the change. All the shouts of the crowd had been, "Hopevale! Clinton!" Yet now there came a roar from the banks, "Oh, well rowed! Well rowed, Fenton! Go in! Go in and win!" Never did Randall forget that last half-mile. Gallantly the Hopevale boys stuck to their work, yet the smooth, persistent power of the Clinton boat was not to be denied, and a quarter-mile from home Hopevale was a beaten crew. And then, as they fell back, defeated, but game, all eyes were turned on the boys from Fenton. Never for an instant did Putnam falter; such a stroke as he was setting had not been seen on the river for many and many a year. And strive as Clinton would, they fell back, inch by inch, foot by foot, and the finish but two hundred yards away. Now the bows of the shells were even, now for an instant Clinton showed again in the lead, and then, with one final effort, the Fenton shell leaped forward again and again. A wild burst of whistles, shrieking horns, shouting hundreds on the shore, and by a quarter boat length, the Fenton crew had won. Half an hour later, Putnam was riding home with his friends, tired, exhausted, but happy as a boy could be. "Well, old man," Dick said to him, "I'm not going to drown you. You did what you said you'd do. The last half-mile; that's where you fixed 'em." Putnam nodded. "Thank goodness," he said, "for once I rowed just the race I meant to. I couldn't have beaten that time a second for a million dollars. And, golly, wasn't it close? I don't see how we did it. But we did. Three points apiece, and only the Pentathlon left. Dick, old man, the rest of us have done our darndest. And now it's your turn; it's up to you." CHAPTER IX FOUL PLAY It was nearing sunset on Friday, the fourteenth of June; the Pentathlon was scheduled for ten o'clock on the following day. Dick Randall, dressed in his street clothes, but with his spiked shoes on his feet, stood, hammer in hand, listening to McDonald's final words of explanation and advice. McDonald's protégé, Joe, the little French Canadian, lay stretched on the grass, near the edge of the field, looking on. It was a bright, clear evening, and the sun, now almost level with the horizon, smote blindingly across the field. McDonald shifted his position to escape its glare. "Now then, Dick," he said, "just one more try, to be sure we've got it. That's all I'm going to let you take. We'll run no risk of damaging that ankle of yours again." "Oh, the ankle's all right," Dick answered. "I honestly couldn't feel in better shape. And you don't know what a load it takes off my mind to have the hammer coming right at last. It makes me feel as if I really had something of a show." McDonald nodded. "Of course, you have a show," he answered. "Now take your try, and remember the two things I've been telling you! Pull away from it, all the time, as if you were hauling tug-of-war on a rope; and don't start to turn too quick. But when you do start, spin fast, and the rest will come by itself. And if you don't throw within ten feet of Dave Ellis to-morrow, I'm a liar." Dick took his stand within the circle, and made ready for his trial. After weeks of disappointment, there had finally come a day when the whole theory of the double turn had worked itself out satisfactorily in his brain, and had remained there, so that for the past fortnight he had kept his form, and had steadily increased the distance of his throws. Yet McDonald, although a great believer in light work before a competition, knew from experience how easily the knack with the hammer may be lost, and while he had made Dick stop his running and jumping, he had kept him at light practice with the weight, taking half a dozen throws a day, until his pupil had acquired a method that was almost mechanical in its certainty. Now he found little to criticize as Dick spun around quickly and smoothly, keeping well within the circle, and sending the missile far down the field. He nodded approval. "All right," he called, "that's enough. We'll stop right there. Let's put the tape on it." While they were measuring, Joe, from his position near the fence, happened to glance into the woods beyond the field, and having looked once, he seemed to take no further interest in the hammer throwers, but lay still, and without appearing to do so, kept a watchful eye on the spot of light which had gleamed from the branches of the big oak tree on the border of the wood. The last rays of the sunset streamed gloriously across the field; in answer, flash after flash came sparkling from the oak; and then the sun dipped behind the hills, and the soft shadow of the twilight crept downward toward the town. Dick and McDonald, talking earnestly together, started to leave the field. At the corner of the wood, Dick turned, gazing out at the darkening west. "Fine day to-morrow, I guess, all right," he said. "Yes," McDonald assented, "it looks like it. And we're going to have you in shape to do a good performance, Dick. Wait till you've eaten the steak I've got for you. That's going to put the muscle on. It'll mean a foot in the hammer, I know." Dick laughed. "Well, you were good to invite me to stay," he answered. "I told Mr. Fenton we had a few last things to talk over, and that I'd come back after supper. And he said that would be all right. Now, about that high jump--" They walked on toward the cottage. As they passed the angle of the woods, Joe, who had been walking along behind them, hurried up to McDonald, spoke a few quick words to him in an undertone, and darted away among the trees. Dick looked after him in surprise. "What's struck the kid?" he asked. McDonald shrugged his shoulders. "Don't know myself," he answered, "he takes queer notions sometimes. Something, he said, about a big bird in a tree. But he's all right. He's a smart youngster, and he knows the woods like a book. He'll be back by supper-time." They walked on again, still discussing the all-absorbing topic of the morrow's meet. In the meantime, Joe's little figure was flitting onward through the woods, slipping silently from tree to tree, from time to time stopping to listen, until finally, ahead of him, he heard the murmur of voices. Dropping quickly on his hands and knees, he crept forward through the underbrush. Then, reaching the edge of a little clearing, he peered cautiously through the bushes, and saw before him the figures of two men, standing talking together in the fading light. One of them was slight and dark, and fashionably dressed, and as Joe saw the pair of field-glasses slung over his shoulder, his eyes gleamed, and he gave a quick little nod to himself, as if now sure of something which he had only suspected before. The other man was short, broad, powerful, his thick chest and long arms suggesting a strength far above the average. It was he who was speaking, and Joe strained his ears to listen to every word. "I don't like it," he was saying; "the whole thing's too big a risk. You're safe, I guess, if you play it straight. Ellis is going to win." "No, he isn't going to win," the dapper young man replied. "I've climbed that cursed tree every afternoon for the last week, and I know how far Randall's getting that hammer, and I tell you again that, barring accidents, he's going to lick Ellis on the show-down. It will be close, but Randall wins." His companion grunted. "Humph," he said, "this Dave Ellis must be a beaut. He makes you lots of bother. First he loses two hundred to you at poker, and then he cries baby, and says he can't pay, and then he puts you on to this athletic business, to get square, and now at the last minute, when your money's on, it turns out you've backed the wrong man. Don't blame you for being a little worked up. That comes close to being what I should call a pretty raw deal." "No," the younger man answered, "hardly that. Ellis meant all right. He thought he could win. He thinks now he can win. But he can't. I'm sure of it. Because, as long as I've got five hundred dollars on him, I've taken pains to find out how things stand. He can beat Johnson, all right, but he can't beat Randall. The men I got my money up with, were pretty wise guys--they had the tip from McDonald, I believe. Anyway, it's too late to hedge, and so--I wrote you. And, as I tell you, it's a hundred dollars in your pocket, and as easy as breaking sticks. So don't go back on me now." The older man appeared to hesitate. "I don't like it much," he said again, then added, "When do you mean to pull it off?" "Right away," answered the other. "I meant to do it later to-night, but now I find he's going to stop at McDonald's for supper, and then walk back. It's a straight road, and a lonely one. There's a patch of woods about half-way home. It's easy. We've got the team. And there's no harm done to any one. You're the gainer, and so am I, and so is young Dave. The whole thing's no more than a joke, except that it means five hundred dollars to me, and five hundred dollars is money, these times. So let's get going." Still his companion hesitated. "Here's two things I want to know," he said at length; "first, where do I take him?" "Smith's old barn," answered the other promptly; "pleasant and retired health resort. No bad neighbors. Quiet and peaceful. Keep him till about noon to-morrow, and then let him stray back any way you please. Oh, the thing's a cinch. I almost hate to do it. It's too easy. But, as I say, I need the money." "Oh, yes, it's all a cinch," grumbled the older man, "where I do the work, and you do the heavy looking on. It's always easy for the fellow that's superintending. But now look here. Here's question number two. Suppose Randall doesn't show up to-morrow, at ten o'clock, what happens then? Won't they postpone the whole darn business? I'm not going to live in Smith's old barn for ever, you know. I'm not as strong for this rest-cure idea as you seem to think I am. I like some action for mine." His companion smiled. "You don't seem to give me any credit for working out this scheme," he complained. "I thought of the chance of their postponing it, the first thing, so I asked a lot of innocent questions of Dave, and found out there wasn't any danger in that direction. They make a lot of fuss over this athletic business, you know, just as if it really amounted to something. And one of the 'points of honor,' as Dave calls 'em, is never to postpone. Kind of 'play or pay' idea. They've had a base-ball game in a rainstorm, and a foot-ball game in a blizzard, and once they tried to row a boat race in half a gale of wind, and swamped all three shells. Oh, no, if Randall isn't there, they'll go ahead without him; that's all there is to that. He can explain afterward, but it's going to sound so fishy, they'll think he's lying. It isn't bad, really, the whole plan. Hullo, what's that?" At the edge of the clearing, a twig snapped sharply. Joe, in his eagerness to hear all that was being said, had crept nearer and nearer, and now the accident nearly betrayed him. Both men listened intently, and Joe hugged the ground, hardly daring to breathe. "Guess 'twasn't anything," said the older man, at last. "Don't believe these woods is very densely populated. Well, let's get out. We want to be in time," and a moment later Joe heard their footsteps growing fainter and fainter in the distance. For an instant or two, he thought hard. He did not understand all that he had heard, but the main points in the scheme were clear enough to his mind. He must warn Dick at once, before it was too late. And rising to his feet, he started to run. Yet his very haste proved his undoing. It had grown dark. The woods, even by daylight, were hard to traverse; and now, in his hurry and excitement, he momentarily bore away too far to the right, and missed his way. Then, striving to make up for lost time, he became more and more confused; and finally, catching his foot in a clinging vine, at the top of a little ravine, he pitched forward, half fell, half rolled, down the slope, struck his head violently against some hard substance at the bottom, and lay still, his face upturned to the sky, over his forehead a little trickling stream of blood. An hour later, Dick came out of McDonald's cottage. "Well, we've got everything straight now," he said, "and you'll be there tomorrow. Hopevale Oval, ten o'clock sharp." McDonald nodded. "I'll be there," he answered, "and remember my words, Dick; you're going to win. Good night, and good luck." He watched Randall's form vanish in the darkness; then turned his face toward the wood. "Oh, Joe," he called, "supper's ready," and then again, more loudly, "Oh, Joe," but no answer came back to him, and with a puzzled look on his face, he reëntered the cottage. Dick walked leisurely along through the gloom of the summer night. He felt happy, knowing that he was in the very pink of condition, and now that his chance to do something for the school had really come, he was determined to meet the crisis as gamely and as resolutely as his classmates on the crew had done. Far away, in the distance, the lights of the school shone out across the fields. He gave a sigh of anticipation, feeling alive in every nerve and muscle; fit to do battle for his very life. Half-way home, he entered the patch of woods which bordered the road, for some little distance, on either hand. And then suddenly he gave a start of surprise, for midway through the thicket, a dark figure loomed up ahead of him, advancing through the gloom. In spite of himself, Dick felt a thrill of uneasiness, but the stranger hailed him cordially enough. "Beg pardon," he said, "but have you a match about you? My pipe's gone out." Dick moved to one side, to let the man pass, his muscles on the alert to make a dash for liberty, if the need should come. "Sorry," he answered, "I don't carry 'em--" He got no further. Suddenly, even as he became conscious that the man was still advancing, a brawny arm was thrown about his neck from behind; his head was jerked violently backward; he choked and gasped for breath; and then, before he could struggle or utter a cry, he was gagged, bound, and lying helpless as a log, was borne swiftly away down the road. The following morning, at seven o'clock, Mr. Fenton heard a hurried knock at his study door. "Come in," he called, and Harry Allen hastily entered, his face pale. "Mr. Fenton," he said, "here's trouble. I just went into Dick Randall's room, and he's not there. His bed hasn't been slept in. What do you suppose can have happened to him?" Mr. Fenton looked at him in surprise. "I can't imagine, Harry," he replied. "He told me, yesterday, he would take supper with McDonald, and come home shortly afterward. He might have stayed there overnight, I suppose. Still, that's not like Randall. He would have telephoned me from the village, I think. It seems curious, doesn't it? I'll send to McDonald's at once, and we'll see. Will you ask Peter to slip the mare into the buggy, please; and you go with him, Harry, and show him the way? I don't doubt you'll find Dick there." It was an hour later when Allen reëntered the room, the lack of good news showing in his face. "He wasn't there," he cried, "and what's stranger still, McDonald wasn't there either, or the boy. What can it mean, Mr. Fenton? You don't suppose McDonald--" Mr. Fenton finished the sentence for him. "Would have caused Dick to vanish?" he said. "I don't know, Harry. Your guess is as good as mine. Probably it's some very simple circumstance which we're not bright enough to see. But I confess I'm puzzled. I shall go down to the village directly after breakfast, and see what I can discover there. But I've no doubt everything's all right. McDonald and Dick must be together, wherever they are." Allen paused, with his hand on the knob of the door. "Shall I tell the fellows, sir?" he asked. Mr. Fenton deliberated. "I think not," he said at last. "We don't wish a tempest in a teapot. You know what the newspapers are, these days. No, I think you'd better say nothing, for the present. Perhaps Dick will turn up at Hopevale, if he doesn't come back here before then. No, I think, on the whole, I wouldn't alarm the boys," and Allen, nodding, left the room. At the selfsame hour that this conversation was taking place at the school, Dick Randall sat moodily in a chair, in what had been the harness-room of Jim Smith's big barn, now long disused, and falling to decay. The gag had been taken from his mouth, but his arms and legs were still bound. Opposite him sat his captor, the brawny thick-set man whom Joe had seen in the woods on the previous night. He had coaxed a fire into an unwilling start in the old, rusty stove, and was laboring hard to produce a dish of coffee in an old tin dipper. A couple of sandwiches lay on the floor beside him. Finally, with the fire going to his satisfaction, he turned to Dick. "Well, now," he observed, "I call this doing pretty well. Real nice and sociable like. Two regular old pals, we're getting to be. You've promised not to holler, which is sensible, because no one would hear you if you did, so you've got your jaws free to eat; and if you'd only promise not to try to get away, I'd untie them arms of yours, and you'd be as fine as a fiddle. Come now, give me your word, and I'll cut that rope in a minute. That shows what a trust I've got in you." Dick made no answer. His face was drawn and anxious, there were dark circles under his eyes; he was thinking desperately, as he had thought all through the long summer night. Some means of escape he must find--and yet--how was it possible? And then, even as he recklessly considered the giving and breaking of his word, and the chance of a struggle with his jailer, the man pulled his watch from his pocket, and yawned. "Ten minutes past eight," he said. "Just a little longer, and them games will be going on, over at Hopevale. Too bad you can't see 'em; I guess they'll be a fine sight. They tell me this Dave Ellis is a likely man at all such things as that. I suppose most likely he'll beat." Dick did not deign a reply. In their long, solitary sojourn together, he had become accustomed to his captor's ideas of humor. So that now, he did not even permit his eyes to meet those of his tormentor, but gazed steadily past him, toward the door of the carriage house. "Ten minutes past eight," he reflected; "it is too late--nothing could help me now." And then, like lightning from a clear sky, came the climax to all this startling series of events. For even as he looked, slowly and cautiously he beheld the door of the harness-room slide back, and the next instant there appeared in the doorway the figure of Duncan McDonald, a revolver in his outstretched hand. The look of amazement in Dick's eyes must have warned his jailer, for he wheeled sharply, to find himself looking into the muzzle of McDonald's pistol. Then came the quick command, "Hands up, lively," and as he reluctantly obeyed, McDonald called sharply, "All right, Joe. Come on. Go through his pockets, now." [Illustration: "Hands up, lively," McDonald called] Dick started with surprise and pity, as the little French Canadian limped forward into the room. His face was deathly pale, and streaked and matted with blood. Yet he went resolutely at his task, and a moment later drew out from the man's pocket a big revolver, and handed it to McDonald. The latter smiled grimly. "Now cut Dick loose," he directed, and Joe quickly obeyed. With a long sigh of relief, Randall managed to struggle to his feet, walking haltingly around till the thickened blood began once more to stir into life. McDonald motioned to the door. "Hurry, Dick," he said, "Joe will show you. Down the path. I've got a team. And food, and a set of my running things. Hurry, now. I'll be with you in a minute. I'm going to keep a watch on your friend here, till you give a yell to show you're ready to start." Fifteen minutes later they had left the woods and were speeding down the road toward Hopevale. Dick's face was transfigured. With every turn of the wheels, he was coming back to himself. A chance was left him after all. "How did it all happen, Duncan?" he asked, and hurriedly and disjointedly McDonald told him the tale. "Joe saw something shining up in a tree, last night," he said; "thought it was queer. Went to investigate. Man had been up there, watching us with a field-glass. Joe stumbled on him, talking with another fellow--this chap that had you tied up there in the barn. Joe can't tell me the whole thing, but I gather they had something in for you, about the Pentathlon. I guess they wanted Ellis to win. So Joe heard 'em say they were going to get you, and carry you off to Smith's old barn. He started home to put us wise, and as bad luck would have it, he pitched down a gully, and cracked his head open. I went looking for him about ten o'clock, and I was in the woods all night. Never found him till five this morning. He'd come to, poor little rascal, and was trying to crawl home, but he was so weak he could hardly stir. But he got out his story, and you can bet I did some quick thinking. "First, I was going up to town, to telephone the school, and see if you were all right. And then I thought, if I did that, it might waste too much time, and if things had gone wrong, I might be too late, after all. So I went back to the house, got together my running things and the grub you've just been eating, and then hustled off to my nearest neighbor's, and did a little burglar act. This is his favorite colt we're driving; I knew this fellow could eat up a dozen miles in jig time, and so--I took him. The old man had gone up to town with a load of garden truck. His wife tried to stop me taking the horse, but I brandished my revolver at her, and she ran. I suppose she thought I was crazy, And then Joe piloted me to the barn--I'd never have found it by myself in a hundred years--so here we are." He pulled out his watch. "Ten minutes of nine, and ten miles to go. We're all right on time. But you must feel pretty stiff, Dick; I don't know whether you can do yourself justice or not." Dick stretched himself. "Oh, I'm limbering up a little," he answered, "I think a good rub will help a lot. And I don't feel tired. The excitement, I suppose. I guess I'll last through, all right. But oh, I'm grateful to you and Joe, Duncan; thank Heaven, you came when you did. If I'd missed the Pentathlon, I'd never have got over it in the world." McDonald smiled, the smile of a man looking back over his own boyhood. "We get over a lot of things, Dick, in a lifetime," he answered, "but I know just how you feel. I guess Joe did all he could to square up with you for helping him, and I'm mighty glad we got there in time." CHAPTER X THE PENTATHLON Doctor Merrifield, the elderly, gray-haired principal of Hopevale, turned with a smile of satisfaction to his guest. "A record day, Mr. Graham," he said, "and a record crowd. I think we may mutually congratulate ourselves." The head master of Clinton nodded in reply. "Indeed we may, Doctor," he answered. "Of course the fact that it's graduation week: has something to do with it, but even then, I have never seen a gathering like this, in the history of the schools." There was good reason for their words. Mid-June had made its most graceful bow to the world. A warm sun shone down over Hopevale Oval; a cool breeze blew pleasantly across the field. The track itself had never looked so well. It had been rolled, scraped, re-rolled once more; the whitewashed lines had been neatly marked at start and finish; the lanes for the hundred freshly staked out. Altogether, the track keeper had done his work to perfection, and a man beaten in the Pentathlon, whatever other reason he might have given for his defeat, could scarcely have complained of the conditions under which he was competing. Equally good were the arrangements on the field. The high-jump path was hard and smooth as a floor; a new cross bar was stretched across the standards; a dozen extra ones lay ready at hand, in case of accident to the one in use. The ring for the shot put was in first-class shape; two shots, one iron, one lead, lay close by. Three or four hammer rings were clearly marked on the smooth, closely-cropped green turf. The most critical old-timer who ever wore a shoe could not have found fault with the preparations for the meet. And many a man, indeed, who had been famous in his day, sat in the rows of seats which surrounded the Oval, eager to see the final contest for the cup, whose possession meant so much to the school victorious in this hard and well-fought fight. Fathers, uncles, elder brothers, small boys looking forward to the day when they, in turn, would take their places in the family procession, and come to Clinton, Fenton or Hopevale, as the case might be; all were present in the stands. Nor was it, by any means, a gathering of men and boys alone. Mothers, aunts, sisters, most of whom knew little of athletics, and had but the haziest idea of all that was going forward, lent, none the less, a charm of bright dresses and brighter faces, to the scene. And though the games were held at Hopevale, it was no mere local crowd of spectators which had assembled to watch them. The colors of the home school were naturally enough in the ascendant, but train after train had brought its cheering followers of the two rival academies, and the red and black of Clinton, and the crimson of Fenton, vied with the Hopevale blue. Doctor Merrifield looked across the track. "Here comes our friend Fenton," he observed, "and evidently in a hurry, too." Mr. Fenton walked rapidly up to them, his face puzzled and anxious. "Good morning, gentlemen," he said. "I find myself involved in a most unaccountable mystery. I don't suppose either of you has heard any word of Randall, our entry in the Pentathlon?" Both of his colleagues gazed at him in astonishment. "Are you serious?" said Mr. Graham, while the doctor said, "You don't mean to tell us he isn't here. Why, it only lacks five minutes to ten." Mr. Fenton sighed. "I can't understand it," he said, "and I can't help being a little bit worried. I've notified the authorities, but haven't heard a single word of him since yesterday afternoon. It's a most extraordinary thing. And apart from my anxiety for Randall, it seems hard to say good-by to our chances for the cup. However, the fortunes of war--" Mr. Graham interrupted him. "Why, we don't want anything like that to happen," he said, "we'll waive our rule, I'm sure. Won't we, Doctor? We can postpone the meet for a time." Mr. Fenton made an eloquent gesture toward the crowded stands. "I couldn't ask it," he said decidedly. "You're very kind to suggest it, Graham, and I appreciate it. But if the positions were reversed, I shouldn't expect you to ask the favor of me. It would never do to interrupt the order of exercises, and disappoint a gathering of this size. It would be a reflection, it seems to me, on our ability to conduct our schools. No, I thank you, but, as I said before, it's the fortune of war. Your boys must fight it out between themselves. I suppose some day this will all be explained--" An outburst of Hopevale cheers broke in on him. Dave Ellis, looking in the very top-notch of condition, was walking leisurely across the field. A moment later, Johnson's lithe figure emerged from the dressing-room, and Clinton applauded in their turn. And then, even as they stood listening to the tumult, they were aware of a growing confusion at the entrance to the field, out of which presently emerged two rather disheveled looking figures, making toward the locker building at a hurried pace. At the same instant broke forth a roar from the Fenton section, "Randall, Randall, Randall!" and Mr. Fenton, taking an abrupt leave of his associates, started across the field, as fast as his legs could carry him. "Thank Heaven," he muttered to himself, "nothing serious has happened to him. But what can the trouble have been?" He found Randall hastily dressing. Dick looked up at him with what was meant for a smile. "Can't explain now, Mr. Fenton," he said hurriedly. "It wasn't my fault. I'm lucky to be here. If it hadn't been for McDonald and Joe, I shouldn't be. But I'll tell you the whole story later. I've got just time for my rub-down now." For five minutes, McDonald's skilful hands worked over the stiffened muscles, and as Dick jogged across to the start, he felt that his speed and spring were in some measure returning. Yet the hundred yards was disappointing. Johnson ran first, and moved down the track like a race-horse, traveling in first-class form, and making the distance in ten and three-fifths. Ellis ran second, and did eleven flat. Dick, a little unnerved by all he had been through, made a false start--something most unusual for him--and was set back a yard. Then, in his anxiety not to commit the same fault a second time, he got away poorly, and finished in the slowest time of the three--eleven and one-fifth. It was excellent scoring, for a start, and Johnson was credited with eighty-three points, Ellis with seventy-five and Dick with seventy-one. With the shot put, the lead changed. Johnson, considering his lighter weight, performed splendidly, making an even thirty-six feet. Dick found that his stiffness did not bother him nearly so much as it had done in the dash, and made his best put of the year, thirty-eight, nine. But Ellis surpassed himself, and on his last attempt, broke the league record, with a drive of forty-one, two. His seventy-two points loomed large, by the side of Dick's sixty and Johnson's forty-seven, and the score-board showed: Ellis 147 Randall 131 Johnson 130 Next, the high jump was called, and all three boys kept up the same good work. There was small reason, indeed, why they should not have been at their best. School spirit was rampant; it was to watch them that these cheering hundreds had crowded the field; every successful jump, from the lowest height of all, was applauded to the echo. Ellis, as was expected, was the first to fail, but he managed to clear five feet, two, and added fifty-four points to his score. Dick, a little handicapped by the strain of the preceding night, could feel that his muscles were not quite at their best, yet his long period of careful training had put him in good shape, and helped out by the excitement of the competition, he finally cleared five feet, eight. Johnson did an inch better, and only just displaced the bar at five feet, ten, scoring seventy-seven points to Dick's seventy-four. The three competitors were now practically tied, and volley after volley of cheers rang out across the field from every section of the crowd. Johnson 207 Randall 205 Ellis 201 The record was going to be broken, not by one man alone, but by all three. So much was evident, and the crowd awaited the hurdle race with the most eager expectancy. Dick ran first, and finished in seventeen and two-fifths; Ellis, his heavy build telling against him, in spite of his efforts, could do no better than eighteen, two, and then Johnson electrified the crowd by coming through, true and strong, in sixteen, four. His eighty-four points put him well in the lead, while Randall's seventy-three gave him a clear gain over Ellis, who, with fifty-eight, now brought up the rear. Johnson 289 Randall 278 Ellis 259 And yet, in spite of the score, Hopevale was jubilant. For the one remaining event was the hammer throw, where Ellis was supreme, and here they expected to see their champion wipe out his opponents' lead, and finish a winner, with plenty to spare. Each contestant was allowed three throws, and on the first round it seemed as though the predictions of the home man's admirers were coming true. Johnson threw one hundred and twenty-two feet and seven inches; and then Ellis, taking his stand confidently inside the circle, made a beautiful effort of one hundred and fifty-nine feet. McDonald figured hastily in his score book, and came up to Randall. "Don't be scared, Dick," he said, "one hundred and forty-five feet, and you'll still be ahead of him. And that's only a practice throw for you now." Dick nodded. And yet, although he kept his own counsel, he knew only too well that the worry and anxiety of his long night's captivity were at last beginning to make themselves felt. His head felt heavy; his legs weak; he doubted whether he could make the hundred and forty-five. And then, taking his turn, his worst fears were realized. He made a fair throw, indeed, staying well inside the circle, but there was little dash behind it, and when the scorer announced, "One hundred and thirty-eight eleven," Dick knew that Ellis was in the lead. In the midst of the Hopevale cheering, Johnson took his second throw, and improved on his first trial by a couple of feet. McDonald shook his head. "He's out of it," he said. "A great little man, too, but not heavy enough for all-round work. It's you or Ellis, now, Dick. Johnson won't bother either of you for first." Dick nodded. Ellis made ready for his second throw with the greatest care. There was little to criticize in his form. And backed by his great strength, the hammer seemed scarcely more than a toy in his hands. As the missile went hurtling through the air, the cheers redoubled. Even from the spectators' seats it was easy to see that he had bettered his previous try, and soon the scorer shouted, "One hundred and sixty-five feet, one inch." McDonald whistled. "He's a good man with the weights," he admitted with reluctance; then figured again. "Dick," he said, "you'll have to get in one good one. You've got to fetch a hundred and fifty feet, if you're going to win. Don't stiffen up now. Keep cool, and think it's only practice. You've done it for me. You can do it now." Dick walked forward, and picked up the hammer for his second try. Out from the grandstand came the Fenton cheer, and then, at the end, his name "Randall, Randall, Randall!" thrice repeated. Where other stimulants would have failed, this one was successful. Dick felt his muscles grow tense as steel. He thought of Putnam, and the race on the river. "Be game," he whispered to himself, under his breath, and stepped forward into the ring, his brain clear, his nerves under control. Once, twice, thrice, he swung the hammer around, his head, and then, with splendid speed, turned and let it go. Clearly, he had improved on his former throw. The measurers pulled the tape tight, and then the announcer called, "One hundred and forty-nine, three." McDonald calculated hurriedly; then gave a little exclamation of astonishment. "A tie," he cried; "that puts you just even, and one more throw apiece. Three hundred and forty-seven points each. A tie; that's what it is." Near Ellis' side stood a slender, dark young man, who had watched Dick's appearance on the field with an expression of utter amazement. Although the day was warm, he had worn, all through the games, a long, loose coat, of fashionable cut, and now he crowded closer to Ellis' side. "Pick it up, when I drop it, Dave," he whispered. "It's your only show. You can't beat one hundred and sixty-five without it." A moment later he walked away. And Ellis, stooping, put his hand on a hammer apparently identical with the two which had been so carefully weighed and measured before the games had begun. He held it uncertainly, as if not overjoyed at his burden. Once he turned, and looked imploringly at the man who had spoken to him. The man frowned back at him savagely, and Ellis sighed, as if persuaded against his will. And now Johnson made his last throw. He tried desperately, and improved his record to one hundred and thirty feet. But his chance was gone, and he knew it, taking his defeat gamely enough, with a smile and shrug of his shoulders. He had done his best; it was not good enough; that was all. "Ellis; last try," called the clerk of the course. Ellis walked quickly forward, and got into position. Dick, watching him, seemed to see a new power and skill in the way in which his rival swung, and when he delivered the weight, Dick felt his heart sink like lead. Out, out, it sailed, as though it would never stop. Hopevale was cheering itself hoarse. It looked like a record throw. And finally the announcer, scarlet with excitement, cried, in the midst of the hush that followed his first words, "Mr. Ellis throws one hundred and seventy-three feet, eight and a quarter inches, a new record for the league." Dick turned to McDonald, but McDonald was no longer at his side. He was striding away down the field. The man who brought in the hammer, after each throw, was just starting back with it, when a slight, dapper fellow accosted him. "I'll carry that in for you," he said pleasantly, "I'm going that way," and the man, thanking him, gladly enough relinquished his burden. Face to face came the kind-hearted stranger and Duncan McDonald. McDonald reached out his hand. "I'll thank you for a look at that weapon," he said grimly. The stranger looked at him blankly. "What do you mean?" he asked. McDonald grasped the wire handle. "Just exactly what I say," he rejoined. "You're a wise guy, Alec, but you're up against it this time. Hand over now; I haven't forgotten old times." The young man forced a smile, and then, as McDonald wrenched the hammer from his grasp, he turned and made off across the field, swearing fluently under his breath. McDonald hurried back to where the judges were standing, arriving just as Dick was making ready for his last try. "One minute, gentlemen," he called; "I wish to protest Mr. Ellis' throw, and the hammer it was made with. I don't believe the hammer is full weight." The chief judge looked indignant. "Mr. McDonald," he said, "this is most unusual. The hammers were carefully weighed before the competition began. And were found correct. In fact, both of them were a trifle overweight." "But you didn't weigh this one," McDonald insisted. "This one has been rung in on you. I must ask you to weigh it, please." Somewhat grudgingly, the judge complied; then started in astonishment. He was a partisan of Hopevale, but he was an honest man, and he knew his duty. "Mr. Announcer," he said quickly; "say at once, please, that there was a mistake in Mr. Ellis' last throw; that an accident to the hammer will necessitate giving him another trial." Then, turning to the officials, he added, "This is exceedingly unfortunate, gentlemen; this hammer weighs but ten pounds and three-quarters. Does any one know how it got here?" No one answered, and Ellis stepped forward to take his last throw, this time with a hammer of correct weight. His face was troubled; his former confidence seemed lacking, and his try fell well short of one hundred and sixty feet. And then Dick came forward in his turn. The controversy over the light hammer had given him just the rest he needed; he made ready for his throw with the utmost coolness, and got away a high, clean try, that looked good all the way. There was the beginning of a cheer and then a hush, as the announcer called, "One hundred and fifty-two, five." The cheering began again, yet the result was so close that every one waited breathlessly for the official posting of the score. A moment's delay, and then up it went. Randall 350 Ellis 347 Johnson 334 And then came the avalanche of wildly cheering spectators. Putnam, Allen, Brewster and Lindsay were first at Dick's side, and it was on their shoulders that he was borne across the field, a little overcome, now that the strain was over, with everything appearing a trifle dream-like and unreal, yet with three thoughts mingling delightfully in his mind: that he had won, won in spite of obstacles, fair and clean; that the Pentathlon shield was his, and best and most glorious of all, that the challenge cup would come to Fenton--to stay. Thus, through the shouting and the cheering, he was carried along in triumph, and in the midst of it all, one other thought still came to him--the best thought, perhaps, that can ever come to a boy's mind. Hopevale Oval had vanished, and in spirit he was a thousand miles away. "I wonder," he said to himself, with a sudden thrill of happiness, "I wonder what they'll say at home." THE END 
47254	----	TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE Italic text is denoted by _underscores_. Bold text is denoted by =equal signs=. The 'pointing hand' symbol has been replaced by ==>. The form of fractions in this book, for example '9 1-4' for 9¼, has been retained. Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within the text and consultation of external sources. More detail can be found at the end of the book. [Illustration: HAND BOOK of SUMMER SPORTS PEDESTRIANISM RUNNING & JUMPING BICYCLING ARCHERY HARE & HOUNDS &c. BEADLE AND ADAMS--NEW YORK The American News Co., 39 & 41 Chambers St. N.Y.] STANDARD BOOKS OF GAMES AND PASTIMES BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK. DIME BASE-BALL PLAYER FOR 1880. Containing the League and National Club Averages for 1879, together with the Model Games of the season. The prize winners in the National Championship, and new chapters on Batting, Fielding, and Base Running. Also, a New Scoring System, with record of the Metropolitan Championship Games and Pacific League Averages. Edited by Henry Chadwick. HAND-BOOK OF CROQUET. A Complete Guide to the Principles and Practice of the Game. This popular pastime has, during the few years of its existence, rapidly outgrown the first vague and imperfect rules and regulations of its inventor; and, as almost every house at which it is played adopts a different code of laws, it becomes a difficult matter for a stranger to assimilate his play to that of other people. It is, therefore, highly desirable that one uniform system should be generally adopted, and hence the object of this work is to establish a recognized method of playing the game. DIME BOOK OF 100 GAMES. Out-door and in-door SUMMER GAMES for Tourists and Families in the Country, Picnics, etc., comprising 100 Games, Forfeits and Conundrums for Childhood and Youth, Single and Married, Grave and Gay. A Pocket Hand-book for the Summer Season. CRICKET AND FOOT-BALL. A desirable Cricketer's Companion, containing complete instructions in the elements of Bowling, Batting and Fielding; also the Revised Laws of the Game; Remarks on the Duties of Umpires; the Mary-le-Bone Cricket Club Rules and Regulations; Bets, etc. By Henry Chadwick. HAND-BOOK OF PEDESTRIANISM. Giving the Rules for Training and Practice in Walking, Running, Leaping, Vaulting, etc. Edited by Henry Chadwick. YACHTING AND ROWING. This volume will be found very complete as a guide to the conduct of watercraft, and full of interesting information alike to the amateur and the novice. The chapter referring to the great rowing-match of the Oxford and Cambridge clubs on the Thames, will be found particularly interesting. RIDING AND DRIVING. A sure guide to correct Horsemanship, with complete directions for the road and field; and a specific section of directions and information for female equestrians. Drawn largely from "Stonehenge's" fine manual, this volume will be found all that can be desired by those seeking to know all about the horse, and his management in harness and under the saddle. GUIDE TO SWIMMING. Comprising Advisory Instructions; Rules upon Entering the Water; General Directions for Swimming; Diving: How to Come to the Surface; Swimming on the Back; How to Swim in times of Danger; Surf-bathing--How to Manage the Waves, the Tides, etc.; a Chapter for the Ladies; a Specimen Female Swimming School; How to Manage Cases of Drowning; Dr. Franklin's Code for Swimmers; etc. Illustrated. By Capt. Philip Peterson. ==> For sale by all newsdealers; or sent, _post-paid_, to any address, on receipt of price--TEN CENTS each. BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS, 98 WILLIAM ST., N. Y. HANDBOOK OF SUMMER ATHLETIC SPORTS, COMPRISING: WALKING, RUNNING, JUMPING, HARE AND HOUNDS, BICYCLING, ARCHERY, ETC. _WITH COMPLETE AMERICAN AND ENGLISH ATHLETIC RULES._ EDITED BY CAPT. FRED. WHITTAKER. NEW YORK: BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS, 98 WILLIAM STREET. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1880, by BEADLE AND ADAMS, In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. [Illustration: Spectators Seats.] CONTENTS. PAGE. PEDESTRIANISM, 9 WALKERS VS. RUNNERS, 11 SCIENTIFIC WALKING, 14 SCIENTIFIC RUNNING, 19 DRESS FOR PEDESTRIANS, 23 TRAINING FOR A MATCH, 25 LAYING OUT A TRACK, 30 CONDUCTING A MATCH, 35 RECORDS OF PEDESTRIANISM, 38 JUMPING AND POLE-LEAPING, 43 BICYCLING, 46 AMERICAN ATHLETIC RULES, 49 ENGLISH ATHLETIC RULES, 56 HARE AND HOUNDS, 57 ARCHERY, 60 HANDBOOK OF SUMMER ATHLETIC SPORTS. PEDESTRIANISM. A wonderful increase of popularity has lately attended the art of walking. The steady improvement made in speed and endurance by professional and amateur walkers and the introduction of international contests have brought this about within a few years. When the firm of BEADLE AND ADAMS published their first Dime book of Pedestrianism, the only American walker of reputation was Edward Payson Weston. The record of professionals and amateurs had then developed nothing greater than the performances of Captain Barclay of England, who first did a thousand miles in a thousand hours. Weston's famous walk from Portland to Chicago caused the only ripple of excitement in the sporting world on the subject of walking from the time of Barclay up to 1870. Since that period, things have changed greatly. Weston's achievements have inspired others, and those others have not only equaled but excelled Weston on many occasions. The names of O'Leary, Rowell, Corkey, and "Blower" Brown, all men born in the British Islands, have been recorded above those of Weston at different times; but it remains to the glory of the American pedestrian that in 1879 he beat them all. All these changes and ups and downs in pedestrianism for the last ten years have made the old books obsolete, and the publishers of the former Dime Book of Pedestrianism have determined to issue a new edition, fully up to the times in all respects. Besides practical instructions in walking, founded on the different styles of noted professionals, we shall annex much matter never before put in a handbook, concerning the preparation of tracks, measurements, timing and scoring, for the information of that large class of people living in country towns and villages, who have plenty of walkers, but no experience in the conduct of matches, and no opportunity to see how things are done in first class matches. Every one can walk, but not every one can become a great walker. Any young man of good health and strength can learn to walk five miles in an hour, but the number of men who can walk twenty-five miles in five hours is very small, and will always remain so. If we take the population of any town or village we shall find that out of every hundred young men from eighteen to twenty-five years of age, there are about sixty more or less given to athletic sports, twenty who are very enthusiastic about them, and six or eight who would make _good_ walkers, runners and general athletes. Of this six or eight, there is generally one who is better than his fellows, and he becomes the village champion in one sport or another. This is about the true proportion--one per cent--of the young male community, that is capable of being taken at random and converted into good professional walkers. A general system of early physical training would soon increase this proportion, but as we are never likely to see any such system adopted we must be content with what we can get. Out of those capable of becoming great walkers and striving to become so, the proportion of second rate men is quite large. There have been great long-distance walkers before, and probably will be again; but a man of the peculiar constitution of Edward Payson Weston is very seldom met with. Other men have, at times, beaten him; but he has outstayed them all at last in endurance. No other athlete on record has remained among contestants of the first-class for so many years, for be it remembered that Weston's career as a walker began on Thanksgiving Day, 1867, the day on which he arrived at Chicago from Portland, and that so late as 1879, twelve years after, he was able to do 550 miles in a week against the best men of England, at a time when his latest rival, O'Leary, had utterly broken down. Ten years after his first appearance on the track, he was able to give O'Leary, in his prime, a tough battle, making 510 miles in six days, and none of his antagonists can say as much for themselves. The average duration of a great long-distance man, whether walker or runner, seems to be about two years. It was in 1876 that O'Leary came to the top of the wave, and in 1879 he went under. Weston alone keeps on, apparently as fresh at forty as he was at twenty-six. All this argues in Weston very great physical power and strictly temperate habits, and he possesses both in a remarkable degree. There, however, the praise ends. As a scientific walker, Weston is inferior, not only to O'Leary, but even pitted against such amateurs as Harry Armstrong, of Harlem, C. Bruce Gillie, of the Scottish-American Club, or a dozen others we could name. When he was in his best form, about 1874-5, it was the remark of an English trainer, that Weston was "a mystery to him; that he didn't see how he could walk at all on the bad system he used, and that any other man would have broken down utterly in the attempt." Weston used to get through his tasks, and does still, but only at the cost of terrible fatigue, which he might have saved himself on a better system. O'Leary, on the other hand, is an example of how the best training, constitution and system may be neutralized and overthrown by over-confidence and dissipation. As a scientific walker, O'Leary has no equal, and were he of the same temperate habits as Weston, he might still head the list as world's champion. As it is, the rows of empty champagne bottles that were taken from his tent at Gilmore's, when he broke down in the Rowell match, were the evidence and symbol of his ruin. It was not in his case, as he said in the _Spirit of the Times_, that "runners can beat walkers." O'Leary, himself, in four or five matches, had beaten all the time ever made by runners, save that of "Blower" Brown; but the O'Leary of those days had succumbed to high living, and a poor excuse was better than none. Yet, the man's system was, and is, magnificent, and enabled him to do respectable work against Hughes and Campana, when he really was not fit to go at all. Had he possessed Weston's temperate habits, or had Weston possessed O'Leary's science as a walker, the result would have been a pedestrian wonder that would have lasted many years longer than O'Leary. WALKERS vs. RUNNERS. The success of Weston and O'Leary in their long-distance walks in England surprised the Britons greatly. Up to the time of Weston's appearance in that country, Englishmen had been accustomed to consider themselves the best walkers in the world; but the two Americans--the native and the naturalized--soon took the conceit out of them. The best English long-distance walkers were Peter Crossland and Henry Vaughan, who had both done excellent work in matches of the kind then practiced in England. But the introduction of six-day contests, first started by Weston, put these professionals on unfamiliar ground, and they found that a man who could walk a hundred miles in one day was not able to cope with these American wonders, who could finish five hundred miles in six days. The Englishmen laid their defeat to the right cause--unfamiliar methods; and Sir John Astley, a rich sporting baronet, to put both parties on an equality, introduced the six-day "go-as-you-please" match, soon to supersede all others. It was thought that runners would have the advantage over walkers in this match. Their backers claimed that by going over the ground faster they would gain more time for rest, and so in the end go further. The first Astley Belt match falsified all their data. In the famous contest at Agricultural Hall, London, from March 18th to March 23d, 1878, Daniel O'Leary covered 520 1-4 miles, in 139 hours 6 minutes 10 seconds, confining himself to walking after the first fifty miles. He had against him the great English long-distance runners and the best long-distance walker, Vaughan, all of whom he defeated decisively. Vaughan stopped at 500 miles--a score he has never since equaled--"Blower" Brown retired at 477, and "Corkey," who had things all his own way for the first three days, broke down utterly on the fourth; while Hazael and Rowell were earlier satisfied that they had no chance. In the same year O'Leary defeated with ease John Hughes and Peter Napoleon Campana, surnamed "Sport," both runners, and seemed to be secure of holding the Astley belt for life. Indeed, had he not, like most sporting men, been deceived by the exaggerated reports of Campana's prowess, he might be champion to-day. The reason for this statement is simple. Campana's Bridgeport record, as it turned out from after investigation, was a deliberate fraud, got up by some low sporting men, who probably did not at first dare to hope for the success which it attained. They began by running their man on a short track, and when that fraud was discovered made a merit of having the course publicly remeasured by the city surveyor. The more important part of the fraud was not discovered till after "Sport's" ignominious defeat by O'Leary, and then only by the confession of his Bridgeport scorers and time-keepers. It turned out that they had been crediting him with laps never run, and that they had employed men to personate him, late at nights, when he was really asleep, these men running for him. By means of these fraudulent representations they rolled up such a score for Campana that he was credited with 521 miles in a six-day match. O'Leary, who, besides his Hughes match, had been giving several 400-mile walks, knew that he was no longer in condition to walk against a good man for the championship, and therefore made the match one for money alone. Had he allowed the belt to be in the stakes there is no doubt that he would have won it for the third and last time, when he would have become its absolute possessor. In the meantime, however, the runners in England had been improving their style immensely, for in the second Astley match, beginning Oct. 28th, and closing Nov. 2d, 1878, William Gentleman, (_alias_ "Corkey,") made 520 2-7 miles in 137 hours, 58 min., 20 sec.; thus beating O'Leary's distance by a trifle, and his time by more than an hour. This match it was that raised the spirits of Sir John Astley, and induced him to send over Rowell (who made 470 miles in the same match) to beat O'Leary. Sir John knew what he was about, and had kept O'Leary in view all the year. The scores of the American champion's matches with Hughes and Campana, showed that the man was failing, and if so, Rowell was good enough to beat him, as there was no other really formidable walker in America; so Astley judged, and correctly, too. The victory of Rowell over the American walkers caused an instantaneous revulsion of public sentiment in favor of runners, a revulsion artfully increased by O'Leary's widely-published dictum that the runners were always "bound to beat the walkers." This, however, was not by any means proven at that time. The real truth was that champagne, not Rowell, beat O'Leary; and Rowell's record in the race was twenty miles short of the champion's best walking record. The other competitors in the match were simply not first-class men. The cause of the runners has, however, received a fresh impetus since Rowell's victory by the still more remarkable feat of "Blower" Brown (always a "good man") who in the third Astley belt match, April 22d-27th, 1879, made the amazing distance of 542 miles in 140 hours. Finally the veteran Weston beat even Brown's record by the superlative score of 550 miles over the same track, opposed to Brown himself and Hazael. Since that time Brown has made 553 miles over the same track, and a negro lawyer from Boston named Hart has made 565 miles in Madison Square Garden, finishing April 10, 1880. As the record now stands, in contests where almost super-human endurance and speed are required, ordinary runners may win, but only at the expense of a waste of physical energy that a scientific walker does not suffer. They go faster and manage to live through the contest, but that is all. The introduction of "go-as-you-please" contests, has, however, given rise to a new style of long-distance running, which is as strictly scientific as professional walking, and to these two branches of pedestrianism let us now devote our attention. SCIENTIFIC WALKING. Every one walks more or less, but very few understand the principles of scientific walking. The science consists in two things: 1st. How to acquire the longest stride practicable to the physique of the walker; 2d. How to distribute the weight of the body so that the greatest effort shall be made with the least possible exertion. [Illustration: THE UNSKILLED WALKER.] Many walkers acquire the first part of this science, and some understand the second division of the subject, but very few can combine the two, like O'Leary. For short-distance matches, in which contests up to twenty-five miles are included, the number of scientific walkers is reasonably large, both among professionals and so-called amateurs. They almost all walk on a correct system, similar to that of O'Leary, but inasmuch as their exertions do not last so long a time, they can afford to make them more vigorous. If their stride be no longer, proportionately, than that of O'Leary, the number of steps per minute taken by them is greater, and they cover the ground at a rate that no untrained person can equal without breaking into a trot. The rate at which the best of them can go is shown by the marvelous feats of Perkins, the English champion, who has the record of a mile walked in _six minutes and twenty-three seconds_, and eight miles walked in _an hour, less fifty-five seconds_. Such performances show that Perkins can out-walk any ordinary road-horse going on a trot. Even an amateur of our own country--T. H. Armstrong--has walked seven miles in fifty-six minutes. It is needless to say that no untrained person could equal this, four miles an hour being very sharp walking to most people; and it becomes a matter of interest to know how the professionals do it, and how their walk differs from that of an unskilled man. [Illustration: THE PROFESSIONAL.] The sight of a walking-match does a good deal toward explaining the mystery, and the foregoing cuts will show the main points of difference between the skilled and unskilled pedestrian. The unskilled amateur, who sets out to walk fast, generally makes several grave mistakes. He leans his body forward, bends his back, lowers his head, swings his arms at full length, and allows his knees to bend. The consequence is that when he is doing his very best his attitude is very much like that in the first cut, depicting the unskilled walker. There is no question that the poor fellow is doing his best, and very little doubt that he can not last long at the rate he is going. Contrast with this figure that of the second cut, showing a professional in full stride. You are at full liberty to laugh at the figure, for there is no question that it has strong elements of the ludicrous; but for all that it is not exaggerated, and such attitudes may be seen in every last short-distance match. Now it is time to note the points of difference between the two men and to show where the professional has the advantage over the other. First note that a perpendicular line dropped from the center of each man's chest between the shoulders to the ground, and continued upward through his head would represent the line in which his weight falls. Draw such a line and you will find that in the case of the unskilled walker it strikes the ground close to his forward heel, while his head is in advance of it. Consequently he has to support the weight of his head, with all the disadvantage of leverage, by muscular exertion, and the strain must fall on his back. In the professional, on the other hand, the weight falls on a nearly perpendicular column through the body, which is in balance, striking the ground midway between the points of support--the feet. If the man were to stop just where he is, he is in a position to resist a shove either forward or back. A smart push from behind would infallibly send our unskilled friend on his nose. Note also that the professional's body, if anything, inclines backward, and think of the reason. Remember that when in rapid motion there is always a strong tendency to fall forward with the upper part of the body, a consequence of its weight and momentum. The balance of the body can therefore be sent a little back of the line which would be proper when standing still, to counteract the force of this momentum. So much for distribution of weight. Next note that the professional has both legs straight, and can therefore take a greater stride than any one with bent knees. Note, moreover, that he plants his heel first at the very extremity of his stride, and thus gains on every step the whole length of his foot, for after the heel is planted the toe comes down in advance by its own weight without labor. If he were to point his toe downward, as in the military "goose-step," he would lose all this advantage as soon as the foot was planted. Our next remark is that whereas the tyro swings his arms full length with open hands the professional clenches his fists and bends his arms double. With this same action of the arms comes another of the shoulders, which is of great importance. The working of the shoulders in fast walking is a natural and almost ineradicable habit. A fast walker _will_ swing his arms, no matter how he is cautioned. We have seen many a drill master driven to despair by the swinging of arms of a marching squad, after all his cautions. The fact is, the swing is right and the drill master wrong. The faster a man walks, the more his shoulders swing, by an effort of nature to lift the weight of his body from the rear foot and to let it down on the front heel as lightly as possible. The usual way of accomplishing this result is to swing the arm at full length, but this fatigues the walker in two ways: first, by the resistance of the air to the arm, cutting it; second, by the leverage of the hand at the end of the arm, which has to be counteracted by the shoulder muscles. Both these effects are obviated by the simple expedient of bending the arm in proportion to the speed, and clenching the hand. When at top speed, the forearm of the advanced shoulder should be perpendicular, that of the rear shoulder horizontal, and as the speed decreases so should the angle of the arms become less acute. The difference in speed and ease of movement between a walker who holds up his arms and one who lets them swing full length is very striking, and our readers can try for themselves the experiment of walking in both ways, noting the advantage given by holding up the arms. In a race, it is a point that soon tells. Lastly we must give one special caution with regard to taking the cut for an exactly accurate representation of what a man should do in order to become a fast walker. As the artist has finished the figure, many people might imagine that he had just made a _spring from the toes of the left foot_, which is in rear. This should not be done, as any weight sent on the toes soon tires out the walker, and although the foot is bent as in the cut, the weight is taken off the toes by working the shoulders. In fact as an English writer has well said, modern professional walking is a series of springs from heel to heel. There are some other points in scientific walking which require the assistance of diagrams to explain them, and these concern the position of the feet best calculated to secure a long stride at the least expense of physical exertion. If there is anything in scientific walking that is puzzling to a civilized beginner, it is the things taught him in childhood which he is now compelled to unlearn. A young savage who has never had any lessons in "deportment," walks correctly enough, though he does not generally care to exert himself sufficiently to make good time at that pace, preferring the "dog-trot." But so far as he walks, he always walks correctly, with a hollow back, stepping from heel to heel, his arms bent, his head thrown back, his toes turned in. The civilized boy, on the other hand, has a bad lesson given to him as soon as he can talk. He is told to "turn his toes out." Now it so happens that if you take two men, equally good walkers, and let one turn his toes out, the other in, the "parrot-toed" man is sure to beat the other in the long run. The reason for this statement will be made plain by looking at the following cut and reflecting on a few facts in connection therewith. [Illustration: TWO METHODS OF WALKING.] In the upper figure we have the foot tracks of a man walking with his toes turned out; in the lower one the same foot takes the same stride "parrot-toed." Note that both start with heels on the same line, and that before a step is taken, the man who turns out his toes has lost nearly an inch of forward progress, his toes not touching the same line as that reached by the other, who carries his feet straight. With the close of the first step the difference increases, _both parties taking the same stride, measured from toe to toe_. The parrot-toed man sets his heel down in advance of the other's heel, and gains a further advantage by the greater reach of his toe at every step. The gain of the parrot-toed man is thus shown to be constant when both parties use the same exertion, and must always give him the race, other things being equal. But there is another loss in turning the toes out, which is not less important, and which is shown by the position of the large black spots in the cut. These spots represent the point on which the weight of the body falls in the middle of each stride, and a very important difference will be noted in their position. In the case of the man who turns his toes out, this spot comes under the joint of the great toe, while in the other foot it lies between the second and third toes. In other words, when a man turns out his toes he places _all his weight on a single joint_; when he walks parrot-toed it is _distributed among five joints_. This difference in strain is sure to tell in a long race. It is the experience of many a tramp in moccasins and bare feet that makes the Indians and other wild tribes walk parrot-toed, because any other way would soon lame them. Our civilized stiff-soled boots, by distributing the weight of the body over a large surface, permit us to go on walking in a vicious fashion, as long as we do not have to use much exertion, but when we come to serious pedestrianism, we must return to savage _i.e._ natural ways, or the strain will tell in lameness, inside of twenty-four hours' work. The celebrated Indian-painter, George Catlin, gives in his "Travels" a striking instance of the difference of the two systems. He was a large, powerful man, and counted himself a good walker in the old times. Therefore, when, in company with a number of trappers, fur-traders and Indian employes of the Fur Company, he set out for a hundred-and-fifty-mile tramp over the prairie in moccasins, he made up his mind to lead the caravan and outwalk every one. For the first day he did so, but then found himself lame; and next day, in spite of all he could do, he fell behind inferior men and became a straggler. At the evening camp-fire, the second day, an old trapper noticed his condition and told him the secret of his non-success. "You are walking in moccasins," said the hunter, "and you must learn _to turn in your toes, as the Indians do_." Catlin took the advice, went to the head of the line next day, and had no more trouble in keeping his place. The moral of the story is obvious. If you wish to last to the end of a match, _turn your toes in_. SCIENTIFIC RUNNING. If there is anything which the records of modern pedestrianism settles, it is that we have yet a good deal to learn from savages. Here we have been walking matches and running other matches for the last fifty years, only to settle down into the regular Indian lope, or dog-trot, for long distance traveling, as faster and less exhausting than the fastest walk. This pace, introduced for the first time into civilized contests by "Blower" Brown, Hazael, Corkey and Rowell, is the very same which the Indian runners of the forest tribes have used from time immemorial. It is the same with which the Hindoo palkee-bearers swing through the jungle for mile after mile under a tropic sun without apparent distress, and the universal method adopted by savage and semi-barbarous people whenever they wish to journey fast on foot. The civilized untrained man when he tries the same pace commonly makes a mess of it. "Old Sport," _alias_ Campana, was a good exemplar of the civilized idea of a dog-trot--that of the old volunteer fire-brigade of New York city. It was a fair trot, but it would not last forever. Campana put up both arms, working his shoulders as in a walk, and lifted his feet high before and behind, with a weary-looking, lagging step. It entailed about the same exertion as a fast walk and got over the ground no faster. Too much work was _wasted in perpendicular motion_. [Illustration: LONG-DISTANCE RUNNER.] A model of truly scientific long-distance running is found in little Charley Rowell, whose style is an exact imitation of Brown, Corkey and Hazael. All four are men of about the same size and weight, standing five feet six inches, and weighing from 130 to 140 lbs. The probable reason for their taking to running was their small size, which debarred them from success as walkers against men with six inches more stride. As runners they have all glided into the same system, which is fairly represented in the cut above, taken from the attitude of Rowell. The first thing that one notices about this figure is its ease, and the absence of all appearance of effort. The professional walker, in the cut in preceding chapter, looks as if he was walking hard, but this fellow seems trying to run as slow as he can. The fact is that, while not actually trying to go _slow_, he is trying to _save himself_ as much exertion as is compatible with getting over the ground a little faster than the fastest walk. Such a pace is from six to eight miles an hour, and such a pace can be maintained by a well-trained man like Rowell after he is unable to walk over three miles an hour. There are several points to notice about the attitude, especially the position of the head and the way the nose is elevated in the air. When Rowell started after O'Leary on his dog-trot with his nose in the air, people laughed at him and thought he was playing monkey tricks; but when Rowell kept his nose in the air for six days it began to be seen that he had a reason for so doing. If any of our readers will try the experiment of running for a distance with the head down and then change to Rowell's plan, nose in air and teeth tightly clenched, they will be surprised at the difference in ease of respiration. Throwing up the head makes the passage from nose to windpipe nearly straight, and the air has no corners to turn before reaching the lungs. In fast running, or any long-continued exertion, it is necessary to keep the mouth closed, to prevent the rapid evaporation that takes place when the air comes in through the open mouth, parching up the throat. But if we try to breathe _through the nose alone_, with the head bent down, we find that the air does not come freely enough, and distress soon compels us to open the mouth, after which we are speedily at the end of our tether--and wind. Holding up the head in the fashion depicted in the cut renders a two hours' run a matter of comparative ease to a well-trained man, and enables one like Hazael to run his 137 miles in 26 hours. The next point to notice about our long-distance friend is the position of his arms, which are slightly bent and held rigid by the sides, to steady the walls of the lungs and thus let the chest be kept fully dilated as long as possible. If the man in the cut were running a "sprint race"--that is for any distance inside of a furlong--his arms would go up to the same angles as those of the professional walker, because then he would be at top speed. As it is he is going _as easily as he can_, and does not run fast enough to be able to keep his arms up, _without a conscious muscular exertion, which would tell in a race_. The art of long-distance running is one of real value to any one who wishes to increase the size of his legs to shapeliness, and to be able to go long steps rapidly with the least fatigue. This pace, alternated with walking whenever the breath fails, can be adopted by any person with advantage to health. The strain comes on the muscles of the front of the thigh and calf of the leg, and a return to walking rests these more completely than actual standing still. The combination of the two forms the "go-as-you-please" contest. [Illustration: SPRINT RUNNER.] We have thus fully noticed long-distance running before treating of "sprint" races and other short dashes, because it is a more important branch of athletics. The correct system is one that can be readily acquired by all, old and young, and will be found of great value whenever one is in a hurry to go to a certain place. The regular long-distance trot will take a person further and faster than any other known method of unaided progression. A few words about sprint running will appropriately close this chapter. By the term "sprint" races are meant all those dashes at full speed which are not over a furlong in length. Seventy-five and one-hundred-yard dashes are the most common, and the question of excellence as a sprint racer, or "sprinter," depends on single seconds or fractions thereof in time, while the benefits derived from the practice are nothing like those of the mile or ten-mile runner. The form required, however, merits observation. Sprint running is only an exaggeration of the system displayed in long-distance work. The arms rise as in fast walking, and for the same reasons, till they are doubled up. The work, being fast, requires that the lungs be kept expanded, therefore the arms are kept stiff and rigid to aid the chest muscles in holding out the walls of the thorax to give room to the lungs. The distribution of weight, on account of the rapid motion, comes to be much the same as in fast walking, but the knees are bent of necessity; because in running the progression is made by springs from toe to toe, instead of heel to heel. The same cause admits of the upper part of the body falling forward, though the elevation of nose and hollowing of back is even more important than in long-distance work, inasmuch as the exertion is more severe while it lasts. The cut on preceding page will illustrate the difference between the sprint runner and the long-distance man. Having thus treated of scientific walking and running simply with regard to their mechanical action, we can next turn to the subject of the proper dress to be adopted to make both easy for the pedestrian. DRESS FOR PEDESTRIANS. The first question of importance both to walkers and runners is how they shall be shod, and too much attention cannot be paid to this matter. We will begin with the needs of a walker. It is not our intention to advertise any particular firm of shoemakers as unequaled in the manufacture of walking-shoes; for the fact is that the very best of the crack firms will turn out botch jobs if you do not watch them sharply. There are four points to be attended to in the selection of walking-shoes:--First, the sole of the shoe must be _under the whole of the foot_; second, the uppers must be soft and flexible; third, the fit must be snug around the ankle and heel, but easy at the toes; fourth, the heels must be low and broad. To secure the first of these points there is only one certain way, which is to stand in stocking feet on a piece of paper, and have the outline of your sole traced on the paper, the actual sole of the shoe being cut to this pattern, and never coming inside of the line. The second and third points depend on your own vigilance and determination not to let the maker put off a stiff, ill-fitting pair of shoes on you. As for the last point, low broad heels, no heels at all would be better. Very low heels of India rubber would, however, diminish the jar of fast walking, and are worth more trial than they have yet had. The only reason for having a heel on a walking-shoe is to enable it to resist the unequal wear that comes on that spot, and not to elevate the heel of the natural foot. With regard to the first point, that of the sole being under the whole of the foot, this cannot be too much insisted on, for shoemakers _will_ make them narrower, with the idea of giving an appearance of smallness to the feet. Your only remedy is to refuse to take all shoes where the maker does not follow exactly the paper pattern of sole. The softness and flexibility of the uppers are more easily secured, as also the fit round the ankle, where walking-shoes should be _laced_. Buttoned boots or "Congress gaiters" with elastic sides are not fit to walk in, as neither can be accommodated to the size of a foot that is swelling during a severe match. Laces can be relaxed or tightened; buttons are inflexible; while elastic webbing always keeps the same pressure. A professional walker, or one who is ambitious of excelling on the track will need six pairs of shoes in a long race, beginning with those that fit close and changing to those that are old, worn, and easy to the foot, as it becomes sore and inflamed. The man who rests his hopes of fame on mile-walks, needs a different foot-gear, analogous to that of the sprint runner, whom he resembles. Strong shoes are thrown away on him. He needs the very lightest kind of slipper that can be made, consistent with enough leather to preserve the foot from bruises, and the running slippers that are sold in all sporting warehouses are just the thing for this kind of work. Those that are furnished with spikes are well enough for running on turf, but to be avoided on hard tracks. Next after the shoes, and equally great in importance, come the socks. There is only one point necessary to be observed about these: they should be of soft woolen and as thick as possible. Hand-knit are preferable to woven socks, but the thickness and softness are the great points, as these secure the absorption of the perspiration. Cotton socks would be sure to work into hard wrinkles in a match-walk and cause severe blisters, though it must be owned that these will sometimes occur in spite of all imaginable precautions. About the rest of a pedestrian's dress there is but little to say; as it depends almost entirely on individual fancy. There is no doubt that the best dress for active work of all kinds is a suit of common white cotton tights, which cost less than two dollars, while trunk-breeches can be made at home at an almost nominal cost. But whether the walker rejoice in silk tights and velvet trunks, or remain satisfied with the homely flannel drawers and cardigan jackets of Rowell, is a matter of indifference to his speed. The only things he CANNOT wear if he hopes to do good walking, are ulster overcoats and trowsers. In a word, his dress may be anything he likes, so long as it leaves his joints free; and this is why knee-breeches have never given way to trowsers on a walking-track. Trowsers are in fact the worst dress possible for all active exercise. They cramp the knee and prevent its free action in a manner which, while it does not interfere materially with walking at ordinary rates of speed, affects a runner seriously by the time he has passed over a few yards at top speed. TRAINING FOR A MATCH. The word "training" in modern times has come to comprise two separate branches of athletic science. The first is a system of practice on a special feat till the trained man accomplishes it with ease and certainty; the other and more important branch aims to bring the trained man to the highest pitch of health and strength. When he has attained this point he is said to be in "condition." It is plain therefore that a perfect system of training cannot afford to leave out either of these branches. A man may be trained to walk or run in the best possible style and fail in a race on account of poor condition; or again he may be in the finest physical condition and fail on account of defective system of walking or running. The many races of the late champion Daniel O'Leary illustrate both these facts very sensibly. When he went to England to meet Weston and the great pedestrians, he kept himself in good condition, and used the best system of walking known. The consequence was that he was prepared at all points and beat all comers. When he came back to the United States he was pitted successively against Hughes and Campana, men whom he despised as opponents. Hughes was in excellent condition, but did not understand the science of either walking or running; and so tired himself out early in the race, which was easily won by O'Leary on a small record. Next the champion met Campana, a man who began to run too late in life, and who then understood nothing but the jog trot for a day or two. As a walker he was nowhere, his system being so bad that he tired himself out when going at only four miles an hour. Here also O'Leary had an easy victory; but it is worthy of remark that he was more distressed to do four hundred miles in the Campana match, than he had been to accomplish five hundred and twenty in the first Astley belt match. The whole reason was that he had allowed himself to get out of condition, and so found his system feverish when it should have been vigorous; while blisters that should have yielded to care rapidly increased in size and made the greater part of the walk a positive torture to him. It became evident that if he were to be pitted against a man in good condition with a good system, he would go under, and the next race realized the expectation. Coming against Rowell, Harriman and Ennis, all in fair condition, he broke down utterly and left the track for good. Rowell, the winner of the match, is an example of the success which is sure to meet a man who combines perfect system and perfect condition. His opponents, Harriman and Ennis, while not in bad condition, were not models in that way. Harriman was too much of a vegetarian, and Ennis was always cursed with a rebellious stomach. The little Englishman on the other hand was in perfect condition and used a system of progression that exactly suited him. His short legs made a long walking stride impossible; therefore he took to trotting; but by dint of long practice acquired a trot which he could keep up for hours at a time, with no more fatigue than that involved in fast walking, while it covered more ground. Later matches have but emphasized these points. The records of distance made in six-day contests have gradually risen, as man after man has acquired a better system of traveling, while all have kept themselves in better condition; and thus we see men who began like Merritt, Krohme, Hart, Panchot, Fitzgerald and a dozen others, gradually bettering their performances, till the American track has fairly beaten the English in the number of "five hundred mile men" it has turned out. One thing has been demonstrated in all these races beyond a doubt; which is, that no man can safely train _himself_ for a great feat. He may do it during preliminary practice and at small matches where his opponents are not dangerous; but when it comes to a supreme effort, he must put himself into the hands of others, if he hope to make a good record. The men who do the training for matches in large cities are generally retired pugilists or professional athletes of other kinds and there's not much choice between them. The special work of the old pugilistic trainer is to bring his man up to the highest point of health and strength, besides sustaining him during the match. He is generally a careful and experienced nurse, who understands the efficacy of rubbings and baths to take the pain out of tired joints; and will often perform wonders in the way of restoring a jaded man to comparative freshness. His weakness as a special trainer for pedestrians, lies in the fact that he is not an expert in systems of walking, and so cannot give his man much valuable instruction during his training. The weakness of a professional pedestrian, on the other hand, lies in the direction where the pugilist is strongest, that of general physical training. His best point will probably be his ability to criticise and improve the style of his pupil before the match. If such a trainer can make his man go more miles in an hour with less fatigue than he has ever done before, he will be worth a good deal of money; but as a sustainer and imparter of strength he is not always as successful. He is apt to let his man eat things that are not only not beneficial, but often positively injurious; a mistake which the pugilistic trainer never commits. These facts render the selection of trainers a matter requiring a good deal of judgment, and indicates different men for different kinds of races. If the object of ambition is to beat the world in a mile, five-mile or twenty-five mile walk, square heel and toe, a professional pedestrian is the man to employ as a trainer; as style and swiftness are his special points, and the efforts required in short contests are not so severe as to cause an exhausting drain on the physical powers. When the trial is changed to a sprint race, where great speed is required and a severe temporary strain comes on heart and lungs, the pugilist would answer the purpose better, as condition is the great point in such a match, style being secondary. For longer running contests up to twenty miles, where economy of strength is everything, style becomes a valuable adjunct; and here the professional runner is indicated as the proper trainer. For twenty-four-hour walks and runs the professional pedestrian is also the man to employ, as such efforts are not above the capacity of men in fair condition. Even as far as three-day contests, a moderate amount of physical condition will take a man through without breaking down under the strain, and a pugilistic trainer may be unnecessary. When it comes, however, to the supreme efforts required to accomplish five hundred miles in six days, two trainers are almost imperatively required; one a pedestrian, to train for speed and style; the other an old pugilist, who understands every point involved in putting a man into first-class condition and nursing him under the tremendous strain involved in a match. These men must be in constant attendance on their pupil before the match, and will be obliged to lose as much sleep as the competitor during the trial itself, unless they can be relieved by others as good as themselves. We have said this much on the subject of training, although experience shows that trainers are not made by books. We recommend every reader, ambitious to become a crack pedestrian, to put himself into the hands of an old trainer whenever he can, paying his price if he can afford it. If, however, this be impossible, and it be absolutely necessary for the aspirant to train himself, a few safe general rules may be laid down, which can be followed without danger, and the observance of which is sure to give an easy victory over _untrained_ men, such as attend country matches. We will take them in order, beginning with sprint-racing. HOW TO TRAIN FOR A SPRINT RACE. If it be for a seventy-five-yard dash, find some place where you can lay out a straight track, just that length. In the country this is easy, in the city more difficult, the public parks being the only places where it is practicable. Having laid out the track, take a friend to time you, and run the course regularly three or four times a day, one or two trials each time, keeping a record of the average for a week. Do this in your ordinary clothes and shoes. You will probably find your first week's average about eleven seconds, if not more. During this first week there is no special diet to recommend, save to eat as few vegetables, and as little sweet stuff as may be. If the bowels become free, as they are apt to do under the running exercise, no medicine need be taken, but if the system is much clogged, a succession of three doses of epsom salts or citrate of magnesia, taken every other morning, will remove waste matter and restore a healthy tone. The second week begin to run for time, and to improve the wind. Increase the number of dashes to five or six a day, and run the course at least twice each trial. You are pretty sure now to get your record below ten seconds, if you throw off your upper clothes and run in shirt and trowsers. During this week eat lean meat, mutton or beef, with stale bread, and drink as little as possible. Remember that to keep the bowels regular, there is nothing like regular habits; and that the system should be cleared out twice a day. On the third week try the track at top speed, once every hour, and begin to practice in running costume. You will find that your record has now come down below nine seconds. Your appetite will become furious during this week, and you will find it hard to stick to your temperate fare of bread and meat, but this is essential to success, as a sprint runner can hardly be too thin and hard for his work. If the aspirant be at all fat, he should run in heavy clothes to sweat himself down, or else try a Turkish bath, which takes off the fat quicker than anything else. The fourth week should be that of the race, and the previous exercise should be increased by running the track once every half hour in the morning, and returning to the previous week's practice in the afternoon. If any young man out in the country will try this method of training faithfully, beginning four weeks before the match comes off, he will be able to beat all his untrained competitors by one and perhaps two seconds; for sprint running depends on the capacity to take the greatest possible number of steps inside of twenty seconds, and so does not require the elaborate training necessary to accomplish more exhausting feats. Hundred-yard dashes require the same training as seventy-five-yard spurts; and so do hundred-and-twenty-yard races. The longest sprint race, and the most severe of all, is the furlong dash--two hundred and twenty yards. This kind of racing is a tremendous strain on the lungs and heart, as the same pace which carries the runner over the hundred yard track has to be kept up and even increased. It requires a broad deep chest in the runner, with little flesh, and that hard and firm. To train for such a race requires at least a year's practice, and amateurs would do well to leave it alone altogether. TO TRAIN FOR MILE OR TWO-MILE WALKS. Here the first requisite is a track for practice, and the directions for sprinter's training will serve in all respects as to diet and medicine. The period of training however needs to be longer, the mile walker needing more time to perfect his style and speed. The margin of difference between a green sprinter and a trained one is only a few seconds, but the green walker has to overcome a difference of several minutes before he can hope for success in a mile match. His exercise has one great advantage about it, that it aids him to train himself into first class condition. If he will study to acquire the walk of the professional, described in previous chapters, he will be able in six weeks to cut down his mile record from twelve minutes to less than nine, and will have a fair chance in any amateur race. When he can do a mile in eight minutes, he can enter with a fair degree of confidence almost anywhere, and can travel round to country races carrying all before him. TRAINING FOR MILE RUNS. Here the training should be long and severe, and no amateur can hope to do very much in mile runs in the way of time. It is true that there are some young men, calling themselves amateurs, that have made fine records at mile runs, but they were in reality professionals; that is, they made a business of running, even if they did not take money prizes. Begin with sprint racing if you hope to become eminent as a mile runner, and keep on extending the length of your trials gradually. It takes a good year's hard work to make a respectable mile-runner. TRAINING FOR LONG RUNS. Here it is difficult, if not impossible, to give any fixed rules beyond those indicated at the earlier part of this chapter. The best way is to get a good trainer, put yourself in his hands and follow his instructions faithfully. LAYING OUT A TRACK. Nothing is so common a cause of spoiling a walking or running record as "a short track." This is peculiarly the case in the country, where pedestrian contests are apt to be conducted in a rough manner, unaccompanied by the guards found to be essential in the first-class matches held in large cities. Too much care cannot be exercised in measuring a track; and it is always best to secure the services of the official engineer of the county or town as a measurer to make sure of the proper length. The reason for securing an engineer rather than trusting to your own measurement is that engineers can always be depended on to use _standard measures, made of metal, which do not stretch_. Common measuring tapes, being made of woven materials or leather, are liable to many errors from stretching or shrinking; and though these may not amount to more than a few inches in a fifty-foot tape, they make a serious hole in a record of five hundred miles. Sometimes these mistakes will occur in the best regulated contests, as became evident after the Astley belt match of 1879 in Gilmore's Garden. There was a great deal of litigation and dispute between the representatives of the Astley and O'Leary parties before this match came off; and the O'Leary people, who took possession of the Garden the week after the match, in their eagerness to find some fault with their predecessors, had the track remeasured. The result showed that the track used in the Astley belt match lacked several feet of being a full furlong, and the difference spoiled all the records, taking six or eight miles off Rowell's excellent performance. The commonest cause of country records being bad is that country pedestrians too frequently use horse-racing tracks, which are measured in a peculiar manner. In a horse-race, especially in a trotting contest with wheels, the mile or half-mile line runs in the middle, or near the middle of the track, to equalize the chances of horses starting abreast. The advantage of "hugging the pole"--keeping to the inside of this line--on a circular or elliptic track, are too obvious to be enlarged upon, but the ardor of the horses seldom permits one to hold this advantage long, and the animals are continually crossing the line of distance, thereby making a serpentine course which equalizes the chances of all. In pedestrian contests, on the other hand, each man hugs the rail as close as he can, and therefore the track must always be measured _close to the inside rail_. In a hall or theater, where most walking tracks have been laid, the length must be suited to the capacity of the building; but when an open air track is available, there is no question as to the necessity of making it some simple multiple of a mile. A quarter-mile open air track would be the beau-ideal of a place for summer pedestrian contests, but if a half-mile or mile track is to be used, where one already exists for trotting contests, it will be necessary to lay out a second railing at the proper distance from the horse-rail, to enable the record to be made in the only way it can count. Open air tracks, however, are not fit for six-day matches, on account of the liability to rain, and dew, which would spoil the track for walkers by making it muddy. Moreover, such tracks are seldom found near enough to cities to admit of the crowds that are necessary to make a foot-race pay. Horse racing is the pastime of rich people, who can afford to enjoy their amusement without regard to cost; but pedestrian matches are dependent on large crowds of spectators who must be tempted to drop in at any and all times. Therefore it is that pedestrian matches are almost always, and six-day contests invariably, held in large buildings, under cover; and the average length of track is either 110 or 220 yards, so as to make either eight or sixteen "laps" to the mile. The word "lap" has now become so familiar that few people reflect that it is merely the revival of an obsolete word meaning "to turn," and that so many "laps" mean so many "turns." If the building is large enough to hold an eight-lap track, it is to be preferred; but failing that, one must be satisfied with a ten, twelve, or sixteen lap track. For the convenience of our readers, we furnish a table of lengths of tracks, making so many laps to the mile: A track 660 feet long gives 8 laps to the mile. " " 586 2-3 " " " 9 " " " " " 528 " " " 10 " " " " " 480 " " " 11 " " " " " 440 " " " 12 " " " " " 406 2-13 " " " 13 " " " " " 377 1-7 " " " 14 " " " " " 352 " " " 15 " " " " " 330 " " " 16 " " " This table shows the kind of tracks to avoid as difficult to measure. They are the thirteen and fourteen-lap tracks, which contain fractions that involve a division of inches and are so far improper. All the others are easily measured. Next to the length comes the question of the best shape of track and the size of the building which controls it. The greatest possible length to be secured in any given building would obviously be in a line which should run against the outer wall all round, leaving the seats for the spectators in the center. This plan is open, however, to two objections. First, the spectators could only see the men when they were on their own side of the track; and, second, the pedestrians would have to turn four sharp corners in every lap round an ordinary building. These things must be avoided somehow. The pedestrians must at all times be visible from every point of the house and the corners of their track must be rounded for them to make the going easy. The next form of track which would suggest itself is a circular one, in the middle of the building, but this has its own objection. A circular track is sure to produce dizziness, especially if it be a small one. The experience of the past few years has therefore dictated the use of the largest buildings only, with tracks where straight lines and curves are blended into a sort of ellipse; and the proportion of each adopted in Agricultural Hall, London, and Gilmore's Garden, New York, has proved itself capable of giving the best results in time to the men and comfort to the spectators. These now famous tracks have a center formed by a parallelogram, with the upper and lower ends rounded into semi-circles. This center is longer than it is broad, and leaves about two-thirds of the track--the sides--in nearly straight lines, the circular parts at the ends being each one one-sixth of the whole distance. If only two men are competing, as in the O'Leary matches with Hughes and Campana, the path is broad enough to lay out two tracks, on which the men can walk without interfering with each other's movements. This is the fairest plan; but if there are more than two competitors they use a single eight-lap track, where the man who wishes to pass his opponent has to do so on the outside, before he can take the rail in front of him. The center around which the track runs is a good place for spectators who wish to see the men closely; and is always occupied by a crowd of people, moving from side to side, and cheering vehemently at the more exciting portions of the race. To reach this center visitors have to cross the track; but this, though objectionable, has not yet been found to have any very bad effects. All round the other side of the broad pathway are the rows of benches and private boxes where are seated the great mass of the spectators who do not care to stand. The only objection to Gilmore's, now Madison Square Garden, as a place for pedestrian contests, is the fact that the building is cheaply constructed, with a large number of wooden pillars which interrupt the view of portions of the track; but this defect is not serious in a race, where the point of view is constantly shifting. We give on the frontispiece a diagram of the general arrangement of a building on the same principle as Madison Square Garden. The model hall is of the largest size used, but gives a longer track. The inside path, shortest of all, measures eight laps to the mile, while a track laid out on the dotted line will give only seven laps to the mile. This line is fifteen feet and a quarter of an inch from the inner rail. The eight-lap track is five feet wide, to give ample room for each competitor to pass the other on the outside if he can. Each track has two straight stretches of 220 feet each, and a semi-circular turn at each end. The diameter of the eight-lap semi-circles is seventy feet three inches, and that of the seven-lap tracks is one-hundred feet and half an inch. In each case the actual measurement of the track will be a trifle over, rather than under the calculated distance, which must be tested by the measuring tape when the rail is set up. If it prove long, the rail is bent in, if short pushed out, till the tape just fits. Those who cannot secure an engineer or official surveyor to measure their tracks are advised to use brass chains or steel tapes, especially the last, which are very handy. A hall of the size given will hold thirteen thousand spectators when the whole of the ring is crowded with standers, as it was at the close of every Astley Belt match in New York, while there are good seats for seven thousand people outside the track, in a building 400 by 200 feet. The main path on which the different lap tracks are constructed, is twenty-five feet wide, to accommodate races where the starters are numerous, such as sprints of seventy-five yards or upward. This size of building and track will be found the best for large cities, on account of the advantages it gives for the meetings of athletic clubs, who always have two or more sprint races and handicap mile or two-mile walks. Hundred-yard dashes on such a track are made down one side, with the least possible turn; and by laying the finishing line on a slant across the curve at the end, the outside men can be favored enough to make all run just the same distance. There is no trouble about starting five or six men at a time on such a track. The following estimates will show how, by following the same general outline and proportions, smaller buildings can accommodate the greatest number of spectators and the greatest length of track. A building 100 feet by 50 will hold a railed inclosure 72 feet 6 inches long by 17 feet 6 inches across, giving a track 155 feet 3 inches long, 34 laps to the mile, and 8 feet wide, with accommodation for 800 spectators inside and outside the ring, 400 having seats. A building 200 by 100 feet will hold a 16-lap track and nearly 3500 people, seating 1600. A building 150 by 75 feet will hold a 24-lap track, and 2000 spectators, 1000 on seats. With these general data and the diagram, a calculation of the capacity of any given building is easy. The main point is to have as long a track as can be squeezed in, consistently with securing a good view for the largest number of spectators. Having treated of the best shape for a pedestrian track, the next question comes as to the materials of which it should be made. Bearing in mind that the broad twenty-five foot track is to be a permanency for the use of athletic clubs and sprint races, it will have to undergo a great deal of wear and tear, and requires a firm smooth surface. Simple dirt will get trodden into ridges or become loose and heavy, while a stone pavement is too hard. An asphalt pavement, laid on the bare earth, gives a mixture of elasticity and firmness that suits sprint races very well, and has the further advantage of being easily repaired. For the main track, a thick covering of asphalt can hardly be bettered. For six-day walks, however, the main track is altogether too hard. The long continuance of such walks makes the feet of the pedestrians very tender, and they require something softer. Tanbark and sawdust are the agents used to build a special walking track, and the latter is far the most common. The best kind of track that has been laid in the United States, and one that has served as a model for all others since, was that used in the Astley Belt match, won by Rowell in 1879 from O'Leary, Harriman and Ennis. This track was bordered on both sides with planks, and filled with some three inches of dry sawdust, smoothed with rollers. After O'Leary's retirement, the track was sprinkled with water and rolled all the time, the roller having to keep out of the way of the pedestrians. This path, thus rolled and wetted into firmness, was the perfection of a walking track. The dry sawdust was too soft and slippery, but the wet rolled path was perfection. It made no dust, was always springy and elastic, soft and cool to the foot, and conducive to good time. Such a path can hardly be bettered by any means with which the sporting world is now acquainted, and it is so easily made anywhere that we can heartily recommend it. Open air tracks for summer sprint-racing can hardly follow a better model than a common trotting track, but if a turf surface, level and free from stones, holes or roots, can be secured, it is still better except in a long drought, when the turf becomes very slippery. CONDUCTING A MATCH. The management of a pedestrian match of whatever kind is by no means an easy matter, and one that increases in difficulty with the magnitude of the prizes involved. Large prizes are sure to attract numerous competitors, and large crowds of spectators generally follow the athletes. Every year sees a number of athletic games held in our large cities, such as New York, Boston, Chicago, Philadelphia, Cincinnati or St. Louis, but it is safe to say that not ten per cent. of these are even fairly carried out, while most are sad scenes of confusion. In New York city the only club that gives thoroughly satisfactory exhibitions is the New York Athletic, and the only well-conducted six-day matches involving more than two competitors have been the Astley and O'Leary Belt matches. This statement involves a short account of the difficulties incident to a large pedestrian match or athletic meeting. The troubles arise from two causes, numerous competitors and numerous spectators. These require a numerous staff to attend to their wants and prevent disorder and waste of money. Let us first take the spectators. To bring them in is the ambition of every man or club that gives a match. To do so requires that the entertainment shall be well and plainly advertised; and it is not every one who can draw up an advertisement properly. The daily papers must be visited by the managers to secure notices in the news columns; and the walls of conspicuous buildings must be lined with show-bills, setting forth the _place_ and _date_ of the show, with the _price of admission_. Every bill _should_ contain this information, but a great many amateur club bills do not contain it. Having attracted the people, the next thing is to admit them in such a way that no one shall get in without paying or on a complimentary ticket, and that the tickets shall act as a check on the money-takers' accounts. We have seen amateur shows where the man at the door took money and tickets indifferently, so that the managers were entirely at the mercy of his honesty. It is therefore absolutely necessary that two persons should be at the door, one to take the tickets, the other to sell them, and no person should be admitted except by a ticket of some sort. The tickets should, as fast as received, be dropped into a box with a slit at the top, the box to be locked and the manager to have the key. The tickets sold at the office should be of different color from the complimentaries, of which the manager should be sole custodian. At the "counting of the house" the ticket-box is unlocked, the tickets carefully counted, and the result shows how much money ought to be in the box-office. In a six-day match, where the receipts are very large and constantly accumulating, it is usual to have two sets of ticket-takers and box-office men, and to count the house morning and evening. In large matches, too, the managers are sometimes obliged to change the shape, color and appearance of their tickets from day to day, to avoid the introduction of forgeries, while detectives are necessary to watch the ticket-takers for fear they may be in collusion with the box-office man. Within the house, if there are any reserved seats, it is necessary to have ushers to direct the holders of coupons to their proper places, but reserved seats are not much in favor at walking matches. In large matches where there is a great mixed crowd, the attendance of the police is frequently advisable to prevent attacks on competitors by the backers of men opposed to them. Had it not been for the police, Rowell and Hazael would have both probably been severely hurt, if not disabled for life at the last Astley Belt match. With regard to the competitors, the duty of the management is confined to giving them a good track, air as pure as possible, with responsible scorers and timers. Their quarters and diet are matters for their own attention, and depend on the finances of each. It has become customary to set up tents for all competitors in a six-day match round the inside rail and opening on the track. These tents are in fact preferable to huts of board, unless the weather is very cold indeed, but they should be provided with camp stoves in case it becomes necessary to give the competitor a warm bath, as frequently happens. The duties of the management as regards a good track for a six-day match have already been explained. It is also their duty to see that a sufficient force of scorers and timers is on hand. Where the competitors are few this is not difficult, but where there are fifty or more it demands great care to prevent confusion. In a six-day match it is usual to have twelve relays of scorers, volunteers from the various athletic clubs who take every alternate twelve hours from Monday to Saturday inclusive. The system of scoring adopted and used at the late great walk in Madison Square Garden was a great advance on all previous efforts and could hardly be excelled for simplicity and accuracy. There were sixty competitors, and each had to be recognized and scored eight times for every mile, or four thousand times in five hundred miles, in such a manner that there could be no mistake as to his identity. To effect this result the following were the arrangements: Each competitor carried the number of his entry in figures a foot long on his left breast, and they were started in sets of four or six, to each of which was given a special timer and scorer. It was the timer's business to watch for his numbers and no one else's, and to call them out every time they came by the stand. Behind him sat the scorer with his book, and it was his business to make a mark against each number as called by the timer, columns being ruled for that purpose in the book. Thus each man attended to his business, without any temptation to increase or diminish his scores. Besides attending to the scoring of the competitors, the management owes a duty to the spectators of announcing the results of that scoring through the varying fortunes of the race. This is generally done by means of a large blackboard, whereon the names and scores of the leaders are chalked up, so that every one can see them; but where the competitors are numerous this will not serve for all, and another method is taken at the scoring stand where each man has his name on a placard two feet long, underneath which are placed two more placards one bearing the word "miles," the other the word "laps." Before each of these is a vacancy where a number can be hung, and each name has a man to attend to it, whose duty is to move the "mile" and "lap" numbers as they change. In the last match dials with pointers were substituted for the cards, with the advantage of increased simplicity. So much for six-day professional matches, which are the best managed as a rule. Something remains to be said about amateur walks and runs, because they are subject to much mismanagement. The New York Athletic Club is in fact almost the only organization in the metropolis that gives thoroughly enjoyable entertainments, because they are properly managed. The reason of the trouble at most amateur matches is that the competitors are not kept in proper discipline, but are allowed to run over the management, violate rules, interfere, argue, protest and grumble, till the managers lose their heads in the confusion. The first thing for the managers of an athletic meeting to do is to make a set of rules that will cover all conceivable cases, and then to stick to them, and no better example of such rules can be given than those of the New York Athletic Club, which will be found in a later chapter. The troubles generally arise in questions of time and precedence among a large number of walkers, for it is in square walking contests that the dispute generally occurs. There may be fifty or more men at the scratch and all or most have walked fairly enough till near the finish, when they have tried on their most knowing tricks to cover up a run and get in first. It is here that the experience and temper of the judges are most severely tried. They may have to rule out as many as three or four men and give the first prize to a man who crosses the score third or fourth, and this is a difficult thing to do without appearing unjust. The competitors in such matches must always wear numbers to save confusion, and the scorers and timers have less work than in a six-day race. "Timing" a man _correctly_ requires two men; one to hold the watch with his thumb ready on the stop looking at nothing else; the other to watch the man and call out "stop" as he crosses the line. No man can do timing single-handed. He is sure to make mistakes from disturbance of mind on account of divided attention. For the convenience of those without practical experience in conducting athletic meetings we print an additional chapter containing the most approved rules, to which we refer the reader. RECORDS OF PEDESTRIANISM. The first reliable record that we have of modern pedestrianism bears the name of Captain Robert Barclay. Of course there had been walkers before his time; but he was the first to bring walking, as a means of locomotion, into general notice. The first public match of this remarkable man took place in 1806, when he is said to have walked from Ury to Craithynaird, Scotland, and return, a distance of 100 miles, in 19 hours. Three years later, we find his most notable record. During the interval he had taken the name of Allardice in addition to his own, and is described on the records, as Captain Robert Barclay Allardice, who made a match of two thousand guineas at Newmarket, England, that he could walk 1,000 miles in 1,000 consecutive hours, and did it, too. This was the first of these endurance matches publicly attempted, and was walked in the open air on the high road, where two inns were found, just a mile apart, near the town of Newcastle. Captain Barclay favored himself in this match by walking a mile at the end of one hour and going on with the next mile at the beginning of the succeeding hour, thus giving himself an hour and a half clear sleep or rest between each two miles. He won his bet, beginning June 1st, and ending July 12th, 1809. This feat remained unexcelled till 1877, when William Gale beat it all to pieces. Starting on August 26th of that year, and ending October 6th, he succeeded in walking 1,500 miles in 1,000 hours, a mile and a half each hour, commencing on the stroke of the hour. This feat was done at Lillie Bridge, England, and was followed in November of the same year by 4,000 quarter miles done in 4,000 consecutive periods of ten minutes each. This Gale was the same person who trained Madam Anderson to bring the quarter-mile match to the United States; and that lady made a great monetary success out of it, though her feats were not remarkable, save as being executed by a woman. The first flutter of interest in pedestrianism excited in the United States, was when E. P. Weston started, Oct. 29, 1867 to walk from Portland, Maine, to Chicago, Illinois, which he reached November 28th, (Thanksgiving Day) having successfully accomplished the task he set himself. Up to that time, while there had been some races, where good runners had contested, walking was at a discount in the United States; but from the date of Weston's feat, pedestrianism became a fashionable amusement, and rich club-men were found who would walk matches on foot, instead of lolling in carriages, or trotting their horses. The professionals during that time had been chiefly confined to England, where the best records had been made. The best 100-yard sprinter of his day was George Seward, of Hammersmith, England, who made the amazing time of 9 1-4 seconds, Sept. 30, 1844, and did 120 yards in 11 1-4 seconds, May 3, 1847. These records have not yet been beaten. The other early records that are still unexcelled are those of W. G. Scarlet, Newcastle, England, Sept. 7, 1841, who ran 140 yards in 14 seconds; Charles Westhall, Manchester, England, Feb. 4, 1851, who did 150 yards in 15 seconds, and Seward's unapproachable record of 200 yards in 19 1-2 seconds, made March 22, 1847. Seward was one of the very few men who could keep up the rate of ten yards a second for a distance over a hundred yards. Since his day, records of all other distances have improved greatly. The best 125-yard record is American; that of J. W. Cozad, made Nov. 23, 1868, at Long Island Fashion Course, in 12 1-2 seconds. The year before, William Johnson, at Fenham Park, England, did 130 yards in 1-4 second less time. The best 180-yard record is 18 1-5 seconds, made April 27, 1878, by L. Junker, at London. Junker was an amateur, and his performance is below that of Seward before referred to, not quite reaching 10 yards a second, while Seward beat that average. The best furlong records are made by amateurs in the same year; W. Phillips doing the distance in 22 2-5 seconds, in London, England, Sept. 28, 1878; and L. E. Myers at Mott Haven, N. Y., making it in 22 3-4 seconds, Sept. 20, 1879. Beyond a furlong, no man has yet succeeded in keeping up the rate of ten yards a second, the nearest approach being that of R. Buttery, Newcastle, England, Oct. 4, 1873. This runner did a quarter of a mile--440 yards--in 48 1-4 seconds, beating the best English record by two seconds and the best American by four seconds. The best half-mile record was made in New Zealand by Frank Hewitt, of Lyttleton, in September, 1871, in 113 1-2 seconds, beating the best English records by four and the best American by ten seconds. The best mile record was made in a dead heat between Richards and Lang, at Manchester, England, August 19, 1865, in 4 minutes 17 1-4 seconds; seven seconds better than had ever been done before. Lang had previously made two miles in 9m. 11 1-2s., in Manchester, England, August 1, 1863. The best records from three to seven miles inclusive were all made by John White, at London, May 11, 1863. They were as follows: 3 miles in 14m. 36s.; 4 miles in 19m. 36s.; 5 miles in 24m. 40s.; 6 miles in 29m. 50s.; and 7 miles in 34m. 45s. The best records for eight and nine miles were made June 1, 1852, by James Howitt, of London. He ran 8 miles in 40m. 20s., and 9 in 45m. 21s. This same Howitt, next year, March 20, 1852, ran 13 miles in 70m. 31s.; 14 miles in 76m. 12s.; 15 miles in 82m.; and 16 miles in 88m. 6s. The best times for 10, 11 and 12 miles are 51m. 26s.; 56m. 52s.; and 62m. 2s.; all made by L. Bennett (_alias_ Deerfoot) at London, April 3, 1863. From 17 to 19 miles George Hazael is the champion, having done 17 miles in 1h. 38m. 53s.; 18 miles in 1h. 45m. and 19 miles in 1h. 51m. 14s. Hazael also made the best 20-mile record up to 1879, when his time was beaten by P. Byrnes at Halifax, Nova Scotia, Oct. 4. Byrnes ran 20 miles in 1h. 54m.--three minutes less than Hazael's best time. Beyond twenty miles the running records are scanty and not remarkable. The best records of walking are credited to William Perkins, the present English champion, as far as 22 miles. This Perkins is as remarkable in his specialty as was Seward in his sprinting, easily passing all competitors. He made his first great effort in London, June 1, 1874, when he left the best on record up to eight miles. He did his first mile in 6m. 23s.; the second in 13m. 30s.; the third in 20m. 47s.; the fourth in 28m. 59s.; the fifth in 36m. 32s.; the sixth in 44m. 24s.; the seventh in 51m. 51s.; the eighth in 59m. 5s.; thus making over eight miles an hour. Three years later he beat his own record July 16, 1877, and placed his name at the top of the list all the way up to 22 miles. The records were as follows: Ninth mile, 1h. 8m. 7 2-5s.; tenth mile, 1h. 15m. 57s.; eleventh mile, 1h. 23m. 49s.; twelfth mile, 1h. 31m. 42 2-5s.; thirteenth mile, 1h. 39m. 42 1-2s.; fourteenth mile, 1h. 47m. 53s.; fifteenth mile, 1h. 56m. 13s.; sixteenth mile, 2h. 4m. 35 1-5s.; seventeenth mile, 2h. 13m. 11 2-5s.; eighteenth mile, 2h. 21m. 55s.; nineteenth mile, 2h. 30m. 45s.; twentieth mile, 2h. 39m. 57s.; twenty-first mile, 2h. 49m. 18s.; twenty-second mile, 2h. 58m. 52s. The best records from thence to twenty-five miles Perkins did not beat. He had done the greatest distance on record in three hours and the miles above twenty-two remained credited to John Smith of London, sixteen years before. This pedestrian Nov. 10, 1851, finished his twenty-third mile in 3h. 20m. 39s.; his twenty-fourth in 3h. 30m. 58s.; and his twenty-fifth in 3h. 42m. 16s. The difference between him and Perkins is shown in the difference of time between the 22 and 23 miles, which is 21m. 47s., whereas the average of each of Perkins's miles was 8m. 6 3-5s. From twenty-five up to fifty miles the best walking time on record is credited to William Howes, who on March 30, 1868, made 26 miles in 3h. 54m. 18s., 23 minutes ahead of all others before or since. He made a record of 50 miles in 7h. 57m. 44 seconds. We omit the intermediate times as unimportant; but the average of each mile was 8m. 26s. From thence to 77 miles Daniel O'Leary takes the palm, his 76th mile having been accomplished in 13h. 37m. 26s. at Chicago, Illinois, Nov. 10, 1877. Beyond that distance, Howes again takes the lead, with the best records up to 129 miles, made Feb. 22 and 23, 1878, at London. O'Leary made the best American records up to 100 miles in his Chicago walk. Howes's record for 77 miles is 13 hours, 56 minutes and 5 seconds; while his 129th mile was walked in 24 hours 20 minutes and 30 seconds. From thence to 173 miles Henry Vaughan takes the lead at square walking, having accomplished that distance in 38 hours, 28 minutes and 13 seconds. Beyond this point Daniel O'Leary comes again to the front, in his matches with Weston at Agricultural Hall, London, and with Crossland at Manchester, both in 1877. His time for 174 miles was 39 hours, 5 minutes, 48 seconds, and from thence to 241 miles he made the best walking time on record, the last distance being accomplished in 58 hours, 48 minutes, 37 seconds. Peter Crossland then passed him and led for 46 miles, making 287 miles in 69 hours, 22 minutes, 22 seconds. From this point upward Daniel O'Leary still remains the king of the square walkers, having accomplished 519 miles in 141 hours, 6 minutes and 10 seconds. The longest distance ever walked without a rest is 120 miles, done by Crossland Sept. 11, 12, 1876. Our own Harriman did 160 miles with only 17 minutes rest in New York, May 10, 1878. Howes leads the record for one-day walks with 127 miles, and O'Leary tops all the rest up to six days. Perkins leads the records for one, two and three hours. Since these records, the "go-as-you-please" race has been introduced, where walking and running are used _ad libitum_, and the distances gone in given times has steadily risen. George Hazael leads the record with 133 miles in 24 hours, not likely ever to be beaten, and Frank Hart has passed them all, by running 565 miles in six days. The general excellence of records in these matches steadily improves, and where there were only two men in the first match who made 500 miles or over--Vaughan and O'Leary--we have lately seen no less than eight men beat 500 miles out of a field of sixty starters, and nine men beat 450 miles in the same time. The total distance made by O'Leary when he won the first match of this sort was 520 miles and a fraction, most of it walked, but since then the runners have passed him beginning with Corkey, who made a fraction of a mile more in less time. Then Blower Brown did 542 miles, and people called him a marvel, till a few weeks later Weston ran 550 miles in the same time. Since that, the limit has been passed by Brown, in the last English match, where he made 553 miles, and by Hart as above. Rowell, the luckiest of lucky pedestrians, who has made an independent fortune out of his two muscular legs, has not had to make any very remarkable records to win the $40,000 that he carried away from Madison Square Garden. He won his first race by 500 miles and his second by a nominal 530, which proved to be only 523 on account of a short track. An overrated man; his successes have arisen from the fact that he has always taken better men than himself at a disadvantage in point of condition, and so has won an easy victory. Before he can be rated as the foremost pedestrian, he will have to beat Hart's best record. This brief sketch of the records of pedestrianism is given to furnish our readers with a standard of comparison by which to estimate the value of their own performances, and a short abstract of the shorter distances will be found convenient for use. ABSTRACT. Ten yards per second has been done by sprinters up to 220 yards. A mile has been run in 4m. 17s. Ten miles has been run in 51m. 20s. Twenty miles in 1h. 57m. 27s. A mile has been walked in 6m. 23s., but only once, by the same man who walked 8 1-11 miles in one hour, 15 1-2 miles in two hours, 22 1-4 miles in three hours. These records should be kept in the memory as convenient, so that the amateur may gauge his own powers correctly by the best professional work. JUMPING AND POLE-LEAPING. The sport of Jumping is one of those most beneficial to the health and muscles of any commonly practiced. It is divided into three branches: 1, Standing Jumps; 2, Running Jumps; 3, Pole-Leaping. Standing jumps are either high or broad, the latter being the most common. The secret of making a _high_ standing jump consists in standing _sidewise_ to the bar or tape, and throwing the body over as if vaulting with one hand, arching the back inward as much as possible. The best standing high jumper on record is E. W. Johnson, a Toronto man, now keeper of the Baltimore Athletic Club Gymnasium. He jumped a bar 5 feet 3 inches high, at the Caledonian Games, at Baltimore, May 27, 1878. This beats the best English records 5 inches. In jumping, Johnson leaves the ground with the right foot first, as in the cut on next page, which shows the direction in which his feet go over the bar. The cut also shows the common leaping-bar and standards furnished with holes three inches apart, in which pegs are stuck to support the bar on the side opposite the jumper. If he strikes it by accident it falls without hurting him, being merely a light strip of pine scantling. The standing broad jump is made straight forward into a piece of soft earth which has been dug up for the purpose. It is made with or without weights in the hands, and depends on the strength of the thigh and calf of the jumper, and on long practice. [Illustration: STANDING HIGH JUMP.] The best standing jump on record was made by James Emerick, Oil City, Pa., Sept. 19, 1878. It was 13 feet 10 inches, with weights; besides which, 13 feet 7 inches have been done by an English professional, and 12 feet 2 1-2 inches by a California amateur. There is but little to say about the standing broad jump except that practice makes perfect. Running jumps are also high and broad. The high jump is made over the bar figured in last chapter, but in a different manner. We have seen Johnson try to go over it sidewise, as in his standing jump, but not with enough success to justify his method. The running high jump then must be made square to the bar, beginning with a slow run, quickened in the last twenty steps, till both feet spurn the ground with their utmost force and the leaper goes over the bar. Here, also, there is very little to be said as to proper or improper methods of leaping. Instinct teaches the right way for a high leap better than anything else, and nothing but constant practice will strengthen the muscles to enable the leaper to make a good record. The best high jump on record was made by an English amateur, M. J. Brooks, an Oxford student, April 7, 1876. He topped a bar 6 feet 2 1-2 inches, passing the best English professionals by 3 inches and Johnson by 4 inches. The best American amateur jump was made by a Columbia student, Conover, in 1878, and is only 5 feet 6 3-4 inches--not much compared with the English record. The running broad jump is made with or without a spring board, the only official records being those made without the board, and off level ground. The best on record is English, or rather Irish, amateur, John Lane, of the Dublin University Athletic Club, having made 23 feet 1 1-2 inches, June 10, 1874. The best American records are nearly two feet behind this performance. Pole-leaping is either high or broad, and in either case is a very valuable accomplishment to acquire. With a pole, a practiced athlete can make light of a six-foot wall, for its hight is well within his powers. The art takes some time to acquire, and is one that exercises every muscle of the body. It calls first for a pole from six to nine feet in length, made preferably of ash, as that is both light and tough. To begin learning on this, the pupil rests one end on the ground, and grasps the pole with both hands above his head. Then, jumping up, he raises his body with bent arms, and swings as far as he can. With a week's practice almost any young man can learn to take a jump of eight or ten feet in breadth from a standing position. To cross a broad ditch a short run is taken and the pole is held differently. The right hand grasps it above the head, _thumb uppermost_, while the left hand holds it, _thumb down_, as high as the waist. The pole is grasped higher up in proportion to the distance to be cleared, beginning with small ones and slowly increasing the length of pole, till it can be taken by the very end. This becomes still more necessary in the high pole leap, where eleven feet and an inch have been cleared in England. To take such a leap requires at least a thirteen-foot pole. In pole-leaping the weight of the body on the pole is sustained by the arms, and the whole office of the legs is to enable the body to go high enough to carry the pole to a perpendicular. The hight leaped is only limited by the possible length of pole carried. Pole-leaping is coming into fashion but slowly in America; the best records being nearly a foot behind those of England, where there is more practice of the kind. For a sportsman in the country, pole-leaping is a very valuable accomplishment, as it would save him many a ducking in ditches and climb over fences. In the chapter on athletic meetings will be found all the rules that govern leaping contests for prizes, to which we refer the reader. BICYCLING. The sport of Bicycling is one that has come into rapid favor in this country since the advent of the English riders, who have accomplished a thousand miles a week; and the only drawback to its universal adoption is the first cost of the machines. When that is reduced, as it will be, to about fifty dollars, payable in installments like sewing machines, the bicycle will become a favorite with the whole American population as it is in England with the majority of middle class young men. Even now the fever is spreading rapidly thanks chiefly to the efforts of Mr. Wentworth Rollins, the present king of bicyclists in America. He sells machines to people he can trust on installments and has a large stock of goods on hand which he sells below the usual prices to beginners. The pioneers of bicycling in the United States were the Pope Manufacturing Company, who started factories and schools in the cities of Boston and San Francisco, where the fever started almost at the same time, but since that period bicycling has spread to most of the large cities, and has training schools in all. There is but little information that can be given to an intending bicycler except to recommend him _not to buy a machine till he has been at the school long enough to know the good and bad points of every bicycle in the market_. The prices of bicycles range from $80 to $100, according to size of wheel; the smallest being 42 inches in diameter, the largest 60 inches. The best way to get enjoyment out of the sport is to form a club of congenial spirits who will ride together. A single bicyclist is apt to attract too much attention in country places, and would often be insulted, where two or three together would meet with a hearty welcome. Moreover, company is elevating to the spirits. For the use of bicycle clubs we subjoin the model rules of the San Francisco club, which can hardly be excelled for completeness and care. They are printed on strips of cardboard, and carried by each member of a club for reference, till he is perfectly familiar with them. BICYCLING RULES. SECTION 1.--The time named for a club excursion is the exact time of _the start_, which will in all cases be punctually observed. Members are therefore urgently requested to be at the spot named at least _ten minutes before_, that they may arrange themselves in order for the start and receive the instructions of the leader as regards signals, and any other directions that may be necessary. SEC. 2.--At the sound of "Fall in," the members will arrange themselves side by side upon the right of the road, with bicycle facing inward, leaving a space of at least eight feet between each man. At the sound of "Mount," the machines will be turned in the direction of the proposed run, and the company will mount, beginning at the front, each man before he starts, being careful to see that the rider immediately in front of him has safely reached the saddle, and proceeded at least two revolutions. SEC. 3.--As a general rule the company should ride two abreast; but in towns and villages; in meeting and passing vehicles (unless the road is broad); in riding up and down hills, and where the road is bad and requires picking, single file should be taken, _the right-hand man_ always _quickening_, and the left-hand man dropping in behind him. SEC. 4.--When in single-file, an interval of at least _four_ bicycle lengths should be kept between each rider, and in double-file, eight lengths between each pair. In approaching a hill, whether up or down, the leading files should quicken and the rear files slacken, so as to allow of the company extending out to double distance, and on reaching the level they should slacken and quicken respectively, until the original interval is attained. SEC. 5.--Dismounting should always be commenced from the rear, each man passing the word forward as he reaches the ground. SEC. 6.--It is undesirable for a company to ride down a long hill with a curve obstructing a view of the bottom. It is better for the leader to advance alone until he sees that all is clear, and then whistle the others on. SEC. 7.--The ordinary rules of the road as regards the passing of vehicles, etc., should be rigidly adhered to, as follows: A--In meeting a vehicle, always pass to the right. B--In overtaking a vehicle, always pass to the left. C--The ground in front of a horse should not be taken until the bicyclist is at least ten yards ahead of him. D--A horse should _never_ be passed _on both sides_ at once. E--A _led_ horse should always be passed on the same side as the man who is leading it. F--Before overtaking a rider, it is well to give some sort of a warning. When alone, a short cough will generally suffice. In company-riding, a word to your companion will attract the necessary attention. The mere sound of a human voice is often all that is wanted to prevent a horse from starting at the sudden passage of the noiseless machine. G--If a horse on meeting a bicycle, shows signs of restiveness, the leader should order a dismount at his discretion (even if he himself has passed the horse), and should invariably do so on any signal or request from the driver or horseman. H--In company-riding, the leader, on passing any one (whether driving, riding or walking,) should announce that _others_ are following close after, and the rear man should in the same way signify that all have passed. I--Inattention to these and other rules and courtesies of the road will cause annoyance to the public, and create prejudice against bicycling. SIGNALS. SEC. 8.--The following signals will be used when on a run in company, to preserve order and insure against accident: _Fall in_--One long whistle. _Mount_--One short whistle. _Dismount and Halt_--Two short whistles. _Dismount and Walk_--Two long whistles. _Form Twos_--Two short whistles three times. _Form Single File_--Three short well separated whistles. _Extend Line_--One short and one long whistle three times. _Close Up Line_--One long and one short whistle three times. _Quicken Speed_--Three short whistles three times. _Slacken Speed_--One long whistle. _Ride at Ease_--Two short and one long whistle three times. _Danger_--Look out when signaled from front to rear--six or more short whistles; accident when signaled from rear to front--six or more short whistles. RULES FOR ATHLETIC MEETINGS. To make this work as complete as possible, we have resolved to insert the best models of rules for athletic meetings of all kinds, founded on those of the N. Y. Athletic Club. This association is the largest in the country and has always been successful in its meetings, which have passed off without a single fiasco on record. Its rules can therefore hardly be unworthy of imitation and have in fact been the model for those of all successful athletic clubs. These rules we therefore print below. They cover, as will be seen, all sorts of athletic sports which do not need other description. American Athletic Rules. MEETINGS. _Officers._--The officers of an athletic meeting shall be: One clerk of the course, with assistants, if necessary; one starter; one judge of walking, with assistants, if necessary; one scorer, with assistants, if necessary; three timekeepers; three judges at the finish; three measurers; one referee. _Clerk of the Course._--He shall record the name of each competitor who shall report to him; shall give him his number for each game in which he is entered, and notify him, five minutes before the start, of every event in which he is engaged. The assistants shall do such portions of his work as he may assign to them. _Starter._--He shall have entire control of competitors at their marks; shall strictly enforce Law 3, and shall be the sole judge of fact as to whether or no any man has gone over his mark. His decision in such cases shall be final and without appeal. _Judge of Walking._--He shall have entire control of competitors during the race; shall strictly enforce Law 8, and his decision as to unfair walking shall be final and without appeal. The assistants shall do such portion of his work as he may assign to them. _Scorer._--He shall record the laps made by each competitor, and call them aloud when tallied, for the information of the contestants. He shall record the order of finishing and the times of the competitors in walking and running races. The assistants shall do such portions of his work as he may assign to them. _Timekeepers._--Each of the three timekeepers shall time every event, and in case of disagreement the average of the three shall be the official time. Time to be taken from the flash of the pistol. _Judges at the Finish._--Two shall stand at one end of the tape, and the third at the other. One shall take the winner, another the second man, and the other the third man; they shall also note the distances between the first three as they finish. In case of disagreement the majority shall decide. Their decisions as to the order in which the men finish shall be final and without appeal. _Measurers._--They shall measure and record each trial of each competitor in all games whose record is one of distance or hight. Their decision as to the performance of each man shall be final and without appeal. _Referee._--He shall, when appealed to, decide all questions whose settlement is not provided for in these rules, and his decision shall be final and without appeal. _Competitors._--Immediately on arriving at the grounds each competitor shall report to the clerk of the course, and receive his number for the game in which he is entered. He shall inform himself of the times at which he must compete, and will report promptly at the start, without waiting to be notified. No competitor allowed to start without his proper number. _Inner Grounds._--No person whatsoever allowed inside the track except the officials and properly accredited representatives of the press. The authorized persons will wear a badge, and intruders will be promptly ejected. Competitors not engaged in the game actually taking place will not be allowed inside or upon the track. LAWS. 1. _Attendants._--No attendants shall accompany a competitor on the scratch or in the race. 2. _Starting Signals._--All races (except time handicaps) shall be started by report of pistol fired behind the competitors. A miss fire shall be no start. There shall be no recall after the pistol is fired. Time handicaps shall be started by the word "Go." 3. _Starting._--When the starter receives a signal from the judges at the finish that everything is in readiness he shall direct the competitors to get on their marks. Any competitor starting before the signal shall be put back one yard, for the second offense two yards, and for the third shall be disqualified. He shall be held to have started when any portion of his body touches the ground in front of his mark. Stations count from the inside. 4. _Keeping Proper Course._--In all races on a straight track, each competitor shall keep his own position on the course from start to finish. 5. _Change of Course._--In all races on other than a straight track, a competitor may change toward the inside whenever he is two steps ahead of the man whose path he crosses. 6. _Fouling._--Any competitor shall be disqualified for willfully jostling, running across, or in any way impeding another. 7. _Finish._--A thread shall be stretched across the track at the finish, four feet above the ground. It shall not be held by the judges, but be fastened to the finish posts on either side, so that it may always be at right angles to the course and parallel to the ground. The finish line is not this thread, but the line on the ground drawn across the track from post to post and the thread is intended merely to assist the judges in their decision. The men shall be placed in the order in which they cross the finish line. 8. _Walking._--The judge shall caution for any unfair walking, and the third caution shall disqualify the offender. On the last lap an unfair walker shall be disqualified without previous caution. 9. _Hurdles._--The regular hurdle race shall be 120 yards, over 10 hurdles, each 3ft. 6in. high. The first hurdle shall be placed 15 yards from the scratch, and there shall be 10 yards between each hurdle. There may be (by special announcement) hurdle races of different distances and with different number and length of hurdles. 10. _Jumping._--No weights or artificial aid will be allowed in any jumping contest except by special agreement or announcement. When weights are allowed there shall be no restriction as to size, shape, or material. 11. _Running High Jump._--The hight of the bar at starting and at each successive elevation, shall be determined by a majority of the qualified competitors. In case of a tie the referee shall decide. Three tries allowed at each hight. Each competitor shall make one attempt in the order of his name on the programme; then those that have failed, if any, shall have a second trial in regular order, and those failing on this trial shall then take their final trial. Displacing the bar and nothing else, counts as a "try." A competitor may omit his trials at any hight, but if he fails at the next hight he shall not be allowed to go back and try the hight which he omitted. 12. _Pole-Leaping._--The rules for this game shall be the same as those of the running high jump. 13. _Hitch-and-Kick._--The competitors are allowed unlimited run, but must spring, kick, alight, and hop twice with the same foot. The hight of the object at starting and at each successive elevation, shall be determined by a majority of the qualified competitors. In case of a tie the referee shall decide. Three tries allowed at each hight. Each competitor shall make one attempt in the order of his name on the programme; then those who have failed, if any, shall have a second trial in regular order, and those failing on this trial shall then take their final trial. Hitting the object, and nothing else, counts as a kick, and kicking higher than the object without hitting it is not a kick. Springing from the ground counts as a try. A competitor may omit his trials at any hight, but if he fail at the next hight he shall not be allowed to go back and try the hight which he omitted. 14. _Standing High Jump._--The competitors may stand as they please, but must jump from the first spring. The hight of the bar at starting and at each successive elevation, shall be determined by a majority of the qualified competitors. In case of a tie the referee shall decide. Three tries allowed at each hight. Each competitor shall make one attempt in the order of his name on the programme; then those who have failed, if any, shall have a second trial in regular order, and those failing on this trial shall then take their final trial. Displacing the bar and nothing else, counts as a "try." A competitor may omit his trials at any hight, but if he fail at the next hight he shall not be allowed to go back and try the hight which he omitted. 15. _Running Wide Jump._--The competitors shall have unlimited run, but must take off behind the scratch. Stepping any part of the foot over the scratch in an attempt shall be "no jump," but shall count as a "try." Each competitor allowed three trials, and the best three men have three more trials each. Each competitor shall be credited with the best of all his jumps. The measurement shall be from the scratch line in front of the jumper's feet to the nearest break of the ground made by any part of his person. The same rules govern running hop step and jump, and all similar games. 16. _Standing Wide Jump._--Competitors must jump from the first spring. Stepping any part of the foot over the scratch in an attempt shall be "no jump," but shall count as a "try." Each competitor allowed three trials, and the best three men have three more trials each. Each competitor shall be credited with the best of all his jumps. The measurement shall be from the scratch line in front of the jumper's feet to the nearest break of the ground made by any part of his person. The same rules govern standing three jumps, standing hop, step and jump, and all similar games. 17. _Putting the Shot._--The shot shall be a solid iron sphere weighing 16 lbs. It shall be put from the shoulder with one hand, from between two parallel lines, 7 ft. apart. Touching the ground outside either line with any part of person, before the shot alights, shall make the attempt "no put," which counts as a "try." Each competitor allowed three trials, and the best three men have three more trials each. Each competitor shall be credited with the best of all his puts. The measurement shall be from the nearest break of the ground made by the ball, perpendicularly to the scratch line, extended, if necessary, to meet this perpendicular. 18. _Throwing the Hammer._--The hammer-head shall be a solid iron sphere, weighing 16 lbs., the handle shall be of hickory wood, and the length of hammer and handle, over all, shall be 3 ft, 6 in. The competitor shall stand at and behind the scratch, facing as he pleases, and throw with either or both hands. Touching the ground in front of the scratch with any portion of the person, before the hammer alights, shall make the attempt "no throw," which counts as a "try." Letting go of the hammer in an attempt counts as a "try." Each competitor allowed three trials, and the best three men have three more trials each. Each competitor shall be credited with the best of all his throws. If the head strike first the measurement shall be from the nearest break of the ground made by it. If the handle strikes first, one length of the hammer shall be allowed from the mark made by the end of the handle toward the mark made by the head of the hammer, and the measurement shall be from this point. The measurement shall be to the scratch line half-way between the thrower's feet. 19. _Throwing the Hammer with a Run._--The hammer-head shall be a solid iron sphere, weighing 16 lbs., the handle shall be of hickory wood, and the length of hammer and handle over all shall be 3 ft. 6 in. Unlimited run is allowed, and the competitor may deliver the hammer as he pleases. Letting go of the hammer in an attempt counts as "a try." Each competitor allowed three trials, and the best three men have three more trials each. Each competitor shall be credited with the best of all his throws. If the head strikes first, the measurement shall be from the nearest break of the ground made by it. If the handle strikes first, one length of the hammer shall be allowed from the mark made by the end of the handle, toward the mark made by the head of the hammer, and the measurement shall be from this point. The measurement shall be to the nearest footprint at the delivery. The footprints of the competitors shall be effaced after each throw. 20. _Throwing Fifty-six Pound Weight._--This shall be of solid iron, and any shape of weight and handle is allowed, provided the whole weighs 56 lbs. The competitor will stand at and behind the scratch, facing as he pleases, grasping the weight by the handle, and shall throw it with one hand. Touching the ground in front of the scratch with any portion of the person, before the weight alights, shall make the attempt "no throw," which counts as "a try." Letting go of the weight in an attempt shall count as "a try." Each competitor allowed three trials, and the best three men have three more trials each. Each competitor shall be credited with the best of all his throws. The measurement shall be from the scratch line (in front of the thrower's left foot), to the nearest break of the ground made by the weight, exclusive of handle. 21. _Tossing the Caber._--The length of the caber to be 16 ft., the diameter at the thick end not more than 8 in., and at the small end not more than 4 in. The caber must be held by the small end, and tossed over so that the small end shall fall and remain beyond the butt. The competitors shall have unlimited run, but must take off behind the scratch. Stepping any part of the foot over the scratch in an attempt shall be "no toss," but shall count as "a try." Each competitor allowed three trials, and the best three men have three more trials each. Each competitor shall be credited with the best of all his tosses. The measurement shall be from the small end of the caber perpendicularly to the scratch line, extended, if necessary, to meet this perpendicular. 22. _Throwing the Ball_ (_Lacrosse_, _Cricket_, _or Base-ball_).--The lacrosse ball shall be thrown from the lacrosse, the cricket and base-ball from the hand. The competitors shall have unlimited run, but must take off behind the scratch. Touching the ground in front of the scratch-line with any part of the person before the ball alights, shall make the attempt "no throw," which shall count as "a try." Each competitor allowed three trials, and the best three men have three more trials each. Each competitor shall be credited with the best of all his throws. To facilitate the measurement, a line shall be drawn parallel to and 300 ft. in front of the scratch-line. The measurement shall be from the nearest break of the ground made by the ball, perpendicularly to the measuring line, extended, if necessary, to meet this perpendicular. 23. _Tug-of-War._--In tug-of-war the following rules will be observed: (1.) The side creases to be 12 ft. from the center crease. (2.) The mark on the rope to be over the center crease when the word "heave" is given, and the team hauling that mark over the crease on its own side to be the winners. (3.) No footing holes to be made before the start. (4.) The contestants to wear socks, slippers, boots or shoes without spikes. (5.) The rope to be 1 1-2 in. in diameter. (6.) Immediately before the contest the captains of all the contesting teams shall draw their numbers. (7.) Not less than five minutes shall be allowed each team between heats. (8.) Captains shall toss for choice of sides before each pull. But if the same two teams pull more than once during the day, they shall change ends at each successive pull. (9.) With two teams, they shall pull best 2 in 3. With three teams, one and two shall pull, then two and three, and three and one. With four teams, one and two shall pull, then three and four, and the winners pull the final. With five teams, first round, one and two, three and four, five has a bye; second round, winner of first heat pulls with five, and the winner of this heat pulls the final with the winner of second heat of first round. With six teams, first round, one and two, three and four, five and six; second round, winner of first and second heats. Winner of this heat pulls the final with winner of third heat, first round. Where more than six teams are entered, the arrangement of trials shall be on the same principle as in the above examples. 24. _Bicycling._--When ordered into position for a start the men shall mount their machines, and one assistant for each competitor will hold his machine with its front wheel at the mark; at the starting signal the attendants are allowed to push the machine forward but not to follow it up. Riders must pass each other on the outside, and be a clear length of the bicycle in front before taking the inside; the inside man must allow room on the outside for other competitors to pass. Any competitor infringing this rule will be disqualified. In a race without using the handles, competitors must ride with the arms folded, or the hands and arms otherwise kept quite off the machine. Any competitor touching any part of his machine with his hands or arms will be disqualified. The Laws of Athletes govern all points not above specified. In case there are any of our readers who think the above rules too long and complicated, we recommend for their use the much simpler and almost equally comprehensive English rules which follow. English Athletic Rules. 1. No attendant to accompany a competitor on the scratch or in the race. 2. Any competitor starting before the word, to be put back one yard, at the discretion of the starter. On a repetition of the offense, to be disqualified. 3. All races to start by report of pistol. 4. In hurdle-races each competitor to keep his own hurdles throughout the race. 5. In sprint racing each runner to keep his own course. 6. Jostling, running across, or willfully obstructing another, so as to impede his progress, to disqualify the offender from further competitions. 7. All cases of dispute to be referred to the committee of management at the time. 8. The decision of the judges in all competitions to be final. 9. In pole leaping and high jumping, three tries allowed at each hight. The hight at each successive elevation to be determined by the majority of the competitors. Displacing the bar only to count as a try. 10. In broad jumping and weight putting, three tries allowed. In hammer throwing, two tries allowed. The three best competitors of the first trials to be allowed three more tries each for the final. The furthest throw of the five attempts, and put or jump of the six attempts, to win. 11. In hammer throwing and weight putting, the length of the run to be limited to 7ft. The weight to be delivered from the shoulder. 12. In broad jumping and weight putting, crossing the scratch-line in the attempt to count as "no try," and in hammer throwing as "no throw." 13. "No tries" and "no throws" count as tries. 14. The weight of the hammer and weight to be 16lbs. each. 15. The length from end of the handle of the hammer to the bottom of the sphere to be 3ft. 6in. over all. 16. No put or throw to count if the weight or hammer be delivered or followed with any part of the body touching the ground over the mark. All puts and throws to be measured from the edge of the pitch nearest the scratch-line to the scratch-line, and at right angles with the same. 17. In hurdle races, the hight of the hurdles when fixed to be 3ft. 6in., measured perpendicularly from the ground to the top bar. HARE AND HOUNDS. Inasmuch as this game has become a popular pastime in America we have thought it best to make our handbook complete by giving a short account of the sport and its success in this country. Hare and Hounds is an old pastime of English schools, and it is essentially a healthy game, good for boys and young men. It requires only one thing, plenty of good runners; and all young fellows are fond of running. Two of the fleetest of the club are chosen for "Hares" and provided with a sack full of scraps of paper for "scent." The rest of the club are "Hounds." The Hares are allowed ten or fifteen minutes' start, and set off across the country, dropping scraps as they go, throwing a handful behind them every hundred feet and scattering gradually. It is their object to get out of sight as soon as possible. The Hounds are put on the trail at the sound of a horn, and have to catch the Hares if they can. This is the whole of the game. The first Hare and Hounds Club in America was organized in 1878 in Westchester county, New York, and held its first meeting on Thanksgiving Day of that year. The idea of the club originated in a conversation on the Harlem boat, and the members were carefully chosen. The officers elected for 1878-9 were: President, J. J. Brady; First Vice-President, W. W. White; Second Vice-President, E. Nelson; Secretary, G. Heilwig; Assistant Secretary, G. Dolde; Treasurer, F. N. Lord; Executive Committee, L. A. Berte, W. S. Vosburgh, W. C. Hamilton, W. I. K. Kendrick, and J. B. Haviland; Field-Captain, W. S. Vosburgh; Lieutenants, F. H. Banham and W. Smythe. The field-captain of the club is also called the "pace-maker;" and he and the lieutenants--who are denominated "whippers in"--keep the Hounds together and prevent the pack from straggling. The "Hounds" must follow the "scent" and are not allowed to cut off corners after the "Hares." Since the organization of this club several others have been started, but the Westchester club continues to be the most successful, holding meetings on all holidays when the mud is not too heavy for good running. As practiced, Hare and Hounds clubs generally have a uniform suitable for running. That of the Westchester club is a scarlet jacket, black knee-breeches or Knickerbockers and black cap. This is a good running dress and should be followed in its general features, though any colors are admissible. Knee-breeches are preferable to trowsers on every account, as they do not cramp the knee in running. [Illustration: HARE AND HOUNDS.] The latest improvement in the game is the introduction of two colors in the paper thrown for scent. The Hares drop white paper when they go out, and red paper on the return home. The game is an excellent one for young men and boys, and can be followed anywhere, with or without uniforms. The less frippery they indulge in the more will Americans like the sport. Red jackets can be replaced by red shirts, which cost less and are lighter to run in. If the members of the club cannot afford to buy knee-breeches, they can probably alter old pantaloons into the necessary shape, and in the case of boys below twelve the common fashion of Knickerbockers saves all trouble. In forming Hare and Hounds Clubs, as in Walking Clubs, it is advisable that the members should be equal in physical strength, when selected, to insure good runs and general satisfaction. If a hundred boys at some public school should wish to form clubs, it would be better to make at least two--one of large, the other of small boys--than to consolidate them. If both run together, the little fellows are sure to drop out in disgust when the others force the pace beyond their abilities, while the large boys will grumble at having to wait for the little ones. Clubs of small boys can be called "Beagles" to distinguish them from the larger "Hounds," and can enjoy a run as much as any one. We repeat here--the less frippery indulged in by way of uniform, the better, though all should dress alike, so as to be recognized a long way off. A white band round the cap, with the letters of the club name, is enough to show out at a distance; and the captain could have a different colored cap to distinguish him. The Westchester club is composed of young men in good circumstances, and they can afford velvet collars and gold tassels. The less of these that our schoolboys affect, the better for the success of the club. ARCHERY. The pastime of archery, once the national sport of England, has in late years experienced a sudden and remarkable revival, both in that country and the United States. In England, as a revived amusement it became popular about the beginning of the reign of Queen Victoria; but in that country it has never been more than the pastime of a few dilettanti, the ladies forming the greatest portion of every gathering. In the United States it has only become a recognized sport within the last few years, the archery fever dating from the month of July, 1877, when Mr. Maurice Thompson issued his first illustrated article on the subject in _Scribner's Monthly_. Since that time this gentleman and his brother William have roused a great interest in the subject, and have superintended or instigated the foundation of a number of archery clubs in the various sections of the Union. The new sport spread so rapidly that in 1879 these clubs sent delegates to a grand archers' congress in Chicago, where they held a successful and well-attended meeting which bids fair to be repeated yearly and has roused enthusiasm for archery all over the Union. The secret of this success lies in the fact that the brothers Thompson have appealed to the practical side of the American character in their plea for archery. They have shown that as an amusement it is cheap and healthful, giving the best of exercise in the open air. They have further shown that as a means of sport in the pursuit of game it has many advantages over the shot-gun, and these advantages are so well stated by Maurice Thompson in his first paper that we cannot do better than to reproduce them. He says: "If you can keep the shot-gunners away, three or four miles of a well-stocked stream will afford two archers plenty of sport for a whole season. Hunting them with the bow does not drive the birds off to other haunts; but the sound of a gun soon depopulates a stream, whether any duck be killed or not. * * * * * * * * "I do not wish to put in a special plea for archery, but I venture to say that no man or woman who cares at all for out-door sport can resist its fascination after he has once mastered its first difficulties. I have yet to find a person so grave and dignified that archery could not coax him into a bending humor. Indeed the bow is the _natural_ weapon of man, and it affords him the most perfect physical and mental recreative exercise that can be conceived of. It is to the mind and body what music and poetry are to the soul--it trains them to the highest degree of healthfulness and strength. [Illustration: ARCHER'S POSITION.] "I do not decry angling and gunning, except that the latter is too destructive of game. I am an enthusiastic "disciple of the rod," but whenever I cast a fly or troll a minnow my long-bow is near at hand, and a well-filled quiver at my side. You cannot combine gunning and angling on account of the weight of the gun and accouterments, and still more because the noise of firearms is sure to render timid fish sullen. I have known the bass in a well-stocked pool utterly to refuse the most tempting bait through an entire day, for nothing more than a pistol-shot fired close by. The twang of a bowstring seems to frighten nothing. It was the old first note of music made by Apollo." Nothing that we could add to this little abstract of the advantages would tell the story more neatly and clearly, therefore we shall at once proceed to the practical part of the art. The first thing necessary for archery practice is to secure a good bow and arrows. Till within a year, Philip Highfield of London was known as the best "bowyer" or bow-maker in the world; but since the advent of the American archery fever, Horstmann Brothers of New York have succeeded in making a line of archery goods that are pronounced by the Brothers Thompson to be equal in every respect to the best English make; and Peck and Snyder of New York have also turned out good work. The best bows of lemonwood, yew, or snakewood, cost $10; while the best target arrows are worth $9 a dozen; and Thompson's model hunting arrows are worth $3 a dozen. The other paraphernalia (targets, quivers etc.) may be home made; but it is poor economy to buy cheap bows and arrows. The targets are made of plaited straw, covered with canvas, and contain four rings, which count as follows: Bulls-eye 9; first ring 7; second ring 5; third ring 3; outside ring 1. In archery meetings two targets are used, facing each other at any distance: the archers stand by one target and shoot at the other, any number of arrows agreed on. When all have shot, they walk over to the target, pick out their arrows and shoot back at the first target, combining walking and shooting. The maximum distance is eighty yards between targets, the minimum twenty. The dress for an archer should be close, with no fluttering skirts to entangle the bowstring, and the secrets of position and accuracy are thus laid down by archery authorities. Roger Ascham, who wrote in Queen Elizabeth's time, says: "The first point is, when a man should shoot, to take such footing and standing as shall be both comely to the eye and profitable to his use, setting his countenance and all other parts of his body after such a behavior and port, that both all his strength may be employed to his own most advantage and his shot made and handled to other men's pleasure and delight. A man must not go too hastily to it, for that is rashness, nor yet make too much to do about it, for that is curiosity; the one foot must not stand too far from the other, lest he stoop too much, which is unseemly, nor yet too near together, lest he stand too straight up, for so a man shall neither use his strength well, nor yet stand steadfastly. The mean betwixt both must be kept, a thing more pleasant to behold when it is done, than easy to be taught how it should be done." Maurice Thompson says: "A little care at first will save you a great deal of trouble and annoyance. When you begin to shoot, learn at once to stand firmly on your feet, the left slightly advanced, the head easily poised, the upper portion of the body gently inclined forward, and the shoulders neither lifted nor drooped. Hold the bow vertically with the left hand, the arm extended straight. Nock the arrow well on the string, draw with all the fingers of your right hand till you feel your right ear, fix your eyes steadily on the target and let fly. The arrow rests on the left hand, and is drawn to the head. The nock end of the shaft is held between the first and second fingers of the right hand and upon the string, which is drawn to the right ear by all the fingers being hooked stiffly over it. The release must be smart and clear, giving the arrow a strong, even flight. "Never try to take aim when shooting, but fix your eyes steadily on the mark, and guide your arrow by your _sense of direction_. "_Squeeze_ the bow-handle with the left hand. You cannot hold it too fast. Draw quickly and evenly. Let go without, 'bobbling' or tremor." In a little story written by William Thompson (the brother of Maurice and the champion archer of the Union) there is a still more valuable piece of advice as to how to take aim. He makes one of the characters, who has hitherto always been unsuccessful at a target, hit on the secret, which he tells his friend. It is virtually as follows: "After nocking the arrow, _draw it up to the right ear with the right hand, and hold it there as if it was screwed fast_. Think no more of your right hand, but _point your left fist_ at the target and let fly." This tells the secret of archery better than an elaborate treatise. The aim is taken _with the left arm, not the right_. Target shooting is, however, a bad school for learning to shoot at game, and here again Maurice Thompson comes in with his invaluable practical hints on the subject. He says: "One who is trained to aim at a large, graduated target, either with gun or bow, can rarely shoot well at game. The reason is that in target shooting at a fixed distance he gets used to a certain size, color, and condition of _background_, and when he gets into the woods and lifts his bow to draw on a bird or a hare, his accustomed rings and dark background are not there. His vision is blurred, he draws waveringly and shoots indifferently. A black rubber ball four inches in diameter, suspended in mid-air by a string fastened to the low limb of an apple-tree, makes a first-rate substitute for a bird, and a small bag of straw, placed flat on the ground and shot at at about twenty-five yards, makes good hare practice. You will soon learn the great advantage of not using the same distance all the time, as in the game of archery. For, after all, a bowman's skill is scarcely worthy of admiration if it is confined to a fixed range." A few words about the strength of bows, and we have said enough for the purposes of a little handbook. Bows are graduated by the number of pounds' weight required to bend them. Ladies' bows range from fourteen to thirty pounds pull, while gentlemen can take from forty to sixty pound bows. The heaviest bows should be used for hunting purposes, but for target practice at short range a bow under your strength is recommended, as it is easier to take aim with such a weapon than with one that tasks all your force merely to bend it. THE END. STANDARD DIME DIALOGUES For School Exhibitions and Home Entertainments. Nos. 1 to 21 inclusive. 15 to 25 Popular Dialogues and Dramas in each book. Each volume 100 12mo pages, sent post-paid, on receipt of price, ten cents. Beadle & Adams, Publishers, 98 William St., N. Y. These volumes have been prepared with especial reference to their availability for Exhibitions, being adapted to schools and parlors with or without the furniture of a stage, and suited to SCHOLARS AND YOUNG PEOPLE of every age, both male and female. It is fair to assume that no other books in the market, at any price, contain so many useful and available dialogues and dramas of wit, pathos, humor and sentiment. DIME DIALOGUES, NO. 1. Meeting of the Muses. For nine young ladies. Baiting a Live Englishman. For three boys. Tasso's Coronation. For male and female. Fashion. For two ladies. The Rehearsal. For six boys. Which will you Choose? For two boys. The Queen of May. For two little girls. The Tea Party. For four ladies. Three Scenes in Wedded Life. Male and Female. Mrs. Sniffles' Confession. For male and female. The Mission of the Spirits. Five young ladies. Hobnobbing. For five speakers. The Secret of Success. For three speakers. Young America. Three males and two females. Josephine's Destiny. Four females, one male. The Folly of the Duel. For three male speakers. Dogmatism. For three male speakers. The Ignorant Confounded. For two boys. The Fast Young Man. For two males. The Year's Reckoning. 12 females and 1 male. 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For two males. DIME DIALOGUES, NO. 3. The May Queen. For an entire school. Dress Reform Convention. For ten females. Keeping Bad Company. A Farce. For five males. Courting Under Difficulties. 2 males, 1 female. National Representatives. A Burlesque. 4 males. Escaping the Draft. For numerous males. The Genteel Cook. For two males. Masterpiece. For two males and two females. The Two Romans. For two males. The Same. Second scene. For two males. Showing the White Feather. 4 males, 1 female. The Battle Call. A Recitative. For one male. DIME DIALOGUES, NO. 4 The Frost King. For ten or more persons. Starting in Life. Three males and two females. Faith, Hope and Charity. For three little girls. Darby and Joan. For two males and one female. The May. A Floral Fancy. For six little girls. The Enchanted Princess. 2 males, several females. Honor to Whom Honor is Due. 7 males, 1 female. The Gentle Client. For several males, one female. Phrenology. A Discussion. For twenty males. The Stubbletown Volunteer. 2 males, 1 female. A Scene from "Paul Pry." For four males. The Charms. For three males and one female. Bee, Clock and Broom. For three little girls. The Right Way. A Colloquy. For two boys. What the Ledger Says. For two males. The Crimes of Dress. A Colloquy. For two boys. The Reward of Benevolence. For four males. The Letter. For two males. DIME DIALOGUES, NO. 5. The Three Guesses. For school or parlor. Sentiment. A "Three Persons" Farce. Behind the Curtain. For males and females. The Eta Pi Society. Five boys and a teacher. Examination Day. For several female characters. Trading in "Traps." For several males. The School Boys' Tribunal. For ten boys. A Loose Tongue. Several males and females. How Not to Get an Answer. For two females. Putting on Airs. A Colloquy. For two males. The Straight Mark. For several boys. Two ideas of Life. A Colloquy. For ten girls. Extract from Marino Faliero. Ma-try-Money. An Acting Charade. The Six Virtues. For six young ladies. The Irishman at Home. For two males. Fashionable Requirements. For three girls. A Bevy of I's (Eyes). For eight or less little girls. DIME DIALOGUES, NO. 6. The Way They Kept a Secret. Male and females. The Poet under Difficulties. For five males. William Tell. For a whole school. Woman's Rights. Seven females and two males. All is not Gold that Glitters. Male and females. The Generous Jew. For six males. Shopping. For three males and one female. The Two Counselors. For three males. The Votaries of Folly. For a number of females. Aunt Betsy's Beaux. Four females and two males. The Libel Suit. For two females and one male. Santa Claus. For a number of boys. Christmas Fairies. For several little girls. The Three Rings. For two males. DIME DIALECT SPEAKER, NO. 23. Dat's wat's de matter, The Mississippi miracle, Ven te tide cooms in, Dose lams vot Mary haf got, Pat O'Flaherty on woman's rights, The home rulers, how they "spakes," Hezekiah Dawson on Mothers-in-law, He didn't sell the farm, The true story of Franklin's kite, I would I were a boy again, A pathetic story, All about a bee, Scandal, A dark side view, To pesser vay, On learning German, Mary's shmall vite lamb, A healthy discourse, Tobias so to speak, Old Mrs. Grimes, A parody, Mars and cats, Bill Underwood, pilot, Old Granley, The pill peddler's oration, Widder Green's last words, Latest Chinese outrage, The manifest destiny of the Irishman, Peggy McCann, Sprays from Josh Billings, De circumstances ob de sitiwation, Dar's nuffin new under de sun, A Negro religious poem, That violin, Picnic delights, Our candidate's views, Dundreary's wisdom, Plain language by truthful Jane, My neighbor's dogs, Condensed Mythology, Pictus, The Nereides, Legends of Attica, The stove-pipe tragedy, A doketor's drubbles, The coming man, The illigant affair at Muldoon's, That little baby round the corner, A genewine inference, An invitation to the bird of liberty, The crow, Out west. 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37912	----	produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Print project.) [Illustration: THE BALL ROSE AND FLEW DIRECTLY AT THE BASKET.] THE GIRLS OF CENTRAL HIGH AT BASKETBALL GERTRUDE W. MORRISON 1914 CONTENTS: CHAPTER I--HESTER IS MIFFED CHAPTER II--THE KERNEL IN THE ATHLETIC NUT CHAPTER III--JOHNNY DOYLE CHAPTER IV--"THERE'S GOOD STUFF IN THAT GIRL" CHAPTER V--HESTER AT HOME CHAPTER VI--THE FIRST GAME CHAPTER VII--THE SECOND HALF CHAPTER VIII--THE ROUND ROBIN CHAPTER IX--ANOTHER RAID CHAPTER X--MOTHER WIT AND THE GRAY MARE CHAPTER XI--HEBE POCOCK CHAPTER XII--"OUT OF IT" CHAPTER XIII--THE WIND VEERS CHAPTER XIV--RACING THE FLAMES CHAPTER XV--THE KEYPORT GAME CHAPTER XVI--UPHILL WORK FOR THE TEAM CHAPTER XVII--HEBE POCOCK IN TROUBLE CHAPTER XVIII--MOTHER WIT TO THE RESCUE CHAPTER XIX--AT LUMBERPORT CHAPTER XX--WINNING ALL ALONG THE LINE CHAPTER XXI--WHAT HESTER DID CHAPTER XXII--WHAT MR. BILLSON COULD TELL CHAPTER XXIII--CLIMBING UP CHAPTER XXIV--HESTER WINS CHAPTER XXV--THE MYSTERY EXPLAINED CHAPTER I HESTER IS MIFFED The referee's whistle sounded sharply, and the eighteen girls of Central High engaged in playing basketball, as well as an equal number strung along the side lines, stopped instantly and turned their eyes on Mrs. Case, the physical instructor. "Hester Grimes! you are deliberately delaying the game. I have reprimanded you twice. The third time I will take you out of the team for the week----" "I didn't, either!" cried the person addressed, a rather heavily built girl for her age, with a sturdy body and long arms--well developed in a muscular way, but without much grace. She had very high color, too, and at the present moment her natural ruddiness was heightened by anger. "You are breaking another rule of the game by directly addressing the referee," said Mrs. Case, grimly. "Are you ready to play, or shall I take you out of the game right now?" The red-faced girl made no audible reply, and the teacher signalled for the ball to be put into play again. Three afternoons each week each girl of Central High, of Centerport, who was eligible for after-hour athletics, was exercised for from fifteen to thirty minutes at basketball. Thirty-six girls were on the ground at a time. Every five minutes the instructor blew her whistle, and the girls changed places. That is, the eighteen actually playing the game shifted with the eighteen who had been acting as umpires, judges, timekeepers, scorers, linesmen and coaches. This shifting occupied only a few seconds, and it put the entire thirty-six girls into the game, shift and shift about. It was in September, the beginning of the fall term, and Mrs. Case was giving much attention to the material for the inter-school games, to be held later in the year. Hester Grimes had played the previous spring on the champion team, and held her place now at forward center. But although she had been two years at Central High, and was now a Junior, she had never learned the first and greatest truth that the physical instructor had tried to teach her girls: "_Keep your temper!_" Since spring several of the girls playing on the first team of Central High had left school, graduating as seniors. The work now was to whip this team into shape, and finally Mrs. Case and the girls themselves, voting upon the several names in their capacity as members of the Girls' Branch Athletic League, had settled upon the following roster of names and positions as the "make-up" of the best-playing basketball team of Central High: Josephine Morse, goal-keeper Evangeline Sitz, right forward Dora Lockwood, left forward Hester Grimes, forward center Laura Belding, jumping center Lily Pendleton, back center Dorothy Lockwood, right guard Nellie Agnew, left guard Bobby Hargrew, goal guard The basketball court of Central High was located in the new Girls' Athletic Field, not far from the school building itself, and overlooking beautiful Lake Luna and the boathouses and rowing course. At the opening of Central High this fall the new field and gymnasium had first come into use. The athletic field, gymnasium and swimming pool were the finest in the State arranged for girls' athletics. They had been made possible by the generosity of one of the very wealthy men of Centerport, Colonel Richard Swayne, and his interest in the high school girls and their athletics had been engaged by one of the girls themselves, Laura Belding by name, but better known among her schoolfellows and friends as "Mother Wit." The play went on again under the keen eye of the instructor. Mrs. Case believed most thoroughly in the efficiency of basketball for the development and training of girls; but she did not allow her charges to play the game without supervision. Lack of supervision by instructors is where the danger of basketball and kindred athletics lies. The game is an excellent one from every point of view; yet within the last few years it has come into disfavor in some quarters, and many parents have forbidden their daughters to engage in it. Like bicycling in the past, and football with the boys, basketball has suffered "a black eye" because of the way it has been played, not because of the game itself. But the Girls' Branch played the game under sound rules, and under the keen oversight of the instructor engaged by the Board of Education of Centerport for that purpose. Basketball is the first, or one of the first vigorous team games to become popular among women and girls in this country, and under proper supervision will long remain a favorite pastime. The rules under which the girls of Central High played the game were such as brought into basketball the largest number of players allowed. Whereas there were often in the games on Central High courts only right forward, left forward, center, right guard and left guard, with possibly a jumping center--these games being engaged in by the girls for their own amusement--in the regular practice and when the representative team played the teams of other schools, the girls on the field numbered nine upon a side. Thus conforming with the new rules, Mrs. Case, and the physical instructors of the other highs of Centerport and the neighboring cities, made the interest in basketball more general and enabled a greater number of ambitious girls to gain coveted positions on the first team. Suddenly Mrs. Case's whistle stopped the play again. And as the bustle and activity subsided, two girls' voices rose above all. "You just see! It's only Hester who gets scolded----" "It's not so! If she'd play fair----" "Miss Pendleton and Miss Agnew are discussing something of much importance--much more important than the game," said the referee, tartly. "Well, she said----" began Nellie Agnew, who was usually a very quiet girl, but who was flushed and angry now as she "looked daggers" at Lily Pendleton, who was Hester Grimes's chum. "That will do, Nellie!" exclaimed the instructor. "You girls evidently have not taken to heart what I have been telling you. The only way to play this--or any other team game--is to work together and talk as little as possible. And by no means allow your tempers to become heated. "We have formed a new line-up for the fall series of games with East and West High, and the highs of Keyport and Lumberport. It would be too bad to change the make-up of the team later; but I want girls on our champion team, who play the first class teams of other schools, who know how to keep cool and to keep their mouths shut. Now! don't let me have to repeat this again to-day at least. Time!" Hester Grimes turned and gave Nellie Agnew an angry look and then went on playing. The girls officiating at the lines changed with the actual players. Later they shifted again, which brought the first team into the field once more with the ball. When the practice was over Mrs. Case stopped Hester Grimes before she could run off the field. She spoke to her in a low voice, so that no other girl could hear; but she spoke firmly: "Hester, you are making a bad impression upon the teachers as well as on the minds of your fellow pupils by your indulgence in bad temper." "Nobody else calls me down for it but you, Mrs. Case," declared the big girl, bitterly. "You are a good scholar--you do not fail at your books," Mrs. Case continued, quietly. "You do not have occasion in the classroom to often show your real disposition. Here, in matters of athletics, it is different. Your deportment does not suit me----" "It never has, Mrs. Case," exclaimed the red-faced girl. "You have criticized me ever since you came here to Central High----" "Stop, Hester! How dare you speak that way to a teacher? I shall certainly report you to Mr. Sharp if you take my admonition in such a spirit. I have finished with you. If you do not show improvement in deportment on the athletic field I shall shut you out of practice entirely." The instructor spoke sharply and her face was clouded. She was a very brisk, decisive woman, and she considered that she had been patient with Hester Grimes long enough. Hester was the only daughter of a very wealthy wholesale butcher, and from her babyhood had been indulged and given her way. She was one of those girls who fairly "boss" their parents and everybody around their homes. She had bought the friendliness of some weak girls by her display and the lavish use of spending money. Perhaps, however, Lily Pendleton was really the only girl who cared for Hester. Most of the girls who had been relieved from basketball practice had run in to change to their street clothing. On the lower floor of the gymnasium building was the swimming pool, shower baths, and dressing room, besides the lockers for field materials, the doctor's and instructor's offices, and the hair-drying room. Above was the gymnasium proper with all the indoor apparatus allowed by the rules of the Girls' Branch. Each girl had her own locker and key, the key to be handed in at the instructor's office when she left the building. When Hester came into the long dressing room there was a chatter of voices and laughter. There was no restriction on talking in here. Lily met her chum at the door. The former was naturally a pale girl, rather pretty, but much given to aping fashions and frocks of grown women. "I'd like to box that Bobby Hargrew's ears," she said, to her angry chum. "She was just saying that you'd queer the team again before you got through. She's always hinting that you lost that last game we played East High last spring." "I'll just fix her for that--the mean little thing!" snapped Hester, and being just in the mood for quarreling she stalked over to where little Clara Hargrew was talking to a group of friends, among whom were Nellie Agnew and the Lockwood twins. "So you're slandering me, as usual, are you, Miss?" demanded Hester, her face very fiery and her voice very loud. "Meaning me?" demanded Bobby, shaking her curly head, and grinning impishly at the bigger girl. "Who else would I mean, Miss?" pursued Hester. "I couldn't slander you, Hessie," said the mischief-loving Bobby. "You are a trouble-maker all the time, Bobby Hargrew----" began the older girl, but Bobby broke in with: "If I made anywhere near as much trouble as you do about this gymnasium, Hessie, I'd talk soft." "Now, Bobby," cautioned Nellie Agnew, laying a quick hand upon the smaller girl's arm and drawing her away. But Hester, quite beside herself, lifted her palm and struck at Bobby. Perhaps the agile girl dodged; or maybe Nellie deliberately stepped forward. Anyhow, the stroke intended for Bobby landed full upon Nellie's cheek. Hester was strong and her hand heavy. The print of her palm left a white patch for a moment upon the plump cheek of the doctor's daughter. "Now you've done it, Hessie!" cried Bobby, angrily. "See what you've done!" "I didn't----" began Hester, rather startled by the result of her blow; but the tears of anger and pain had sprung to Nellie's eyes and for once the peacemaker showed some spirit. "It served you just right! You're always interfering," flashed out Hester. "You are a bad and cruel girl," said Nellie, sobbing, but more in anger than pain. "Bah! you run and tell Mrs. Case now. That will be about your style." "I shall tell my father," said Nellie, firmly, and turned away that her enemy might not exult longer in her tears. "And he's our physician and I guess he'll have something to say about your actions, Hessie!" cried Bobby Hargrew. "You're not fit to play with nice girls, anyway." "And you're one of the 'nice' ones, I suppose, Miss?" scoffed Hester. "I hope I am. I don't lose my temper and queer my team-mates' play. And nobody ever caught me doing mean things--and you've been caught before. If it wasn't for Gee Gee favoring you, you'd have been asked to leave Central High before now," cried Bobby. "That's so, too," said one of the twins, quite as angry as Bobby, but more quietly. "I should worry!" laughed Hester, loudly and scornfully. "What if I did leave Central High? You girls are a lot of stuck-up ninnies, anyway! I hate you all, and I'll get square with you some day--you just see if I don't!" It was perhaps an empty threat; yet it was spoken with grim determination on Hester Grimes's part. And only the future could tell if she would or would not keep her promise. CHAPTER II THE KERNEL IN THE ATHLETIC NUT The Girls' Branch Athletic League of Central High had been in existence only a few months. Gymnasium work, folk dancing, rowing and swimming, walking and some field sports had been carried to a certain point under the supervision of instructors engaged by Centerport's Board of Education before the organization of the girls themselves into an association which, with other school clubs, held competitions in all these, and other, athletics for trophies and prizes. Centerport, a lively and wealthy inland city located on the shore of Lake Luna, boasted three high schools--the East and West Highs, and the newer and large Central High, which was built in "the Hill" section of the town, the best residential district, on an eminence overlooking the lake and flanked on either side and landward, as well, by the business portions of the city. The finest estates of the Hill district sloped down to the shore of the lake. Public interest had long since been aroused in the boys' athletics; but that in girls' similar development had lagged until the spring previous to the opening of our story. In the first volume of this series, entitled "The Girls of Central High; Or, Rivals for All Honors," was related the organization of the Girls' Branch, and the early difficulties and struggles of a group of girl sophomores, most of whom were now on the roster of the basketball team as named in our first chapter. Laura Belding was the leading character in that first volume, and her quick-wittedness and loyalty to the school and to the athletic association really brought about, as has been intimated, the building of a fine gymnasium for the girls of Central High and the preparation of the athletic field connected therewith. In "The Girls of Central High on Lake Luna; Or, The Crew That Won," the second volume of the series, was narrated the summer aquatic sports of the girls and their boy friends; and in that story the Lockwood twins, Dora and Dorothy, came to the fore as champion canoeists among the girls, as well as efficient members of the crew of the eight-oared shell, which won the prize cup offered by the Luna Boat Club to the champion shell rowed by high school girls. Lake Luna was a beautiful body of water, all of twenty miles in length, with Rocky River flowing into it from the west at Lumberport, and Rolling River carrying off her overflow at the east end of the lake, where stood the third of the trio of towns--Keyport. Both Lumberport and Keyport had a well conducted high school, and the girls in both were organized for athletics as were the three chief schools of Centerport. South of Centerport was a range of low hills, through which the two railroads which tapped the territory wound their way through deep cuts and tunnels. In the middle of the lake was Cavern Island, a very popular amusement park at one end, but at its eastern end wild and rocky enough. The northern shore of the lake was skirted by farms and deep woods, with a goodly mountain range in the distance. The girls who had been in the first class at basketball practice began to troop out of the gymnasium in their street apparel. Chetwood Belding and his chum, Lance Darby, were waiting for Laura and Jess Morse. With them was a gangling, goose-necked youth, dressed several degrees beyond the height of fashion. This was Prettyman Sweet, the acknowledged "glass of fashion and mould of form" among the boys of Central High. "Hullo! here's Pretty!" cried Bobby Hargrew, dancing out behind Laura and Jess. "You're never waiting to beau _me_ home, are you, Mr. Sweet?" "I--oh--ah----" stammered Purt, in much confusion. "It weally would give me pleasure, Miss Bobby; but I weally have a pwior engagement--ah!" Just then Hester and Lily came out of the door. Bobby dodged Hester in mock alarm. Lily stopped in the shelter of the doorway to powder her nose, holding up a tiny mirror that she might do it effectively, and then dropping both mirror and "powder rag" into the little "vanity case" she wore pendant from her belt. Purt Sweet approached Miss Pendleton with a mixture of diffidence and dancing school deportment that made Bobby shriek with laughter. "Oh, joy!" whispered the latter to Nellie, who appeared next with the Lockwood twins. "Purt has found a shrine before which to lay his heart's devotion. D'ye see _that_?" pointing derisively to Lily and young Sweet turning the first corner. Hester was strolling away by herself. Nellie said, quickly: "Let's not go _this_ way. I don't want to meet that girl again to-night." "Much obliged to you, Nell, for taking my slapping. But Hester never really meant to hit me, after all. You got in the way, you know." "You'd better behave," said one of the twins admonishingly. "You made this trouble, Bobby." "There you go!" cried Bobby, with apparent tears. "Nobody loves me; Hester tried to slap me, and Pretty Sweet wouldn't even walk with me. Oh, and say!" she added, with increased hilarity, "what do you suppose the boys are telling about Pretty now?" "Couldn't say," said Dora Lockwood. "Something ridiculous, I venture to believe." "It's _funny_," giggled Bobby. "You see, Purt thinks he's really getting whiskers." "No!" exclaimed Dorothy. "Sure. You watch him next time you have a chance. He's always feeling to see if his side-tapes have sprouted. He _has_ got a little yellow fuzz on his upper lip--honest! "Well, Purt went into Jimmy Fabro's shop the other day--you know, that hair-cutting place right behind Mr. Betting's store, on the side street? Well, Purt went in and took a chair. Jimmy was alone. "'What you want--hair cut again this week, Pretty?' asked Jimmy. "'No--o,' says Purt. 'Sh--sh--shave.' "Jimmy grunted, dropped back the chair, muffled Purt up in the towels, and then squinted up and down his victim's cheeks. Finally he mumbled something about being 'right back' and ran into Mr. Belding's and came back with a watchmaker's glass stuck in his eye. Then he squinted up and down Purt's face some more and finally mixed a big mug of lather--and lathered Purt's eyebrows!" "Oh! what for?" demanded Dora Lockwood. "That's what Purt asked him," giggled Bobby. "Jimmy said in his gruff way: "'I'm hanged if I can see hair anywhere else on your face, Pretty. You want your eyebrows shaved off, don't ye, Pretty?' So, Chet says, Purt's been trying to shave himself since then in a piece of broken mirror out in the wood shed, and with a jack-knife." Although Nellie Agnew laughed, too, at Bobby's story, she was in no jolly mood when she parted from the other girls and entered Dr. Agnew's premises. The doctor, Nellie's father, was a broadly educated physician--one of the small class of present day medical men who, like the "family doctor" of a past generation, claimed no "specialty" and treated everything from mumps to a broken leg. He was a rather full-bodied man, with a pink, wrinkled face, cleanly shaven every morning of his life; black hair with silver threads in it and worn long; old-fashioned detachable cuffs to his shirts, and a black string tie that went around his collar twice, the ends of which usually fluttered in the breeze. There had long since been established between the good doctor and his daughter a confidential relation very beautiful to behold. Mrs. Agnew was a very lovely woman, rather stylish in dress, and much given to church and club work. Perhaps that is why Dr. Agnew had made such a comrade of Nellie. She might, otherwise, have lacked any personal guide at a time in her life when she most needed it. It was no new thing, therefore, that Nellie should follow the doctor into the office that evening after dinner, and perch on the broad arm of his desk chair while he lit the homely pipe that he indulged in once a day--usually before the rush of evening patients. When Nellie had told her father all about the unpleasant quarrel at the gymnasium the doctor smoked thoughtfully for several minutes. Then he said, in his clear, quiet voice--the calm quality of which Nellie had herself inherited: "Do you know what seems to me to be the kernel in the nut of these school athletics, Nell?" "What is it, Daddy Doctor?" "Loyalty. That's the kernel--loyalty. If your athletics and games don't teach you that, you might as well give 'em up--all of you girls. The feminine sex is not naturally loyal; now, don't get mad!" and the doctor chuckled. "It is not a natural virtue--if _any_ virtue is humanly natural--of the sex. It's only the impulsive, spitfire girls who are naturally loyal--the kind who will fight for another girl. Among boys it is different. Now, I am not praising boys, or putting them an iota higher than girls. Only, long generations of working and fighting together has made the normal male loyal to his kind. It is an instinct--and even our friends who call themselves suffragettes have still to acquire it. "But this isn't to be a lecture, Nell. It's just a piece of advice. Show yourself loyal to the other girls of Central High, and to the betterment of basketball and the other athletics, by----" "By what?" cried Nellie. "By paying no attention to Hester Grimes, or what she does. After all, her shame, if she is removed from your basketball team, is the shame of her whole class, and of the school as well. Ignore her mean ways if you can. Don't get in the way of her hand again, Nell," and his eyes twinkled. "Remember, that blow was not intended for you, in the first place. And I am not sure that Clara Hargrew would not sometimes be the better for the application of somebody's hand--in the old-fashioned way! No, Nell. Say nothing. Make no report of the affair. If Hester is disloyal, don't you be. Keep out of her way as much as possible----" "But she spoiled our games with the other schools last spring, and she will do so again," complained Nellie. "Then let Mrs. Case, or somebody else, be the one to set the matter in motion of removing Hester from the team. That's my advice, Miss." "And of course I shall take it, Daddy Doctor," said Nellie slowly. "But I _did_ think it was a chance for us to get rid of Hester. She is _such_ a plague." The doctor's eyes twinkled. "I wonder why it is that we always want to shift our burdens on other folks' shoulders? Do you suppose either the East or West Highs would find Hester any more bearable if she attended them instead of Central?" The girls of Central High had something of more moment than Hester Grimes's "tantrums" to think of the next day. Bobby Hargrew came flying up the path to the doctor's porch long before school time. Nellie saw her and ran out to see what she wanted. "What do you s'pose?" cried Bobby. "Couldn't guess, Chicken-little," laughed Nellie. "Has the sky fallen?" "Almost as bad," declared Bobby, twinkling, but immediately becoming grave. "The gymnasium----" "Not burned!" "No, no! But it's been entered. And by some awfully mean person. The apparatus on the upper floor has been partly destroyed, and the lockers broken into downstairs and lots of the field materials spoiled. Oh, it's dreadfully mean, Nellie! They even sawed through the rungs of the hanging ladders a little way, so that if anybody swung on them they'd break. "And with all the harm they did, nobody can tell how they got into the building, or out again. The watchman sleeps on the premises. You know, he's not supposed to keep awake all night, for the same man keeps the field in repair during the day. But my father says that Jackway, the watchman, must have slept like the dead if he didn't hear the marauders while they were damaging all that apparatus. "It's just too mean," concluded Bobby. "There isn't a basketball that isn't cut to pieces, and the tennis ball boxes were broken open and the balls all thrown into the swimming pool. Tennis rackets were slashed, hockey sticks sawed in two, and other dreadful things done. It shows that whoever did it must have had a grudge against the athletic association and us girls--must have just _hated_ us!" "And who hates us?" cried Nellie, the question popping out before she thought. Bobby turned rather white, though her eyes shone. She tapped Nellie on the shoulder with an insistent index finger. "You and I know who _says_ she hates us," whispered the younger girl. CHAPTER III JOHNNY DOYLE Franklin Sharp, principal of Central High, had something particular to say that morning at Assembly. At eight-thirty o'clock the gongs rang in each room and the classes marched to the hall as usual. But there was an unusual amount of excitement, especially on the girls' side of the great hall. The news Bobby Hargrew had brought to Nellie Agnew had spread over the Hill long before schooltime. Bobby, running from house to house, had scattered the news like burning brands; and wherever she dropped a spark a flame of excitement had sprung up and spread. And how many of the girls had whispered the same thing! What Hester Grimes had said the previous afternoon had been heard by a dozen girls; a hundred had learned of it before the gymnasium had cleared that afternoon; now the whole school--on the girls' side, at least--knew that Hester had declared her hatred of the girls of Central High before the damage was done in the gymnasium. This gossip could not fail to have flown to Principal Sharp's ears. He was eminently a just man; but he seldom interfered in the girls' affairs, preferring to let his assistant, Miss Grace G. Carrington (otherwise "Gee Gee" among the more thoughtless of her pupils) govern the young ladies. But what the principal said on this occasion seemed to point to the fact that he had taken cognizance of the wild supposition and gossip that was going the round of the girl's classes. "A cruel and expensive trick has been perpetrated by some irresponsible person with pronounced criminal instincts," declared Mr. Sharp, seriously. "This is not the outburst of some soul prone to practical joking, so-called; nor is it the mere impish mischievousness of a spirit with a grudge against its fellows. The infamous actions of the person, or persons, in the girls' gymnasium last night show degeneracy and a monkeyish wickedness that can be condoned in no particular. "We can declare with confidence that no pupil of Central High could have accomplished the wicked work of last night. It would have been beyond the physical powers of any of our young ladies to have broken into the building; and we are equally confident that no young gentleman on our roster is at that early stage of evolution in which he would consider such work at all amusing. "Of course, there will be an investigation made--not alone by the school authorities, but by the police. The matter is too serious to ignore. The damage done amounts to several hundreds of dollars. And the mystery of how the culprit or culprits entered the building, with the doors and windows locked and Jackway asleep in his bed in the doctor's office, must likewise be explained. "Meanwhile, young ladies and gentlemen, let no wild romances or unsubstantiated rumors shake your minds. We none of us know how the criminal entered the gymnasium, or who he is. Let the matter rest there until the investigation is completed and the actual wrong-doer brought to book. I hope I make myself clear? That is all. You are dismissed to classes." But, to himself, perhaps the principal said: "Meanwhile I will go out and stop the water from running down hill!" For the gossip having once begun to grow, there was no stopping it. Some of the girls had already begun to look askance at Hester when they passed her. Others whispered, and wondered, and surmised--and the wonder grew like the story of the man who ate the three black crows. Hester, however, did not realize what all this meant. She was still angry with Nellie, and Bobby, and the others whom she considered had crossed her the previous afternoon. And especially was she angry with Mrs. Case, the physical instructor. "I don't much care if the stuff in the gymnasium _was_ all cut up," she declared, to her single confidant, Lily Pendleton. "Oh, Hester! Don't let them hear you say it!" cried her chum, who had heard some of the whispers against Hester, but had not dared repeat them to her chum for fear of an outbreak of the latter's unfortunate temper. "What do I care for 'em?" returned Hester, and went off by herself. Hester Grimes was not entirely happy. She would not admit it in her own soul, but she was lonely. Even Lily was not always at her beck and call as she once had been. To tell the truth, Lily Pendleton seemed suddenly to have "a terrible crush" on Prettyman Sweet. "And goodness only knows what she sees in that freak to want to walk with him," muttered Hester, in retrospection. Lily and Purt were pupils in the same dancing class and just at present dancing was "all the rage." Hester did not care for dancing--not even for the folk dancing that Mrs. Case taught the girls of Central High. She liked more vigorous exercises. She played a sharp game of tennis, played hockey well, was a good walker and runner, and liked basketball as well as she liked anything. "And here these Miss Smarties and Mrs. Case want to put me off the team," thought Hester Grimes, walking down toward the athletic field and the gym. building after school that day. There was little to go to the gym. for just now, with the fixtures cut up and broken. But Hester felt a curiosity to see the wreck. And there were other girls from Central High who seemed to feel the same. Some were ahead of her and some came after. They exclaimed and murmured and were angry or excited, as the case might be; but Hester mooned about in silence, and the only soul she spoke to in the building was Bill Jackway. The latter looked very much worried. He was a steady, quiet, red-haired man, with pale blue eyes and a wandering expression of countenance at most times. But he was a good and careful worker and kept the athletic field in good shape and the gym. well swept and dusted. Jackway had never been married; but his sister had married a man named Doyle and was now a widow with two children. When Jackway got an hour or two off from the gym. he went to see his sister, and played with the baby, Johnny. Johnny, who was a sturdy little fellow of three, had been brought to-day to see his uncle by his gangling big brother, Rufe Doyle. Rufe was a second edition of his uncle, Bill Jackway, without Bill's modicum of sense. A glance at Rufe told the pitiful story. As his Irish father had said, Rufe was "an innocent." But he loved Baby Johnny and took great care of him. "Johnny's growing like a weed, Rufie," said Hester, kindly enough, as she pinched the little fellow's cheek softly. "You take such good care of him." Rufe threw back his head, opened his mouth wide, and roared his delight at this compliment. "Yes, ma'am!" he chuckled, when his paroxysm was over. "Johnny ain't much out of my sight when he's awake. Is he, Uncle Bill?" "No, Rufus," replied Jackway, sadly. "I'm pretty smart to take care of Johnny so well--ain't I, Uncle Bill?" demanded the weak-minded boy again. "You are smart enough when you want to be, Rufus," muttered Jackway, evidently in no very social mood. "You're worried about what happened last night, aren't you?" demanded Hester, sharply. "Yes, ma'am; I be," admitted the watchman. "You needn't be. They'll never blame you," returned Hester, brusquely, and went out. She wandered into the park at the foot of Whiffle Street and sat down. Here Rufus Doyle followed her with Baby Johnny. There had been heavy rains for the past week--until the day before. The gutters had run full and the park squad of "white wings" were raking the beaten leaves into windrows and flushing the sand and debris into the sewers. One basin cover had been laid back and left an open trap for unwary feet. Rufus Doyle was trying to coax a gray squirrel near for Johnny to admire. But Johnny was not particularly interested in bunny. Hester saw the toddler near the open hatch of the sewer basin one moment; the next he had disappeared, and it seemed to her as though a faint cry rang in her ears. She leaped up from the bench. "Johnny!" she called. Rufus was still engaged with the squirrel. Nobody seemed to have noticed the disappearance of the baby. Hester dashed to the open basin and peered down into the swirling brown water. CHAPTER IV "THERE'S GOOD STUFF IN THAT GIRL" Again that cry--that weak, bubbling wail from out the darkness of the sewer basin. Something swirled past Hester's strained vision in the dervish dance of the debris floating in the murky water. It was a tiny hand, stretched forth from a skimpy blue-cloth sleeve. It was Johnny Doyle's hand; but the child's body--the rest of it--was under water! The water was not more than six feet below the surface of the ground; but deep, deep down was the entrance of the big drain that joined the main sewer taking the street water and sewerage from the whole Hill section. Johnny was being sucked down into that drain. The girl, her mind keenly alert to all this, shrieked unintelligible cries for help--unintelligible to herself, even. She could not have told afterward a word she said, or what manner of help she demanded; but she knew the boy was drowning _and that she could swim_! With her clothing to hold her up a bit Hester believed she could swim or keep afloat even in that swirling eddy. The appealing little hand had no more than waved blindly once, than Hester gathered her rather full skirts about her and jumped, feet first, into the sewer-basin. That was no pleasant plunge, for, despite her skirts, Hester went down over her head. But her hands, thrashing about in the water, caught the baby's dress. She came up with Johnny in her arms, and when she had shaken the water from her eyes so that she could see, above was the brown face of one of the street cleaners. He was lowering a bucket on a rope, and yelling to her. What he said Hester did not know; but she saw her chance, and placed little Johnny--now a limp, pale rag of a boy--in the bucket, and the man drew him up with a yell of satisfaction. Hester was not frightened for herself. She felt the tug of the eddy at her feet; but she trod water and kept herself well above the surface until the man dropped the bucket down again. Then she saw the wild eyes and pallid, frightened face of Rufus at the opening, too; and a third anxious countenance. She knew that this belonged to Nellie Agnew's father. "Hang on, child!" exclaimed the physician, heartily. "We'll have you out in a jiffy." Hester clung to the rope and was glad to be dragged out of the filthy basin. She sat on the ground, almost breathless, for a moment. Rufe, with a wild cry, had sprung to Johnny. But the doctor put the half-witted lad aside and examined the child. "Bless him! he isn't hurt a mite," declared Dr. Agnew, cheerfully. "Run, get a taxi, Rufe! Quick, now! I'll take you and Johnny, and Miss Hester, too, home in it." Everybody was used to obeying the good doctor's commands, and Rufus Doyle ran as he was told. Hester was on her feet when the cab returned, and Dr. Agnew was holding the bedraggled and still unconscious Johnny in his arms. "We'll take you home first, Hester," said Dr. Agnew. "You live nearest." "No, no!" exclaimed Hester. "Go by the way of Mrs. Doyle's house. The baby ought to be 'tended to first." "Why, that's so," admitted the physician, and he looked at her a little curiously. Hester whisked into the cab and hid herself from the curious gaze of the few passers-by who had gathered when the trouble was all over. The taxi bore them all swiftly to the Doyles' humble domicile. It was on a street in which electric cabs were not commonly driven, and Rufe was mighty proud when he descended first into a throng of the idle children and women of the neighborhood. Of course, the usual officious neighbor, after one glance at Johnny's wet figure, had to rush into the house and proclaim that the boy had been drowned in the lake. But the doctor was right on her heels and showed Mrs. Doyle in a few moments that Johnny was all right. With a hot drink, and warm blankets for a few hours, and a good sleep, the child would be as good as new. But when the doctor came out of the house he was surprised to find the cab still in waiting and Hester inside. "Why didn't you go home at once and change your clothing?" demanded Dr. Agnew, sharply, as he hopped into the taxi again. "Is Johnny all right?" asked Hester. "Of course he is." "Then I'll go home," sighed Hester. "Oh, I sha'n't get cold, Doctor. I'm no namby-pamby girl--I hope! And I was afraid the little beggar would be in a bad way. He must have swallowed a quantity of water." "He was frightened more than anything else," declared Dr. Agnew, aloud. But to himself he was thinking: "There's good stuff in that girl, after all." For he, too, had heard the whispers that had begun to go the rounds of the Hill, and knew that Hester Grimes was on trial in the minds of nearly everybody whom she would meet. Some had already judged and sentenced her, as well! CHAPTER V HESTER AT HOME If Hester had arrived at the Grimes's house in two cabs instead of one it would have aroused her mother to little comment; for, for some years now, her daughter had grown quite beyond her control and Mrs. Grimes had learned not to comment upon Hester's actions. Yet, oddly enough, Hester was neither a wild girl nor a silly girl; she was merely bold, bad tempered, and wilful. Mrs. Grimes was a large, lymphatic lady, given to loose wrappers until late in the day, and the enjoyment of unlimited novels. "Comfort above all" was the good lady's motto. She had suffered much privation and had worked hard, during Mr. Grimes's beginnings in trade, for Hester's father had worked up from an apprentice butcher boy in a retail store--was a "self-made man." Mr. Grimes was forever talking about how he had made his own way in the world without the help of any other person; but he was, nevertheless, purse-proud and arrogant. Hester could not fail to be somewhat like her father in this. She believed that Money was the touchstone of all good in the world. But Mrs. Grimes was naturally a kindly disposed woman, and sometimes her mother's homely virtues cropped out in Hester--as note her interest in the Doyles. She was impulsively generous, but expected to find the return change of gratitude for every kindly dollar she spent. They had a big and ornate house, in which the servants did about as they liked for all of Mrs. Grimes's oversight. The latter admitted that she knew how to do a day's wash as well as any woman--perhaps would have been far more happy had she been obliged to do such work, too; but she had no executive ability, and the girls in the kitchen did well or ill as they listed. Now that Hester was growing into a young lady, she occasionally went into the servants' quarters and tried to set things right in imitation of her father's blustering oversight of his slaughter house--without Mr. Grimes's thorough knowledge of the work and conditions in hand. So Hester's interference in domestic affairs usually resulted in a "blow-up" of all concerned and a scramble for new servants at the local agencies. Under these circumstances it may be seen that the girl's home life was neither happy nor inspiring. The kindly, gentle things of life escaped Hester Grimes. She unfortunately scorned her mother for her "easy" habits; she admired her father's bullying ways and his ability to make money. And she missed the sweetening influence of a well-conducted home where the inmates are polite and kind to one another. Hester was abundantly healthy, possessed personal courage to a degree--as Dr. Agnew had observed--was not naturally unkind, and had other qualities that, properly trained and moulded, would have made her a very nice girl indeed. But having no home restraining influences, the rough corners of Hester Grimes's character had never been smoothed down. Her friendship with Lily Pendleton was not like the "chumminess" of other girls. Lily's mother came of one of the "first families" of Centerport, and moved in a circle that the Grimeses could never hope to attain, despite their money. Through her friendship with Lily, who was in miniature already a "fine lady," Hester obtained a slight hold upon the fringe of society. But even Lily was lost to her at times. "Why ain't I seen your friend Lily so much lately?" asked Mrs. Grimes, languidly, the evening of the day Hester had plunged into the sewer and rescued little Johnny Doyle. "Oh, between dancing school and Purt Sweet, Lil has about got her silly head turned," said Hester, tossing her own head. "My goodness me!" drawled Mrs. Grimes, "that child doesn't take young Purt Sweet seriously, does she?" "Whoever heard of anybody's taking Pretty seriously?" laughed Hester. "Only Pretty himself believes that he has anything in his head but mush! Last time Mrs. Pendleton had an evening reception, Purt got an invite, and went. Something happened to him--he knocked over a vase, or trod on a lady's dress, or something awkward--and the next afternoon Lil caught him walking up and down in front of their house, trying to screw up courage enough to ring the bell. "'What's the matter, Purt?' asked Lily, going up to him. "'Oh, Miss Lily!' cries Purt. 'What did your mother say when you told her I was sorry for having made a fool of myself at the party last night?' "'Why,' says Lil, 'she said she didn't notice anything unusual in your actions.' "Wasn't _that_ a slap? And now Lil is letting Purt run around with her and act as if he owned her--just because he's a good dancer." "My dear!" yawned her mother. "I should think you'd join that dancing class." "I'll wait till I'm asked, I hope," muttered Hester. "Everybody doesn't get to join it. We're not in that set--and we might as well admit it. And I don't believe we ever will be." "I'm certainly glad!" complained her mother, rustling the leaves of her book. "Your father is always pushing me into places where I don't want to go. He had a deal in business with Colonel Swayne, and he insisted that I call on Mrs. Kerrick. They're awfully stuck-up folks, Hess." "I see Mrs. Kerrick's carriage standing at the Beldings' gate quite often, just the same," muttered Hester. "Yes--I know," said her mother. "They make a good deal of Laura. Well, they didn't make much of me. When I walked into the grounds and started up the front stoop, a butler, or footman, or something, all togged up in livery, told me that I must go around to the side door if I had come to see the cook. And he didn't really seem anxious to take my card." "Oh, Mother!" exclaimed Hester. "You needn't tell your father. I don't blame 'em. They've got their own friends and we've got ourn. No use pushing out of our class." "You should have gone in the carriage," complained Hester. "I don't like that stuffy hack," said her mother. "It smells of--of liv'ry stables and--and funerals! If your father would set up a carriage of his own----" "Or buy an automobile instead of hiring one for us occasionally," finished Hester. For with all his love of display, the wholesale butcher was a thrifty person. With Lily so much interested for the time in other matters, Hester found her only recreation at the athletic field; and for several days after the mysterious raid upon the girls' gymnasium there was not much but talk indulged in about the building. Then new basketballs were procured and the regular practice in that game went on. In a fortnight would come the first inter-school match of the fall term--a game between Central High girls and the representative team of East High of Centerport. In the last match game the East High girls had won--and many of the girls of Central High believed that the game went to their competitors because of Hester Grimes's fouling. There was more talk of this now. Some of the girls did not try to hide their dislike for Hester. Nellie Agnew did not speak to her at all, and the latter was inclined to accuse Nellie of being the leader in this apparent effort to make Hester feel that she was looked upon with more than suspicion. The mystery of the gymnasium raid overshadowed the whole school; but the shadow fell heaviest on Hester Grimes. "She did it!" "She's just mean enough to do it!" "She said she hated us!" "It's just like her--she spoils everything she can't boss!" She could read these expressions on the lips of her fellow students. Hester Grimes began to pay for her ill-temper, and the taste of this medicine was bitter indeed. CHAPTER VI THE FIRST GAME It would have been hard to tell how the suspicion took form among the girls of Central High that Hester Grimes knew more than she should regarding the gymnasium mystery. Whether she had spoiled the paraphernalia herself, or hired somebody to do it for her, was the point of the discussion carried on wherever any of the girls--especially those of her own class--met for conference. Older people scoffed at the idea of a girl having committed the crime. And, indeed, it was a complete mystery how the marauder got into the building and out again. Bill Jackway, the watchman, was worried almost sick over it; he was afraid of losing his job. Bobby Hargrew was about the only girl in Central High who "lost no sleep over the affair," as she expressed it. And that wasn't because she was not keenly interested in the mystery. Indeed, like Nellie, she had seen at the beginning that suspicion pointed to Hester Grimes. And perhaps Bobby believed at the bottom of her heart that Hester had brought about the destruction. Bobby and Hester had forever been at daggers' points. Bobby, however, was as full of mischief and fun as ever. "Oh, girls!" she exclaimed, to a group waiting at the girls' entrance to the school building one morning. "I've got the greatest joke on Gee Gee! Listen to it." "What have you done now, you bad, bad child?" demanded Nellie. "You'll miss playing goal guard against East High if you don't look out. Miss Carrington is watching you." "She's always watching me," complained Bobby. "But this joke can't put a black mark against _me_, thank goodness!" "What is it, Bobby?" asked Dorothy Lockwood. "Don't keep us on tenter-hooks," urged her twin. "Why, Gee Gee called at Alice Long's yesterday afternoon. You know, she is bound to make a round of the girls' homes early in the term--she always does. And Alice Long was able to return to school this fall." "And I'm glad of that," said Dorothy. "She'll finish her senior year and graduate." "Well," chuckled Bobby, "Gee Gee appeared at the house and Tommy, Short and Long's little brother, met her at the door. Alice wasn't in, and Gee Gee opened her cardcase. Out fluttered one of those bits of tissue paper that come between engraved cards--to keep 'em from smudging, you know. Tommy jumped and picked it up, and says he: "'Say, Missis! you dropped one of your cigarette papers.' Now, what do you know about _that_?" cried Bobby, as the other girls went off into a gale of laughter. "Billy heard him, and it certainly tickled that boy. Think of Gee Gee's feelings!" Not alone Bobby, but all the members of the basketball team were doing their very best in classes so as to have no marks against them before the game with the East High girls. Mrs. Case coached them sharply, paying particular attention to Hester. It was too bad that this robust girl, who was so well able to play the game, should mar her playing with roughness and actual rudeness to her fellow-players. And warnings seemed wasted on her. Hester never received a demerit from Miss Carrington. In class she was always prepared and there was little to ruffle her temper. The instructors--aside from Mrs. Case--seldom found any fault with Hester Grimes. The game with the crack team of the East High girls was to be played on the latter's court. The girls of Central High had been beaten there in the spring; this afternoon they went over--with their friends--with the hope of returning the spring defeat. Bobby had been in the audience and led the "rooting" among the girls for Central High at the former game. Now she had graduated from a mere basketball "fan" to a very alert and successful goal guard. This was Eve Sitz's first important game, too; but the Swiss girl was of a cool and phlegmatic temperament and Laura Belding, as captain, had no fears for her. The audience was a large one, and was enthusiastic from the start. The girls of Central High always attended the boys' games in force and applauded liberally for their own school team; so Chet Belding and Lance Darby, with a crowd of strong-lunged Central High boys at their backs, cheered their girl friends when they came on the field with the very effective school yell: "C-e-n, Central High! C-e-n-t-r-a-l, Central High! C-e-n-t-r-a-l-h-i-g-h, Central High! Ziz-z-z-z---- Boom!" The teams took their places after warming up a little, their physical instructors acting as coaches, while the physical instructor for West High School of Centerport was referee. The officials on the lines were selected from the competing schools. It was agreed to play two fifteen-minute halves and the ball was put into play by the referee. The girls of Central High played like clockwork for the first five minutes and scored a clean goal. Their friends cheered tumultuously. When the ball was put into play again there was much excitement. "Shoot it here, Laura! I'm loose!" shouted Bobby, whose slang was always typical of the game she was playing. "Block her! Block her!" cried the captain of the East High team. Most of the instructions were supposed to be passed by signal; but the girls would get excited at times and, unless the referee blew her whistle and stopped the play, pandemonium _did_ reign on the court once in a while. Suddenly the ball chanced to be snapped to Hester's side of the court. Her opponent got it, and almost instantly the referee's whistle blew. "That Central High girl at forward center is over-guarding." "No, I'm not!" snapped Hester. The lady who acted as referee was a bit hot-tempered herself, perhaps. At least, this flat contradiction brought a most unexpected retort from her lips: "Central High Captain!" "Yes, ma'am?" gasped Laura Belding. "Take out your forward center and put in a substitute for this half." "But, Miss Lawrence!" cried Laura, aghast. "You are delaying play, Miss Belding," said the referee, sharply. Laura looked at Hester with commiseration; but she did not have to speak. The culprit, with a red and angry visage, was already crossing the court toward the dressing rooms. Laura put in Roberta Fish, and play went on. But the Central High team was rattled. East High got two goals--one from a foul--and so stood in the lead at the end of the half. The visiting team did not work so well together with the substitute player, and the captain of East High, seeing this fact, crowded the play to Roberta Fish's side. "My goodness!" whispered Bobby Hargrew, as they ran off the field at the end of the half. "I hope that's taught Hester a lesson. And this is once when we need Hester Grimes badly." "I should say we did," panted Laura. "We've got to play up some to win back that point we lost, let alone beating them," cried Jess Morse. Nellie Agnew was the first to enter the dressing room assigned to the Central High girls. She looked around the empty room and gasped. "What's the matter, Nell?" cried Bobby, crowding in. "Where is she?" demanded the doctor's daughter. "Hessie has lit out!" shouted Bobby, turning back to the captain and her team-mates. "She's got mad and gone home!" declared Jess Morse. "Her hat and coat are gone." "_Now_ what will we do?" cried Dorothy Lockwood. And the question was echoed from all sides. For without Hester it did not seem possible that the Central High team could hold its own with its opponents. CHAPTER VII THE SECOND HALF The dressing room buzzed like an angry beehive for a minute. It was Laura Belding, captain of the team, who finally said: "Hester surely can't have deserted us in this way. She knows that Roberta is not even familiar with our secret signals." "She's gone, just the same," said her chum, Jess. "That's how mean Hester Grimes is." "Well, I declare! I don't know that I blame her," cried Lily Pendleton. "You don't blame her?" repeated Nellie. "I don't believe you'd blame Hester no matter what she did." "She hasn't done anything," returned Lily, sullenly. "How about the gym. business----" Bobby Hargrew began it, but Laura shut her off by a prompt palm laid across her mouth. "You be still, Bobby!" commanded Nellie Agnew. "You're all just as unfair to Hessie as you can be," said Lily with some spirit. "And now this woman from West High had to pick on her----" "Don't talk so foolishly, Lil," said Dora Lockwood. "You know very well that Hester has been warned dozens of times not to talk back to the referee. Mrs. Case warns her almost every practice game about something. And now she has got taken up short. If it wasn't for what it means to us all in this particular game, I wouldn't care if she never played with us." "Me, too!" cried Jess, in applause. "Hester is always cutting some mean caper that makes trouble for other folk." "We can't possibly win this game without her!" wailed Dorothy. "I'll do my very best, girls," said Roberta Fish, the substitute player at forward center. "Of course you will, Roberta," said Laura, warmly. "But we can't teach you all our moves in these few moments--Ah! here is Mrs. Case." Their friend and teacher came in briskly. "What's all this? what's all this?" she cried. "Where is Hester?" "She took her hat and coat and ran out before we came in, Mrs. Case," explained Laura. "Not deserted you?" cried the instructor. "Yes, ma'am." "But that is a most unsportsmanlike thing to do!" exclaimed the instructor, feeling the desertion keenly. That one of her girls should act so cut Mrs. Case to the heart. She took great pride in the girls of Central High as a body, and Hester's desertion was bad for discipline. "You must do the best you can, Laura, with the substitute," she said, at last, and speaking seriously. "I will inform Miss Lawrence that you will put in Roberta for the second half, too. Nothing need be said about Hester's defection." "I am afraid we can't win with me in Hessie's place," wailed Roberta. "You're going to do your very best, Roberta," said Mrs. Case, calmly. "You always do. All of you put your minds to the task. Your opponents are only one point ahead of you. The first five-minutes' play in the first half was as pretty team work on your part as I ever saw." "But we can't use our secret signals," said Laura. "Play your very best. Do not put Roberta into bad pinches----" "But the captain of the East High team sees our weak point, and forces the play that way," complained Jess Morse. "Of course she does. And you would do the same were you in her place," said Mrs. Case, with a smile. "But above all, if you can't win gracefully, _do_ lose gracefully! Be sportsmanlike. Cheer the winners. Now, the whistle will sound in a moment," and the instructor hurried away to speak to the referee. "Oh, dear me!" groaned Roberta. "My heart's in my mouth." "Then it isn't where Sissy Lowe, one of the freshies, said it was in physiology class yesterday," chuckled Bobby Hargrew. "How was that, Bobby?" queried Jess. "Sissy was asked where the heart was situated--what part of the body--and she says: "'Pleathe, Mith Gould, ith in the north thentral part!' Can you beat those infants?" added Bobby as the girls laughed. But they were in no mood for laughter when they trotted out upon the basketball court at the sound of the referee's whistle. They took their places in silence, and the roars of the Central High boys, with their prolonged "Ziz--z--z--z----Boom!" did not sound as encouraging as it had at the beginning of the first half. Basketball is perhaps the most transparent medium for revealing certain angles of character in young girls. At first the players seldom have anything more than a vague idea of the proper manner of throwing a ball, or the direction in which it is to be thrown. The old joke about a woman throwing a stone at a hen and breaking the pane of glass behind her, will soon become a tasteless morsel under the tongue of the humorist. Girls in our great public schools are learning how to throw. And basketball is one of the greatest helps to this end. The woman of the coming generation is going to have developed the same arm and shoulder muscles that man displays, and will be able to throw a stone and hit the hen, if necessary! The girl beginner at basketball usually has little idea of direction in throwing the ball; nor, indeed, does she seem to distinguish fairly at first between her opponents and her team mates. Her only idea is to try to propel the ball in the general direction of the goal, the thought that by passing it from one to another of her team mates she will much more likely see it land safely in the basket never seemingly entering her mind. But once a girl has learned to observe and understand the position and function of team mates and opponents, to consider the chances of the game in relation to the score, and, bearing these things in mind, can form a judgment as to her most advantageous play, and act quickly on it--when she has learned to repress her hysterical excitement and play quietly instead of boisterously, what is it she has gained? It is self-evident that she has won something beside the mere ability to play basketball. She has learned to control her emotions--to a degree, at least--through the dictates of her mind. Blind impulse has been supplanted by intelligence. Indeed, she has gained, without doubt, a balance of mind and character that will work for good not only to herself, but to others. Indeed, it is the following out of the old fact--the uncontrovertible fact of education--that what one learns at school is not so valuable as is the fact that he _learns how to learn_. Playing basketball seriously will help the girl player to control her emotions and her mind in far higher and more important matters than athletics. To see these eighteen girls in their places, alert, unhurried, watchful, and silent, was not alone a pleasing, but an inspiring sight. Laura and her team mates--even Roberta--waited like veterans for the referee to throw the ball. Laura and her opposing jumping center were on the _qui vive_, muscles taut, and scarcely breathing. Suddenly the ball went up. Laura sprang for it and felt her palms against the big ball. Instantly she passed it to Jess Morse and within the next few seconds the ball was in play all over the back field--mostly in the hands of Central High girls. They played hard; but nobody--not even Roberta--played badly. The East High girls were strong opponents, and more than once it looked as though the ball would be carried by them into a goal. However, on each occasion, some brilliant play by a Central High girl brought it back toward their basket and finally, after six and a half minutes, the visiting team made a goal. The Central High girls were one point ahead. The ball went in at center again and there was a quick interchange of plays between the teams. Suddenly, while the ball was flying through the air toward East High's basket, the referee's whistle sounded. "Foul!" she declared, just as the ball popped into the basket. A murmur rose from the East High team. Madeline Spink, the captain, said quietly: "But the goal counts for us, does it not, Miss Lawrence?" "It counts as a goal from a foul," replied the referee, "which means that it is no goal at all, and the ball is in play." The East High girls were more than a little disturbed by the decision. It was a nice point; for on occasion a goal thrown from the foul line counts one. It broke up, for the minute, the better play of the East High team, and the instant the Central High girls got the ball they rushed it for a goal. There was great excitement at this point in the game. If Central High won two clean points it would hardly be possible for East High to recover and gain the lead once more. Laura signalled her players from time to time; but she was hampered whenever the ball came near Roberta, or the time was ripe for a massed play. The substitute did not know all the secret signals. Had Hester Grimes only been in her place! Her absence crowded the Central High team slowly to the wall. In the very moment of success, when a clean goal was about to be made, they failed and their opponents got the ball. Again it was passed from hand to hand. One girl bounced the ball and a foul was called. Again the Central Highs rushed it, and from the foul line made another goal. Two points ahead, and the boys in the audience cheered madly. No harder fought battle had ever been played upon that court. "Shoot it over, Jess!" roared Chet, at one point, rising and waving to his particular girl friend, madly. "Look out! they'll get you!" "Look out, Laura! don't let 'em get you----Aw! that's too bad," grumbled Lance Darby, quite as interested in the work of Chet's sister on the court. "Hi! no fair pulling! Say! where's the referee's eyes?" demanded Chet, the next moment, in disgust. "Behind her glasses," said his chum. "I never did believe four eyes were as good as two." The ball came back to center again and there was little delay before it was put in play. Only three minutes remained. The eighteen girls were as eager as they could be. Madeline Spink and her team mates were determined to tie the score at least. A clean goal would do it. They rushed the play and carried the ball into Roberta's country. Roberta never had a chance! In a moment the ball was hurtling toward the proper East High girl, and no guarding could save it. A cheer from the audience--those interested in the East High girls--announced another clean goal. The score was tied and two minutes to play! "Do not delay the game, young ladies!" warned the referee. They were in position again and the ball was thrown up. No fumbles now. Every girl was playing for all that there was in her! A single point would decide the rivalry of the two schools at the beginning of the playing season. To lead off with this first game would encourage either team immeasurably. East High led off first; but quickly Laura and her team mates got the ball again and pushed it toward the basket. There was no rough play. The umpires, as well as the referee, watched sharply. It was a sturdy, vigorous, but fair game. This was a time when Hester's hot temper might have brought the team disgrace; and for a moment Laura was, after all, glad that the delinquent had gone home. Then, suddenly, from full field and a fair position, the ball rose and flew directly for the basket. While in mid-air the whistle was blown. Time was called and the game was ended. CHAPTER VIII THE ROUND ROBIN The spectators, as well as the players, held their breath and watched the flying ball. Although the whistle had blown, the goal--if the ball settled into the basket--would count for the visiting team. This one unfinished play would give the girls of Central High two clear points in the lead if all went well. The course of the flying ball was watched by all eyes, therefore. Chet Belding and his mates began their chant, believing that the ball was sure to go true to the basket. But they began too soon. The ball hit the ring of the basket, hovered a moment over it, and then fell back and rolled into the court! Chet's chant of praise changed to a groan. The game was over--and it was a tie. Disappointed as the girls of Central High were, they cheered their opponents nobly, and the East High girls cheered them. The audience had to admit that the game had been keenly fought and--after Hester was put out of it--as cleanly as a basketball game had ever been played on those grounds. Miss Lawrence, the referee, came to the Central High girls' dressing room and complimented Laura and her team on their playing. "I was sorry to put off your forward center, Miss Belding, in the first half. If you had brought her into the field in the second half your team, without doubt, would have won," said the referee. "That girl is a splendid player, but she needs to learn to control her temper." "That's always the way!" cried Nellie Agnew, when the West High instructor was gone. "Hester spoils everything." "She crabs every game we play," growled Bobby, both sullen and slangy. "She ought to be put off the team for good," said one of the twins. "That's so," chimed in her sister. "We'll never win this season if Hessie is included in this team," declared Jess Morse. Even Lily Pendleton could find nothing to say now in favor of her chum. She hurried away from the others girls, and the seven remaining seriously discussed the situation. It was Nellie, despite her promise to her father, who came out boldly and said: "Let's put her off the team altogether." "We can't do it," objected Laura. "Ask Mrs. Case to do it, then," said Jess. "But who'll ask her? Hester will be awfully mad," said Eve Sitz. "I wouldn't want to be the one to do the asking," admitted the bold Bobby. The seven regular members of the basketball team were alone now. Dorothy Lockwood said: "I wouldn't want to be the one to sign a petition. But that is what we ought to do--sign a petition to Mrs. Case asking her to remove Hester." "What do you say, Mother Wit?" demanded Jess Morse of Laura. "I vote for the petition," said Laura, gravely. "And who'll sign it?" cried Dorothy. "All of us." "Not me first!" declared Dora. "We'll make it a 'round robin,'" said Laura, smiling. "All seven of us will sign in a circle, but nobody need take the lead in making the request. If we are all agreed Jess can write the petition to Mrs. Case." "I'll do it!" declared Jess Morse. With some corrections from her chum, Josephine finally prepared and presented for their signatures the petition, and having read it the girls, one after the other, signed her name in the manner Mother Wit had suggested. The petition and Round Robin was as follows: "We, the undersigned members of Basketball Team No. 1, of Central High, Girls' Branch Athletic League, after due and ample discussion of the facts, conclude that the retention of Hester Grimes as a member of the said team is a detriment thereto, and that her membership will, in the future, as in the past, cause the team to lose games in the Trophy Series of Inter-School Games. We therefore ask that the aforesaid Hester Grimes be removed from the team and that some other player be nominated in her stead." [Illustration: Josephine Morse, C. Hargrew, Dora Lockwood, Eve Sitz, Nellie Agnew, Laura Belding, Dorothy Lockwood] In signing the paper in this fashion no one girl could be accused of leading in the demand for Hester's removal. Lily had gone, so that nobody would tell Hester just what each girl said, or who signed first. That Nellie Agnew had taken the lead in this petition against her schoolmate the doctor's daughter herself knew, if nobody else did. She felt a little conscience-stricken over it, too, for she had told Daddy Doctor that she would be guided by his advice in the matter of Hester Grimes. And after supper that night her father said something that made Nellie feel more than ever condemned. "Do you know, Nell," he said, thoughtfully, pulling on his old black pipe as she perched as usual on the broad arm of his chair. "Do you know there is good stuff in that girl Hester?" "In Hester Grimes?" asked Nellie, rather flutteringly. "Yes. In Hester Grimes. I guess you didn't hear about it. And it slipped my mind. But when I was over to see little Johnny Doyle again to-day I found Hester there and the Doyles think she's about right--especially Rufus." "Rufus isn't just right in his mind--is he?" asked Nellie, her eyes twinkling a little. "I don't know. In some things Rufe is 'way above the average," chuckled her father. "He is cunning enough, sure enough! But to get back to Hester. I never told you how she jumped into the sewer-basin and saved Johnny's life?" "No! Never!" gasped Nellie. The physician told her the incident in full. He told her further that Hester had done a deal, off and on, for the Widow Doyle and her children. "Oh, I wish I had known!" cried Nellie, in real contrition. "What for?" demanded the doctor. But she would not tell him. She knew that the petition had been mailed to Mrs. Case that very evening. Her name was on it, and in her own heart Nellie knew that she had had as much to do with the scheme to put Hester Grimes off the basketball team as any girl. "Perhaps, if the girls had known what Hester did for Johnny they wouldn't have been so bitter against her," thought the doctor's daughter. "I know _I_ would never have signed that hateful paper. Oh, dear! why did Daddy Doctor have to find out that there was some good in Hester, and tell _me_ about it?" CHAPTER IX ANOTHER RAID Hester Grimes, as the doctor said, had appeared late that afternoon at the Doyles' little tenement. She had gone there from the basketball game instead of going directly home. To tell the truth, she did not wish to be questioned by her mother, nor did she want to meet Lily. If she had felt hatred against her mates in Central High before, that feeling in her heart was now doubled! For, as all anger is illogical (indignation may not be) Hester turned upon the girls and blamed them for the referee's decision. Because Miss Lawrence had put her out of the game Hester would have been glad to know that her team mates had gone to pieces and been defeated. She had managed to recover outwardly from her disappointment and anger, however, when she arrived at the domicile of her humble acquaintances. Mrs. Doyle knitted jackets, and Hester had ordered one for her mother. "Ma is always lolling around and complaining of feeling draughts," said Hester. "So I'll give her one of these 'snuggers' to keep her shoulders warm. She's always snuffing with a cold when it comes fall and the furnace fire is not lit." "Lots o' folks are having colds just now," complained Mrs. Doyle. "Johnny's snuffling with one." "Oh, he'll be all right--won't he, Rufie?" said Hester, chucking the baby under his plump little chin, but speaking to his faithful nurse. "In course he will, Miss Hester," cried Rufus, and then opened his mouth for a roar of laughter, that made even the feverish Johnny crow. "Rufus never gets tired of minding Johnny," said the widow, proudly. "But he does miss his Uncle Bill." Rufe's face clouded over. "He ain't never home no more," he said, complainingly. "But you can go over to see him at the gymnasium," said Hester. "Not no more he can't, Miss," said the widow. "Rufus used to go over to see Uncle Bill evenings; but Uncle Bill can't have him there no more." "Why not?" asked Hester, quickly; and yet she flushed and turned her own gaze away and looked out of the window. "Bill's had some trouble there. He's afraid the Board of Education would object. Somebody got into the building----" "I heard about it," said Hester, quickly. "Wisht Uncle Bill had another job," grumbled Rufus. "Rufie's real bright about some things," whispered his mother. "And sharp ain't no name for it! He is pretty cute. You can't say much before him that he don't remember, and repeat." "Wisht that old gymnasium building would burn up; then Uncle Bill could come home," muttered Rufe. Mrs. Doyle went to see to her fire. Hester beckoned the boy to the window and whispered to him. Gradually Rufe's face lit up with one of his flashes of cunning. Money passed from the girl's hand to that of the half-witted youth. Just then Dr. Agnew appeared and Hester took her departure. On the following morning Franklin Sharp, the principal of Central High, called a conference of his teachers at the first opportunity. He was very grave indeed when he told them that another raid had been made upon the girls' gymnasium. "Not so much damage is reported as was done before. But, then, the paraphernalia before destroyed was not all removed. But this time the scoundrel--or scoundrels--tried arson. "A fire was built in a closet on the upper floor. Bill Jackway smelled smoke and got up to see what it was. He found no trace of the firebug--can discover no way in which he got out----" "But how did he get in?" asked one of the teachers. "That is plain. It had rained early in the evening. Footprints are still visible leading across a soft piece of ground from the east fence to a window. The window was open, although Bill swears it was shut and locked when he went to bed at ten o'clock. That is how the marauder entered the building. How he got out is a mystery," declared the principal. "It is a very dreadful thing," complained Miss Carrington. "I do not see what we can do about it." "We must do something," said Miss Gould, with vigor. "Suppose you suggest a course of procedure, Miss Gould?" said the principal, his eyes twinkling. "I think it would be well," said Miss Gould, "to sift every rumor and story regarding this matter. There is much gossip among the girls. I have heard of a threat that one girl made in the gymnasium----" "That is quite ridiculous, Miss Gould!" cried Miss Carrington, with some heat. "You have been listening to a base slander against one of my very best pupils." "You mean this Hester Grimes, Henry Grimes's daughter?" said the principal, sternly. "That is the girl," admitted Miss Gould. "I know little about her----" "And I know a good deal," interposed Mrs. Case, grimly. "Miss Carrington finds her good at her books, and her deportment is always fair in classes. I find her the hardest girl to manage in all the school. She has a bad temper and she has never been taught to control it. It has gone so far that I fear I shall have to shut her out of some of the athletics," and she related all that had happened at the basketball game with the East High girls the afternoon before. "I do not approve of these contests," said Miss Carrington, primly. "They are sure to cause quarreling." "If they do, then there is something the matter with the girls," declared Mr. Sharp, briskly. "And I have received this request from the girls of the team--seven of them--this morning," continued Mrs. Case, producing the "round robin." "The only girls beside Hester who did not sign it is a girl who always chums with her--the only really close friend Hester has to my knowledge in the school. "Now, I should like very much to be instructed what to do about this? The girls are perfectly in the right. Hester is not dependable on the team. There should be another girl in her place----" "Oh, but it is quite unfair!" cried Miss Carrington. "And remember her father is quite an important man. There will be trouble if Hester is put down in these tiresome athletics; or if this story that is going about is repeated to Mr. Grimes I can't imagine what he _would_ do." "Mr. Grimes does not run the Board of Education, nor does he control _our_ actions," declared Mr. Sharp. "We must take cognizance of these matters at once. I believe you should remove Hester from the team, as requested, Mrs. Case. You have ample reason for so doing. And this matter of the attempt to burn the gymnasium must be investigated fully." "But no girl could do these things in the gymnasium," cried Miss Carrington, with considerable asperity. "But she could get somebody else to do them--especially a girl who is allowed as much spending money as Hester Grimes," said the principal. "I can imagine no sane person committing such a crime. It is wilful and malicious mischief, and could only be inspired by hatred, or--an unbalanced mind. That is my opinion." CHAPTER X MOTHER WIT AND THE GRAY MARE For some reason, that lively young "female Mercury," as Jess Morse sometimes dubbed her, Bobby Hargrew, did not hear of this new raid upon the girls' gym. early that morning; so, like the other pupils of Central High, she could not visit the athletic building until after school. She went then with Nellie and Laura and Jess, and the quartette were almost the first girls to enter the building that day. "It's a dreadful thing," said Laura, in discussing the affair. The girls were all noticeably grave about the matter this time. There was little excitement, or talk of "how horrid it was" and all that. There was a gravity in their manner which showed that the girls of Central High were quite aware that the case was serious in the extreme. One of their number was accused of being the instigator of these raids on the gymnasium. True, or false, it was an accusation that could not be lightly overlooked. Laura Belding was particularly grave; and Nellie Agnew had cried about it. The four friends went out into the field and examined the footprints in the earth. "Those were never Hessie's 'feetprints,' for, big as her feet are, she never wears boots like _those_!" giggled Bobby. "He was a shuffler--that fellow," said Jess. "See how blurred the marks are at the heel?" "And he shuffled right up to this window--And how do you suppose he opened it, if, as Mr. Jackway says, it was locked on the inside?" "Mystery!" said Bobby. "Give it up," added Jess. "What do you say, Mother Wit?" "That is the way he opened it," said Laura, softly, looking up from the foot prints. "What's that?" cried Jess. "Why--I hear you talking, but you don't say anything!" laughed Bobby. "_How_ did he open it?" "From the inside," said Laura. "Why, Laura!" gasped Nellie. "You do not distrust Mr. Jackway?" "Hush! Of course not," cried Jess, in a lower tone. "No, I do not distrust him," said Laura Belding. "What do you mean, then, by saying that the fellow opened the window from the inside?" "And that's ridiculous, Laura!" cried Jess. "He walked up to the window from across the field--you can see he did. And there's no mark showing how he went away. He did not leave by the window. He could not have been inside when he came from outside----" "Hold on! Hold on!" warned Bobby. "You're getting dreadfully mixed, Jess." "But I don't see what Laura's driving at," declared her chum. "Why," said Mother Wit, calmly, "the person who made those shoe prints walked backwards. Don't you see? That is what makes the shuffling mark at the heel. And see! the step is so uneven in length. He escaped by the window; he didn't enter by it." "Well!" cried Nellie Agnew. "That explains without explaining. The mystery is deeper than ever." "Why is it?" demanded Jess. "Don't you see? Before, we thought we knew how the fellow got in. It seems to be an easier thing to get out of the gym. than into it. But now Laura knocks that in the head. The mystery is: How did he get in?" "Oh, don't!" cried Bobby. "It makes my head buzz. And Laura is a regular lady detective. She's always finding out things that 'it would be better, far, did we not know!'" She said this to Nellie Agnew, when they had separated from Laura and Jess, and were walking toward home. "Say! do you know how Laura explained that canoe tipping over with Purt Sweet and Lily Pendleton?" pursued the lively one. "I didn't know that they had an accident," laughed Nellie. "Those canoes are awfully ticklish, I know." "I should say they were! Well, Purt and Lil borrowed Hessie's canoe and they no more than got started before they went head first into the water--and Lil, of course, helpless as usual, had to be 'rescued.' The number of times that girl has been 'rescued' this season is a caution!" "I do admire your elegant language," said Nellie, reprovingly. "But what did Laura say?" "She explained it all for them. Both Purt and Lil were trying to tell how such a wonderful thing chanced to happen as an overturn, when Laura said she could explain it satisfactorily to all hands. She said that Purt had made a mistake and parted his hair too far on one side, and that had overbalanced the canoe!" "Well, they do swamp awfully easy," laughed Nellie. "I guess Laura has found the right explanation of how the villain left the gym. But there is one explanation that I would like to have--a much more important one," concluded Nellie. "What's that?" "_Who_ did it?" "I thought that was pretty well understood," growled Bobby. "No girl could have climbed over that fence, that's sure!" "Oh, I grant you that!" cried Bobby. "But she paid to have it done. There are plenty of tough fellows from down at the 'Four Corners' who work at the slaughter house. They could be hired to do it." "Hush, Bobby!" commanded the doctor's daughter. "I feel terribly condemned. I am afraid we are accusing Hester wrongfully. A girl couldn't have two such very opposite sides to her character," and she promptly told her friend what Dr. Agnew had related regarding Hester's rescue of little Johnny Doyle from the sewer basin. "Gee! that was some jump, wasn't it?" demanded the admiring Bobby. Then she shook her head slowly. "Well," she remarked, "nobody ever said Hester wasn't brave enough. She was brave enough to slap your face!" and then she giggled. "I don't care," said Nellie, slowly. "I fear we went too far when we asked Mrs. Case to take her off the team. And I'm _sure_ it isn't right for us to accuse her of being the cause of the trouble at the gym.--without further and better evidence." "Oh, dear, Nell! you're a great fuss-budget!" cried the effervescent Bobby. "Are you sure that your Daddy Doctor saw quite straight when he saw Hester save the kid? You know, he's getting awfully absent-minded." Nellie smiled at her, taking Bobby's jokes good naturedly. "I know father is absent-minded," she admitted. "But not as bad as all that." "I don't know," returned Bobby, with apparent seriousness. "The other day when he put the stethoscope to me before practice, I expected to see him take the receiver away from his ear and holler 'Hello, Central!' into it." "I'll tell him that!" promised Nellie. "All right. Do your worst," giggled Bobby. "It will be a month old before he gets around to sound my heart action again, and he will have forgotten all about it by then." The Saturday following a crowd of the girls went out to visit Eve Sitz, and Nellie and Bobby were included in the automobile load that left the Beldings' house right after luncheon. Saturday mornings Laura always helped in her father's jewelry store, while Chet was behind the counter as an extra salesman in the evening; so the Beldings' chauffeur drove the car to the Sitz farm for the girls. There were chestnut and hickory woods on, and near, the Sitz farm, and the girls had in mind a scheme for a big nutting party just as soon as Otto Sitz--Eve's brother--should pronounce the frost heavy enough to open the chestnut burrs and send the hickory nuts tumbling to the ground. There was always plenty to do to amuse the young folk--especially young folk from the city--on the Sitz place. This day Otto and the hired men were husking corn on the barn floor, and Nellie, and Bobby, and Jess and the Lockwood twins were supplied with "corn pegs" and sat around the pile, helping to strip the golden and red ears. Eve had an errand down at the nearest country store, so she put the old gray mare into the spring cart with her own hands, and Laura rode with her. "We had a nice colt from old Peggy last year, and two weeks ago it was stolen. Otto had just broken her to saddle, and she was a likely animal," Eve said. "Old Peggy misses her, and whinnies for her all the time," she added, as the mare raised her head and sent a clarion call echoing across the hills. "Hasn't your father tried to find the thief--or the colt?" queried Laura. "Yes, indeed. He's over to Keyport to-day to see the detective there." "But the colt may be outside the county," urged Laura. "That's so, too. We haven't any idea where Jinks went. That was her name--Jinksey. She doesn't look much like Old Peggy; but she was worth a hundred and fifty dollars, if she was worth a cent! More than father could easily afford to lose. And then--Otto really owned her--or would have owned her when he came of age. Father had promised Jinks to him." "It's a shame!" cried Laura, always sympathetic. "And you have no suspicion as to who could have taken her?" "No. Down beyond the store--beyond Robinson's Woods, you know--there is a settlement of people who have a hard name. They rob the gardens and orchards on the edge of town----" "Toward Centerport, you mean?" "Yes." "The Four Corners' crowd!" cried Laura. "Yes." "Oh, that gang are a bad lot. Once Chet and I motored through there and an ugly fellow named Pocock came out and fired a charge of bird-shot into a rear tire. He said an auto had been through there the week before and killed his pig, and he was going to shoot at every machine he saw. We've never taken that road again." "That Hebe Pocock is an awfully bad fellow," said Eve, seriously. "He tried to work for us once, but father wouldn't keep him more than a day. And he's been mad at us ever since." "Maybe some of those fellows in that gang stole your Jinksey." "How are we going to know? Father or Otto wouldn't dare go down there and look around. And I guess the police are afraid of those fellows, too." "Let's drive down past the store," suggested Laura, thoughtfully, after the old mare had again lifted up her voice. "Oh, my, Laura! What for?" "Something might come of it." "I guess nothing but trouble." "I've got what Chet and Lance call 'a hunch,'" said Laura, slowly. "We--ell----here's the store." "Just a little farther, Eve," said Laura, taking the reins herself, and clucking to the old mare. They passed the store on the trot. Around the first bend they came in sight of the little hollow where the roads crossed, making the renowned "Four Corners." Coming up the road was a boy on a bay colt. Instantly the old mare whinnied again, and the colt answered her. "It's Jinksey!" gasped Eve. "We're going to get her--if you're sure!" declared Laura. "Of course I'm sure. I'd know her anywhere--and so would Old Peggy." The colt snorted again, and the boy riding her tried to pull her out into a side path, to cut across the fields. Eve stood up and shouted to him. Laura urged the gray mare on, and she went down the hill at a tearing pace. CHAPTER XI HEBE POCOCK "Oh, Laura!" gasped Eve. "That boy will never give the colt up." "Why not? See him?" exclaimed Mother Wit. "He knows he is riding a stolen horse. There! he's sliding out of the saddle." The fact was, the colt--still but half broken under the saddle and with its eyes on its mother--would not move out of its tracks. The boy jumped off and tried to lead Jinks. "Get away from that horse, boy!" commanded Laura, bringing the old mare down to a more moderate pace as they approached the stolen colt. "I'll tell my brother!" yelled the youngster. "I'll set him on ye! This critter is his'n." "And he came by it just as dishonestly as you came by such grammar as you use," said Laura, laughing, while Eve hopped over the wheel on her side of the cart and grabbed the reins out of the boy's hands. "Let that horse alone!" cried the youngster, kicking at Eve with his bare foot. But Eve Sitz wasn't afraid of any boy--not even had he been of her own size and age. Her open palm smacked the youngster's head resoundingly and he staggered away, bawling: "Lemme erlone! Hebe! Hebron Pocock! I wantcher!" Laura was already backing the mare, preparatory to turning about. "Come on with the colt, Eve!" she cried. The boy they had unhorsed continued to bawl at the top of his voice. But for the moment nobody appeared. Eve lengthened the bridle rein for a leading strap and then essayed to climb into the cart again. The boy ceased crying and threw a stone. The colt jumped and tried to pull away, for the stone struck her. "Whoa, Jinks!" cried Eve. "If I could catch that boy! I'd do more than box his ears--so I would!" "Come on, Eve!" called Laura, looking over her shoulder. "Here come some women from the shanties. They will do something to us beside calling us names----or throwing stones," as she dodged one that the boy sent in her direction. "Whoa, Jinksey!" commanded Eve, again, trying to lead the frightened colt toward the cart. "Hebe Pocock! Yi-yi! You're wanted!" yelled the small boy again, sending down a perfect shower of stones from the bank above them, but fortunately throwing them wild. Eve managed to climb up into the cart, still holding the snorting, pawing colt by the strap. "Drive on! drive on!" she gasped, looking back at the several ill-looking and worse dressed women who were running toward them. "Go on!" urged Laura to the mare, and Old Peggy started back up the hill, while Eve towed Jinks behind. Suddenly, however, the bushes parted, and a roughly dressed fellow, with a red handkerchief tied around his head in lieu of a cap, stepped out into the road. He carried a gun in the hollow of his arm, the muzzle of which was turned threateningly toward the cart and the two girls in it. The two barrels looked as big around as cannon in the eyes of Laura and Evangeline Sitz! "Hey, there!" advised the ugly looking fellow. "You ladies better stop a bit." "It's Pocock!" whispered Laura. "I know it," returned Eve, in the same tone. "That horse you're leadin' belongs to me," said Pocock, with an ugly scowl. "You know better, Hebron," exclaimed Eve, bravely. "It belongs to my father." "It may look like your father's colt," said Pocock. "But I bought her of a gypsy, and it ain't the same an--i--mile." "The old mare knows her," said Laura, quickly, as the colt nuzzled up to Peggy and the gray mare turned around to look upon the colt with favorable eye. "That don't prove nothing," growled Pocock. "Drop that rein." "No, I won't!" cried Eve. "Even the bridle is father's. I recognize it." By this time the women from the shanties had arrived. They were dreadful looking creatures, and Laura was more afraid of them than she was of Pocock's shot-gun. "What's them gals doin' to your brother Mike, Hebe?" demanded one of the women. "They want slappin', don't they?" "They want to l'arn to keep their han's off'n my property," growled Pocock. "Come! let the little horse go." "No!" cried Eve. "Yes," cried Pocock, shifting his gun threateningly. "You bet she will!" cried the woman who had spoken before, and she started to climb up on Laura's side of the cart. Laura seized the whip and the woman jumped back. "Shoot her, Hebe!" she yelled. "She'd a struck me with that thing!" But Laura had no such intention. She brought the lash of the whip down upon the mare's flank. With a snort of surprise and pain the old horse sprang forward and had not Hebe Pocock leaped quickly aside he would have been run over. But unfortunately neither Eve nor the colt were prepared for this sudden move on Laura's part. The colt stood stock-still and Eve lost her grip on the bridle rein. "Go it!" yelled Pocock, laughing with delight. "I got the colt!" He sprang at the head of Jinks. The women were laughing and shrieking. "That's the time I did it!" gasped Laura, in chagrin, pulling down the old mare. And just then the purring of an automobile sounded in their ears and there rounded the nearest turn in the road a big touring car. It rolled down toward the cart and the group about the colt, with diminished speed. "Oh! we mustn't lose that colt after coming so near getting it away," cried Laura. "But father can go after it with a constable," declared Eve, doubtfully. "But Pocock will get it away from here----" "Why, Laura Belding!" exclaimed a loud, good-natured voice. "What is the matter here?" "Mrs. Grimes!" gasped Laura, as the auto stopped. The butcher's wife and daughter were sitting in the tonneau. Hester looked straight ahead and did not even glance at her two school-fellows. "Isn't that young Pocock, that used to work for your father, Hester?" demanded Mrs. Grimes. "That's a very bad boy. What's he been doing to you, Laura?" "He has stolen that little horse from Eve's father," cried Laura. "And now he won't give it up." "'Tain't so!" cried Hebe Pocock, loudly. "Don't you believe that gal, Mis' Grimes. I bought this horse----" "Hebe," said the butcher's wife, calmly, "you never had money enough in your life to buy a horse like that--and you never will have. Lead it up here and let the girl have her father's property. And you women, go back to your homes--and clean up, for mercy's sake! I never did see such a shiftless, useless lot as you are at the Four Corners. When I lived there, we had some decency about us----" "Oh, Mother!" gasped Hester, grasping the good lady's arm. "Well, that's where we lived--your father an' me," declared Mrs. Grimes. "It was near the slaughter houses and handy for him. And let me tell you, there was respectable folk lived there in them days. Hebe Pocock! Are you goin' to do what I tell you?" The fellow came along in a very hang-dog manner and passed the strap to Eve Sitz. "'Tain't fair. It's my horse," he growled. "You know better," said Mrs. Grimes, calmly. "And you expect Mr. Grimes to find you a good job, do you? You wanted to get to be watchman, or the like, in town? If I tell Henry about this what chance do you suppose you'll ever have at _that_ job?" "Mebbe I'll get it, anyway," grinned Pocock. "And maybe you won't," said Mrs. Grimes, calmly. Meanwhile Laura and Eve, after thanking the butcher's wife, drove on. But Hester never looked at them, or spoke. CHAPTER XII "OUT OF IT" For on that Saturday morning Mrs. Case had called at the Grimes house and asked to see Hester. The girl came down and, the moment she saw the physical instructor of Central High, seemed to know what was afoot. "So you've come to tell me I'm not on the team any more, I s'pose, Mrs. Case?" she demanded, tossing her head, her face growing very red. "I am sorry to tell you that, after your actions at the game with East High Wednesday afternoon, it has been decided that another girl nominated to your position on Team Number 1 would probably do better," said Mrs. Case, quietly. "Well!" snapped Hester. "You've been wanting to get me off ever since last spring----" "Hester! although we are not at school now, we are discussing school matters, and I am one of your teachers. Just as long as you attend Central High you must speak respectfully to and of your instructors, both in and out of school. Do you wish me to report your language to Mr. Sharp?" Hester was sullenly silent for a moment "For I can assure you," continued Mrs. Case, "that if I were to place the entire matter before him, including your general deportment at the gymnasium and on the athletic field, I feel sure your parents would be requested to remove you from the school. Do you understand that?" "I don't know that I would be very sorry," muttered the girl. "You think you would not," said Mrs. Case; "but it is not so. You are too old to be taken out of one school and put in another because of your deportment. Wherever you went that fact would follow you. It would be hard work for you to live down such a reputation, Hester." "I wish father would send me to a boarding-school, anyway." "And I doubt if that would help you any. You will not be advised, Hester. But you will learn yet that I speak the truth when I tell you that you will be neither happy, nor popular, wherever you go, unless you control your temper." "What do I care about those nasty girls on the Hill?" sputtered the butcher's daughter. "They're a lot of nobodies, if they _are_ so stuck-up." "There is not a girl in your class, Hester, who puts on airs over you--or who attempts to," said Mrs. Case, warmly. "And you know that is so. Deep in your heart, Hester, you know just where the trouble lies. Your lack of self-control and your envy are at the root of all your troubles in school and in athletics." Hester only pouted; but she made no reply. "Now I am forced to remove you from this team where--if you would keep your temper--you could be of much use. You are a good player at basketball--one of the best in Central High. And we have to deny you the privilege of playing on the champion team because----" "Just because the other girls don't want me to play with them!" cried the girl, angrily. "And can they be blamed?" demanded the teacher, quite exasperated herself now. "If you had any loyalty to Central High you would not have acted as you did." "I don't care!" flashed out Hester. At that Mrs. Case arose to go. "You are hopeless," she said, decisively. "I had it in mind to offer you a chance to win back your position on the team. But such consideration would be thrown away on you." "I don't want to play with the horrid, stuck-up things!" cried Hester, quite beside herself now with rage and mortification. "I hate them all. I don't want any of them to be my friends. And as for your old athletics--I'm going to tell father that they're no good and that I want to withdraw from the League." "You may be saved the necessity for that if you haven't a care, Hester," warned Mrs. Case, taking her departure. It was because of this visit from the physical instructor, perhaps, that Hester fairly bullied her father at luncheon time into allowing her mother and herself to try out an automobile that an agent had wanted to sell the wholesale butcher for some time. If automobiles had been uncommon on the Hill Henry Grimes would have had one long before for his family, for he loved display, just as Hester did. But nearly every family at their end of Whiffle Street had a car. However, Mrs. Grimes woke up enough to show interest in the matter, too, for she really liked riding in a car that ran smoothly and rapidly over the macadamized roads about Centerport; so she added her complaint to Hester's and finally the butcher telephoned for the car to be sent up. But he would not give any time to it himself. Therefore it was that Hester and her mother appeared on the Hill road just above the Four Corners in season to extricate Laura Belding and Eve Sitz from their very uncomfortable session with Hebe Pocock and his crowd. "We ought to have gone along and left those girls to get out of it as best they could," snapped Hester, when the car rolled on and Laura and Eve, with the mare and colt, were out of sight. "Why, I declare for't!" ejaculated Mrs. Grimes. "You certainly do hate that Belding girl--and I don't see a living thing the matter with her. She's smart an' bright--remember how she found my auto veil that you lost last spring?" Hester had very good reason for remembering that occasion. She had always been afraid that Laura would circulate the story connected with that veil; and because Laura had kept silence Hester hated her all the more. And now Hester allowed bitter thoughts against Mother Wit and the other members of the basketball team to fester in her mind, until she was actually insanely angry with and jealous of them. When her mother that evening at dinner told Mr. Grimes about the actions of Hebron Pocock, who sometimes worked for the butcher at the slaughtering plant near the Four Corners, Hester tried to smooth the matter over and suggest that Hebe was "only in fun" and was just scaring two silly girls. "Well, I suggested him for watchman at the gymnasium," said Mr. Grimes. "But he isn't likely to get it. The Board has every confidence in this Bill Jackway, despite the fact that somebody seems to get into the gym. and damage things without his knowing how they do it. Bill is an easy-going fellow. That's why I suggested Hebe Pocock. If Hebe was on the job, he'd eat a fellow up who tried to monkey around the gym." Hester was silent thereafter until the subject of conversation was changed. The following week she found herself "out of it" with a vengeance. If Lily Pendleton had been absenting herself from Hester's side more than usual since the fall term opened, now she was still more away. Lily did not wish to lose her membership in the basketball team. To be a member of the champion nine of Central High gave her a certain prestige that that young lady did not wish to lose. Besides, Lily was one of the largest girls in the Junior class, was vigorous physically, and loved the game. So Hester was thrown back upon her own resources more than ever. And her own company did not please Miss Hester Grimes. She could, of course, have found associates among some of the younger girls, or among those who are always willing to play the courtier to a girl who spends her money freely. Yet there were few of these latter at Central High, and not many of the younger girls--the sophs and freshies--liked Hester well enough to chum with her. And now that the whispered accusations against the wholesale butcher's daughter had gone about the school regarding the gymnasium mystery, many girls looked askance at Hester when she passed by, and some even ignored her and refused to speak to her. Ordinarily this would have troubled her but little. She was often "not on speaking terms" with dozens of girls--especially with those of her own class. But this was different, and she began to notice it. Girls who had heretofore nodded to her on the street or in the yard of the school, at least, walked right by and did not turn their eyes upon her. Furthermore, when Hester approached a group of her classmates they often hushed their animated discussions and broke up the group quickly. They were speaking of her. She could not imagine what they said, but her heart burned with anger against them. Hester kept away from the gym. She told herself she did not care what happened to the "old place." She hated it. She would not go there and see another girl practice in her place on the basketball team. A game with the West High girls was scheduled for Wednesday afternoon. It was not until after that that her mother learned that she no longer played on the Central High team. And Mrs. Grimes wanted to know _why_. "Never you mind!" snapped Hester, who was not above being saucy to her mother at times. "It doesn't concern you." "Don't you _want_ to play any more?" insisted Mrs. Grimes. "No, I don't! Now, that's finished!" cried Hester, and flounced out of the room. Her father had agreed to buy the new auto, and she telephoned for the man at the garage to bring it up. Nobody ever crossed Hester, if he could help it, and when she said to the man that she wanted to learn to run the car he supposed that her father was willing. He did not ask her age, although the Centerport Board of Aldermen had established a rule that no person under sixteen should be given a license or be allowed to run a motor car. At any rate, he did not expect to be requested to let her run the car without his guidance. But this is exactly what Hester demanded when they were out of town. It was a warm, smoky fall day. There were brush fires somewhere over the ridge to the south of Centerport; or else some spark from a railroad locomotive had set the leaves in the ditches afire. It had been dry for a week and the woods were like tinder. They had run far out the road past the entrance to Robinson's Picnic Grounds, and there Hester demanded to manage the car alone, while the man sat in back. "You make me nervous!" she exclaimed. "I'll never learn anything with you nudging my elbow all the time. There! get along with you." She really was a very capable girl, and she was not unfamiliar with motor cars; but the chauffeur doubted. "I don't believe I can do it, Miss," he said. "I'll sit here----" Suddenly the car stopped. The engine was still running, but the car did not move. "_Now_ what's the matter?" snapped Hester. "Hop out and see, Joseph." The man did so and immediately she turned the switch again and the machine darted ahead, leaving the chauffeur in the middle of the road. "I'll be back after a little!" she called to him, coolly, over her shoulder, and the next moment rounded a turn safely and shut the amazed and angry chauffeur out of view. CHAPTER XIII THE WIND VEERS The car purred along so easily and it was such a delight to manage the wheel without the interference of the chauffeur that Hester did not note the distance she traveled. Nor was she at first aware of the speed. Then she suddenly realized that she had shifted the gear to the highest speed forward, and that a picket fence she passed was merely a blur along the roadside. But this was a road on which there were few houses, and most of them were back in the fields, in the middle of the farms that bordered the pike. "This will never do," thought Hester, and she began to manipulate the levers and finally brought the car to a stop. The roadway was narrow and she would have to back to turn. But this was one of the very things she desired to learn how to do; and that officious Joseph was always fussing when he was beside her. "How many miles have I come, I wonder?" she asked herself, looking about. She was on a ridge of land overlooking a narrow valley. At the end of the valley the road seemed to dip from the ridge, and it disappeared in a thick haze of blue smoke. "The fire must be over that way," she thought. "Shall I run that far and see what it means? The wind is not blowing toward me." She started the car once more. The auto rolled on, but she noticed that it wasn't firing regularly. "Hullo! Is it going to kick up rusty now and here?" muttered Hester, and she stopped. Having learned that much, she opened the carburetor to see if the gasoline was flowing all right. Then she tried a dozen times to start the car, without success. Suddenly she stood up with a jerk. In the distance she heard a growing roar--the oncoming rush of a powerful car. Fortunately she had stopped on the side of the road. There was room for another car to pass. And out of the blue smoke ahead it appeared with startling suddenness, hurled like a missile from a gun directly up the road toward her. She knew the car almost instantly. It was the Beldings' auto and it was crowded with young folk. She knew where they had been. The next week the girls of Central High had been invited to Keyport to play the first team at basketball of the High School in that town. Hester had heard all about the game the day before with the West High girls. With Roberta Fish in Hester's old position at forward center, the girls of Central High had swept all before them. They had beaten their opponents with a good lead. Of course, the West High team was not as strong as the East High had been; but Roberta had done well and victory had, for the first time in months, perched upon the banner of Central High. A committee had been appointed to go over and see the Keyport managers, and now it was returning. The big car was driven by Chet Belding, with Launcelot Darby beside him. Laura, Jess, Bobby, Nellie, and the Lockwood twins filled the tonneau comfortably. Hester hoped that the Belding car would wheel right by and that her school fellows would not notice her. But Chet saw the car stalled, and Laura's quick eye detected the lone girl standing with her back to them, looking off across the valley. "What's the matter with that girl and her car?" demanded Lance, as Chet slowed down. "It's Hester. Mr. Grimes has bought a car at last, I understand," said Laura, leaning over the back of the seat and speaking to the boys. "Is she in trouble, do you think?" "I'll bet she is!" exclaimed Lance. "And out on this road alone. Where's the chauffeur?" said Chet. "And if the wind should change!" cried Nellie Agnew. "By Jove, that's so!" ejaculated Chet, bringing his car to a full stop right beside the stalled auto. "Hullo, Miss Grimes!" he sang out. "Can we help you? What's the matter with your car?" Hester saw it was useless to refuse to see them then. Besides, she did not want to be stalled there for hours. "That's what I've been trying to find out," she said, pointedly speaking to the boy, not to the girls. "Great machines," drawled Lance. "When you think you know all about 'em they kick up and give you a lot of trouble. Isn't that so, Chet?" Chet was getting from under the wheel, and grunted. But Laura hopped out before him, came to Hester's side of the car, and asked: "Did it stop of itself?" "No. It wasn't firing regularly. I looked at the carburetor to see if it was all right. Then I tried to start her and couldn't," said Hester, ungraciously. Laura was going over the wiring to see if there were no loose contacts before Chet came to them. She turned the fly wheel far enough to get the buzz of the spark coils. "Go ahead, Sis!" chuckled Chet. "You know so much you'll be taking our old mill to pieces pretty soon, I reckon." Hester stood by and bit her lip with vexation. She was almost on the point of driving Laura away from the car, rather than have her enemy--for so she considered Mother Wit--help her out of her trouble. But night was coming on and she did not want to stand there much longer, if the car could be started. Laura removed a plug, grounded it on a cylinder and turned the wheel to a sparking point to note the quality of the spark and the strength of the battery. Then she ticked the carburetor and opened the small cock at the bottom. "You're getting your gloves all messy, Laura!" called Jess from the other car. "Hush!" commanded Chet, grinning, and holding up his hand. "Do not disturb the priestess of automobiling at her devotions. There will be something 'didding' in a minute--now watch." But Laura was serious--and interested. She closed the cock and felt along the gasoline pipe to the valve rod. This seemed to interest her particularly. In a moment she straightened up and stood back, saying to Hester: "You try the engine. Maybe she'll work now." Hester scrambled into her seat and tried the starter. The engine began to buzz like a saw-mill. "Great Scott, Laura!" cried her brother. "What did you do to it?" "Turned on the gasoline," said his sister, drily. "When Hester looked at her carburetor she turned it off. No wonder the engine wouldn't run." "Thanks," muttered Hester, in a choked tone, while the crowd in the other auto smothered their laughter, and she prepared to start the car when Chet should have stepped aside. "Hold on!" said young Belding. "This isn't any way to be traveling, Miss Hester." "Why not?" she snapped at him, for the situation was getting on her nerves now. "The wind is likely to change. If it veers around it will drive the fire directly up this road," said Chet. "What's burning?" demanded the girl, sharply. "The whole forest back yonder through the cut. We came through a big cloud of smoke." "If you got through I guess I can," Hester said, ungratefully, and the next moment started her car, which rolled swiftly away along the turnpike. The fact was, she did not want to try to turn the machine while they were watching her. She knew she should be awkward about it. And Laura Belding had displayed her superiority over her once already--and that was enough! The big car purred again joyously, and the roadway slipped behind like a ribbon running over a spool. In half a minute Hester and her car had dipped into the valley and were running through the cut between the hills. The Belding car was out of sight. But suddenly she became aware that the smoke was thick here. This deep cut was filled with it. And the fumes were not only choking; there was heat with the smoke. A shift of wind drove a thick cloud out of the forest and she had to shut her eyes. This was dangerous work. She knew better than to try to run the car on high speed when she could not see twenty feet beyond it. When she reduced speed she was cognizant of a roaring sound from the forest. For a moment she thought a big wind was coming. Then she knew better. It was the fire. Not far away the flames were devouring the forest hungrily--and the wind was behind the flames! There must have already been a change in the air-current, as Chet had prophesied. The forest fire was driving right into this narrow cut between the hills. To be caught here by the flames would not only mean the finish of this brand new car, but Hester knew that there would be no escape for her from such a situation. CHAPTER XIV RACING THE FLAMES Hester's car jarred down to a complete stop. The smoke stung her eyes and it began to be difficult for her to breathe. She knew that she had come too far on this road. She should have heeded Chet Belding's warning. But now she needed all her courage and coolness to get her out of the hot corner into which she had so heedlessly driven the automobile. The road was not more than thirty feet wide and the thick woods bordered it on either hand. Out of the covert dashed a flash of rusty brown that was gone in an instant. Hester knew it to be a fox. Already she had seen the rabbits running, and not a bird was in sight. The fire was coming--and coming by leaps and bounds! It smote upon Hester Grimes's mind that not alone were she and the innocent animals of the wood in peril; but there were lonely farms, deep in the forest, where the houses were so near the woods that the fire was sure to destroy them. Who would warn those squatters and small farmers of the danger down here in the cut? When once the flames rose over the ridge, with the wind behind them, they would descend the other side with the swiftness of an express train. Crops, orchards, outbuildings, and dwellings would all be sacrificed to the demon of flame. And some of the families along that far road on which the Sitz farm lay would scarcely have time to flee. But Hester, as she often said herself, "was no namby-pamby girl." She made a deal of fun of her chum, Lily, because the latter was always so helpless--or appeared to be--in time of trouble. She was alone, at the edge of this burning forest, with this big car. It had to be turned around, and then she must run it out of the line of the fire. Her father would have something to say--and that to much purpose--if she lost this brand new car, which he had not even paid for as yet. She started the car on the reverse, and twisted the wheel. The car backed, and shook, and she stopped it just as a rear tire collided with a stump. She must go ahead, and back, and go ahead again, and reverse once more, and repeat the operation half a dozen times before the car would be headed in the proper direction. The smoke grew thicker and thicker--and more choking. Her eyes were half blinded by tears, for the smoke stung them sadly. But soon she was free. The car could fly back over the road which it had lately descended, and once out of the cut her peril would be past. But on the very moment of starting ahead again Hester heard a great crashing in the bushes. Out into the road ahead of the car sprawled on hands and knees a man--or the semblance of one. For the instant Hester scarcely knew what to make of the figure sprawling there before the car. But she shut down again so as not to run over it. Then the individual arose to his knees and waved his arms weakly. His clothing was in rags. Indeed, he had only half a shirt and the remains of his overalls left upon his body, besides his shoes. His hair had been singed from his head. A great angry burn disfigured one side of his face, while the beard was crisped to cinders on the other side. He was without eyebrows and eyelashes, and his eyes stared from deep hollows in his face--or so it seemed. "For heaven's sake, help me!" he gasped. "Take me aboard! Take me away from here!" He struggled to his feet and fell again. He had come as far as he could. Had the road not been right where it was, the man must have fallen in the woods and been swept again by the flames. Hester sprang up, caught him around the waist and half dragged him to the car. She was thoroughly scared now; but she was courageous enough to aid this man who was more unfortunate than herself. "Get in! Get in!" she cried, flinging open the door of the tonneau. "We must hurry." "You bet we gotter hurry!" gasped the man, as he crawled into the car and she banged to the door so that he would not fall out. Into her own seat Hester sprang. The car was jarring with the throb of the engine. If it should balk now, what would become of them? The frightened girl turned the switch carefully. The car rolled on. It moved faster and faster along the narrow road. The smoke was now so thick that she was running the car blindly. At any moment the wheels might hit a stump at the side of the road, for she could not be sure that she was keeping in the main-traveled path. While they were in the cut she heard nothing from the man behind. But when the car shot up the hill out of the cut to the ridge-ground, and left the smoke behind, the man struggled up into the seat and leaned over to speak to her. "You air a brave gal!" he gasped. "Woof! my lungs is burnt to a crisp--I swallered so much smoke. Ye jest erbout saved my life, Miss." Hester made no reply. She was winking the tears out of her eyes, and the pressure in her own lungs hurt. "But there air a lot of folks goin' to be caught similar over the ridge, if we can't warn 'em." "What's that?" she demanded, quickly, but without looking around at him. "My name's Billson. I live back in the bottoms yonder. I got an acre or two cleared around my cabin; but the bresh warn't burned up. It is now, by jinks!" added Mr. Billson, with a grim cackle. "When the wind veered thar so suddent, it caught me. I had to run through a wall of fire at one place. Then I got acrost the crick and that saved me for a while. But the fire would have caught me again if it hadn't been for you. I am sure mighty much obleeged to ye." "I--I'm glad I was there with the car," faltered Hester. "And we've got to warn those other folks over the hill," cried the man, coughing. "Gee! I guess I'll never get this smoke out o' my lungs." "But how can we get to those other farms?" gasped Hester. "I'll show ye. There's a crossroad along here a spell. An automobile can git through it on a pinch. And there's two families live on that road, too." "Do you s'pose they'll be in danger?" asked Hester, slowly. "In course they are. Say! you ain't afraid, are you?" demanded the man. "I tell ye the fire is coming. It's going to sweep this whole ridge." "Won't--won't they see it?" "Did _I_ see it?" demanded the squatter. "Not soon enough, you bet. Drive on, Miss. Surely you ain't goin' to show a yaller streak now?" "But my--my chauffeur is waiting for me along the road here toward town." "Let him wait. He's out of danger. There are plenty of open fields in that direction. _He_ won't get into no trouble. You drive through this side road like I tell you, and we'll get clear around by Sitz's farm ahead of the fire. But drive hard!" Inspired by the man's excitement, Hester did as she was told. They came to the crossroad, which she remembered, and turned into it. There was little smoke here beyond the ridge. Nobody would have suspected the raging pit of flame down there in the cut to the southeast. Yet the flames were advancing on the wings of the wind. Hester had seen enough to assure her that the case was serious indeed. Once the fire topped the ridge the whole northern slope would be swept by a billow of flame! The picture of these farmsteads burning and the people being unable to escape with their livestock and sundry possessions began to take form in Hester's mind. She speeded up the car and it rushed through the gathering twilight like a locomotive of a fast express. At the first house they stopped for only a moment. Hester turned on the car lamps, for the shadows were gathering in the narrow places along the road now. The squatter did not have to urge the danger upon the farmers. A look at his condition told its own story. A forest fire is a terrible thing, and once it gets under way usual means of fire-fighting are of no avail. On and on raced the motor car. Along the summit of the wooded ridge behind them the glow of the fire spread to a deep rose--then to a crimson--against the sky. It was an angry light and the smoke that billowed up from it began to canopy the heavens. From certain heights Hester could see far down into the city of Centerport, with its countless twinkling lights. The forest fire must burn out long before it reached the edge of the city; but detached houses, here and there, were in peril--and many farmers got out their teams and ploughed fresh furrows around their stacks and buildings. They rushed through Tentorville at a speed that made the dogs howl and the women run to the doors of their houses, leaving their suppers to burn. Beyond this straggling little settlement there were better farms. The village was not endangered by the flames, for there were open fields all around it. At the next house the occupants had been warned by telephone; for news of the advancing fire had been wired from beyond the ridge, toward Keyport. The better class of farmers were supplied with 'phones, and they were warned; but the man who had been burned out of his own place was interested in the other poor people--the tenant farmer and squatter class. "Them fellers can't stand the expense of telephones," he told Hester. "And they work moughty hard and will go to bed airly. If they haven't kalkerlated on the veering of the wind they won't know anything about it till the fire's upon 'em." Thirty-seven of such farmers and settlers did the rushing auto visit. Hester and her comrade must have startled some of these people dreadfully, for the auto dashed up to the little farmsteads with the noise of an express train, and the scorched man yelled his loudest to the inmates: "Git up! Git up! The fire's comin'. It'll be over the ridge before midnight and this hull mountainside'll crackle in flames. Git out!" Then, at the first word in reply from the aroused inmates, the girl and her companion rushed on in their car, and sometimes before the people in the house realized what had passed, the car was out of sight. For nearly two hours from the time Hester had helped the man into her car did she speed about the country. By that time both he, and the girl--and the gasoline--were about exhausted. They pulled up at a country store where they sold gasoline, and Hester refilled her tank. There she telephoned home to her family, too. Joseph had come in on another auto and Hester's father was about to send out a general alarm for his absent daughter. "What in thunder are you doing, riding over the country alone?" her father demanded over the telephone. "Now, don't you mind. I'm all right," said Hester, tartly. "I'm coming home now--by the way of the Sitz place and Robinson's Woods. We've done all we can to rouse up the farmers." And she shut her angry father off before he could say more, and ran out to the car--to find her companion senseless in the bottom of the tonneau, and a local doctor bending over him. CHAPTER XV THE KEYPORT GAME "These are bad burns," said the physician, looking up at the wide-eyed crowd. "And I believe he is hurt internally. Where did he come from?" "This gal brought him in her car, Doc," said the storekeeper, who had forgotten trade for the moment. "Who is he?" asked the physician, with his hand on the man's pulse, but looking curiously at Hester. "I don't know--oh, yes! I remember! He said his name was Billson." "Jeffers-pelters!" ejaculated the storekeeper. "I'd never ha' knowed him. His whiskers is burned off, that's a fac'." "Then you know all about him, Carey?" pursued the medical man. "Not much! not much!" exclaimed the storekeeper, hastily. "He's jest a squatter. Come from one of the lower counties, I b'lieve. Holler-chested. Bad lungs, he said. Goin' to live in the open an' cure 'em." "He ought to go to the hospital at once," growled the doctor. "I can take him," said Hester, quietly. "He's a very brave man, I believe. He warned all the people through the section back of Tentorville----" "I guess you druv the car, Miss," cackled Carey, the storekeeper. "But I should have driven it home in a hurry after finding him on the road without knowing anything about the people in danger," said the girl, honestly. "He did it." "No matter who did it. I want to get him to the hospital. I'll go to Centerport with him, Miss, if you'll take us." "Of course," said Hester. "You know him, Carey," said the doctor, turning to the storekeeper. "Can I use your name at the hospital in Centerport?" "No, you can't," said the other, quickly. "I can't stand no 'nearest friend' game for a man that never spent fo' bits a week in my store for groceries. No. I dunno him." "We'll stand sponsor for him, sir," said Hester, hastily. "Come on. You'll have to tell me how to drive. I don't know these roads very well." "What's your name, Miss?" asked the physician, climbing into the car as Hester touched the electric starter. Hester told him, and the medical man nodded. "Henry Grimes's gal, eh?" he said. "Well, he's well able to be sponsor for this poor fellow. Drive on." He was a shabby old man, this country doctor. His name was Leffert, and he seemed none too blessed with this world's goods. But he was kindly and he eased the senseless man into a comfortable position in the tonneau with the gentleness of a woman. The car started on the long run to Centerport with a plentifully filled tank. And the engine worked nicely. When they passed the Sitz place Hester saw that the farmer and Otto were out ploughing along the edge of the woods by lantern light. But the sky above the ridge glowed like a live coal. The forest fire was sweeping on. When they came down the hill past Robinson's Woods the doctor nudged Hester from behind. "Hadn't you better take that left-hand turn, Miss?" he demanded. "What for? This is the nearest way," returned the girl, slowing down a bit. "But it goes through the Four Corners. They have a habit of setting on automobiles there." "They won't dare bother us," declared Hester. "Most of those people work for father." "Aw--well," said the doctor, and sat down again. The car roared through the settlement of shacks about the Four Corners like a fast express. Nobody tried to bother them. In twenty minutes thereafter the car stopped at the City Hospital. The patient was carried in on a stretcher, and one of the interns took Hester's name and address. Dr. Leffert evidently had no standing at the institution, and he merely handed the patient over to the hospital authorities and hurried away. Hester drove the car home and found both her mother and father excitedly awaiting her coming. "Now, don't you bother about me--or the car!" she said, sharply, when her parents began to take her to task for worrying them so. "I haven't had a bite to eat, and I'm tired, too. Your old car isn't hurt any----" "But you can't ride that car all over this country alone, Hess! I swear I won't have it!" "But I _did_ drive it alone, didn't I? And it isn't hurt any. Neither am I," she replied, and it was several days before her parents learned the particulars of their daughter's wild ride over the mountainside with the squatter, Billson, warning the small farmers of the coming fire. "I declare for't!" her mother then said. "You're the greatest girl, Hess! The folks say you're a heroine." "They say a whole lot beside their prayers, I reckon," snapped Hester. "But one of the country papers has got a long article in it about you and that Mr. Billson. Only they don't know your name." "No. I told Doc. Leffert to keep still about it," said Hester. "Now! there's been enough talk. I want two dollars, Ma. I want to send that Billson some jelly and some flowers. He's having a mighty hard time at the hospital. And there isn't a soul who cares anything about him--whether he lives or dies." "Ain't that just like you, Hessie?" complained her mother. "You throw that poor fellow good things like you was throwing a bone to a dog! I--I wish you wasn't so hard." But events were making Hester seem harder than usual these days. She was completely cut off from the society of her school fellows. She had no part in the after-hour athletics. Nobody spoke to her about the fine time expected at Keyport when the basketball team went over to battle with the team of the Keyport High. And when that day arrived, fully a carload entrained at the Hill station of the C. K. & M. Railroad, bound for the neighboring city. These were all the girls of Central High interested in the game and their friends among the boys. It was not a long run by train to Keyport, but they had a lot of fun. Chet and Lance were full of an incident that had occurred in Professor Dimp's class that morning, and Chet was telling his sister and a group of friends about it. "Short and Long got one on Old Dimple again to-day," said Chet. "You know he's forever hammering the Romans into us. We ought to call him 'The Old Roman'--we really had! There's that Roman lad who was such an athlete and all-around pug----" "'Pug!'" gasped Laura. "Wait till mother hears you say _that_." "Ha! I'm going to watch to see that she doesn't hear me, Sis," returned her brother. "Well, Old Dimple was telling us about this lad who used to swim across the Tiber three times before breakfast. And when he'd expatiated on the old boy's performance, Short and Long put up a mitt----" "'A mitt!'" groaned Laura again. "Aw, well! His hand, then. Dimple perked right up, thinking that Short and Long was really showing some interest, and says he: "'What's your question, Mr. Long?' "And Billy says: 'What's puzzling me, is why he swam it _three_ times?'" "'Eh?' says Dimple. 'How's that, young man?'" "'Why didn't he swim it _four_ times,' says Billy, grave as a judge, 'and so get back to the bank where he'd left his clothes?' And not a smile cracked Short and Long's face! Dimple didn't know whether to laugh or get mad, and just then the gong sounded 'Time' and Dimple got out of it without answering Billy's question." "Tickets!" cried Lance, as the girls laughed at the story. "Here comes the conductor. Get your pasteboards ready." "Who says that's the conductor, Lance?" demanded Chet. "Huh! It's Mr. Wood, isn't it? He's the conductor of this train." "Impossible," sighed Chet "Wood is a non-conductor." But the crowd wouldn't stand for puns like that and shouted Chet down. When they debarked at the Keyport station they formed in marching order and, the boys with canes and the girls with flags, marched two by two to the Keyport girls' athletic field. The game was called for four o'clock, and Mrs. Case got her team out and "warmed them up" with ten minutes' practice before the referee called both teams to the court selected for the match game. The boys in the audience droned out the Central High yell, with its "snap-the-whip" ending of, "Ziz--z--z--z----Boom!" and the ball was thrown into play. Right at the start the home team got the best of the visitors. There were excellent players on the Keyport team. Indeed, in all athletics the Keyport girls had excelled for years. Our friends from Central High were outmatched at several points. But they fought hard. Laura and her mates battled every moment, and when the whistle ending the first half sounded, the Keyport team was only two points ahead. But the visitors ran to their dressing room in no hopeful frame of mind. CHAPTER XVI UPHILL WORK FOR THE TEAM "I declare!" ejaculated Bobby Hargrew; "we're being whipped out of our boots!" "I'm doing the best I can!" wailed Roberta Fish. "Nobody's blaming you, child," Jess Morse hastened to say. "Not at all," added Laura. "I haven't a single complaint to make about your work, Roberta." "But there's something lacking somewhere," declared Dorothy Lockwood. "We might as well admit that these Keyport girls are better at basketball than we are," said her twin. "My gracious!" cried Bobby. "They're better than we ever _dared_ to be!" "No!" cried Laura. "That is not so." "What's the answer, then, Miss Captain?" demanded the irrepressible. "We must play up to each other, that's all," said the captain. "Our playing is loose." "We're weak in spots," admitted Nellie Agnew, slowly. "And I'm the worst spot," groaned Roberta. "Pshaw! you're not, either," said Eve Sitz, kindly. "You do your very best, Roberta," said Laura, again. "But that isn't as good as Hester's best," responded Roberta, quickly. "Hessie is certainly one mighty good player," grumbled Bobby. "And we got rid of her rather hastily," sighed Nellie. "Don't wail about that now!" cried Josephine Morse, with some asperity. "My goodness! I'm only glad she's out of it. And I reckon Laura is." "I am sorry it seemed best to ask her to get out," admitted the captain. "Bah! she was more trouble than she was good," declared Jess. "Let's not weep and wail over what we did." "But have you heard what she did last week, girls?" asked the doctor's daughter, earnestly. "What now?" returned Bobby, with curiosity. "Remember the day we found her broken down in that new car of her father's on the Keyport road?" "Sure!" cried several of the team together. "That was the day of that big forest fire. You know, Chet warned her that the wind was likely to change and blow the fire across the road. Well, she rescued a man from the burning woods and then ran that car all over the hill country up there, warning farmers and other people that the fire was coming. She is a very brave girl," concluded Nellie, softly. "Pshaw! don't you weep over Hess Grimes," exclaimed Bobby. "You're too tender-hearted, Nell." "But she _is_ brave," said Laura, hastily. "And just as ill-tempered as she can be," put in Jess Morse. "We're well rid of her." "I guess nobody in this world is quite perfect--nor all bad, either," suggested the doctor's daughter. "And as for Hester, she never let us see her good points." "But some mighty mean ones!" exclaimed Dora Lockwood. "Just the same," sighed Laura, "if she had only stuck to the rules of basketball in playing she would have been a great help to us right now!" Lily had been "prinking up" at the other end of the room while this conversation was going on. Now she flung them one malicious "I told you so!" as the gong rang and they hurried out to their places in the basketball court. "All ready?" cried the referee. "Do your best, girls!" begged Laura. The whistle sounded long and loud at the toss-up and the game was on. At first, although the play was fast and furious, neither side scored. Then came the umpire's shout: "Foul on Central High for over-guarding!" It rattled Laura and her team mates. Their opponents got the ball and shot it basketward. Right from the field Keyport made a basket. And then, in little over half a minute they made another! "Break it up, guards! Break it up!" begged Laura. But although the girls of Central High fought hard, and there were some brilliant plays on the part of Laura and Jess, it was all to no avail. Nor did the "rooting" of their boy friends help. The Keyport team forged ahead steadily and at the end of the game they were six points in the lead. It was as bad a beating as the girls of Central High had ever received in a trophy game. Roberta was in tears in the dressing room when Mrs. Case came in to cheer them up. "Now, now! what have I told you about being good losers?" she demanded, briskly. "Tha--that's all right," stammered Roberta. "We cheered 'em, didn't we? But I feel it's my fault. I fumble dreadfully. You know, I always did when I was on the team before. Get somebody else in my place, Mrs. Case--do!" Naturally Lily Pendleton told all this to Hester; but it only added to Hester's bitterness of spirit. Deep down in her heart she felt the sting of Central High's defeat--only she wouldn't admit it. The team had lost--she believed it, too--because she wasn't there in her place at forward center! And Mrs. Case had tried to show her how she might win back, if she would, and Hester had refused. Her bad temper had cut her off from the instructor's help entirely. She was a pariah--and she felt it. So she told Lily she was glad the team was having up-hill work and was so nasty about it that Lily, who was feeling bad, too, about the affair, almost got mad herself, and went home early. "That Hester Grimes _can_ be awfully exasperating when she wants to be," Lily admitted to her mother. "Bless me, child! I don't really see why you associate so much with her. She does come of such common people. Why, Mrs. Grimes is impossible!" sighed Mrs. Pendleton. CHAPTER XVII HEBE POCOCK IN TROUBLE The big frost came soon after the Keyport game and Eve excitedly informed her particular friends when she came in to school that the nuts were falling in showers. It was toward the end of the week when this happened and it had already been arranged that a nutting party should take an entire Saturday for the trip to Peveril Pond, some miles beyond the Sitz place. The Beldings' car and one of Mr. Purcell's sight-seeing autos were to carry the party from the Hill, with two seats reserved for Eve and her brother Otto, whom they would pick up at the farmhouse. Prettyman Sweet and Lily Pendleton were invited--indeed, Eve had insisted upon all the basketball team being of the party--and Purt was dreadfully exercised in advance regarding what would be the proper costume to wear. "Oh," said Bobby Hargrew, "when folks go fox-hunting in the fall they wear red coats, because the fox is red, I suppose. Now, you ought to wear a nut-brown suit, hadn't you?" "Yes, Purt," drawled Lance Darby, "something nutty will suit you, all right, all right!" The girls wore sweaters and old caps and old skirts and lace up boots--all but Lily. She came "dressed to the nines," as Bobby declared. "What under the sun are you supposed to represent, Lil?" demanded Jess Morse. "You--you look like a fancy milkmaid." "Well, I'm going into the country; I shall look the part," said Lily, demurely. "Oh, say!" continued Jess, in a whisper, "you've got altogether too much red on your cheeks for a milkmaid, young lady." At that Lily flushed deeper than the "fast color" on her cheek. "Is that so, Miss?" she snapped. "I guess a milkmaid ought to be rosy-cheeked." Chet, going by, overheard this. He glanced at the red spots in Lily's naturally pale cheek, and laughed. "On the contrary," he said, winking at Jess. "What's on the contrary?" demanded Lily, sharply. "Milkmaids shouldn't be rosy-cheeked, you know," said Chet, gravely. "Why not, Mr. Funny?" "Because a milkmaid is naturally a pail girl," chortled Chet. Lily was rather angry for a while because they joked her about the rouge. She was the only girl in all the Junior class who used cosmetics and, as Chet laughingly said once, "painting the Lily was a thankless job--it didn't improve her looks!" They piled into the two autos and started off with much laughter and blowing of horns. Nellie Agnew was almost the last one to board the Beldings' car. "I had to run down to Mrs. Doyle's for Daddy Doctor," she explained. "Poor little Johnny is dreadfully sick. He never really recovered from the shock, or the cold, when he fell into the sewer basin. He's such a poor, weak little thing now. It would make your heart ache to see him, Laura." "Lil says that Hester goes there all the time, and that she's always doing something for Rufe, or the rest of them," Jess Morse said. Laura shook her head. "I know," she said. "I saw Hester and Rufie in the park together the other day. They seem to be very good friends. And I'm sorry." "Why--for pity's sake?" demanded Nellie. "Why, father is on the Board of Education this year, you know, and he told us--but you mustn't repeat it!--that Bill Jackway had admitted that the night the gym. was first raided Rufus slipped into the building unbeknown to him early in the evening, and was there until after midnight. Then he cried to go home, being afraid, he said. But Jackway let him out without ever making the rounds of the gym., and so he doesn't know for sure whether the damage to the apparatus was done while Rufe was there, or afterward." "My goodness me!" gasped Nellie. "How awful!" "Could it be that half-foolish boy, do you suppose?" cried Jess. "He isn't so foolish. Rufe is dreadfully cunning about some things," replied Laura. "Think of those footprints in the athletic field. I _know_ the person who made them walked backwards. Maybe Rufe got into the gym. again unknown to his uncle; and he'd be just sharp enough to get out of that window backward and so reach the fence." "And he could be hired to do that for a little money," said Jess, confidently. "Oh, I wouldn't say that!" exclaimed Nellie. "It's too dreadful." "But Mr. Jackway can't make Rufe admit it. The boy won't speak. And the Board doesn't know what to do about it," Laura said. "Now, I've told you girls this; don't let it go any farther." They promised--and they were girls who could keep their word. Lance and Chet on the front seat of the machine, with Bobby between them, hadn't heard it at all. When the cars reached the Sitz place Eve and Otto were taken into the tonneau of the Beldings' car, and they went on, down the leaf-strewn road, toward Peveril Pond. The forest fire that had threatened all this side of the ridge had burned out without crossing the wide highway known as "the State Road" and so the lower slope of the ridge and all the valley had been untouched. They passed the district school which Eve attended before she came to Central High. "And we had a splendid teacher at the last," sighed Eve. "But when I first went to it--oh! the boys acted so horrid, and the girls gabbled so. It wasn't a school. My mother said it was 'a bear garden!' "You see, there were some dreadfully bad big boys went to the school, off and on. The Four Corners isn't so far away, you know. Hebe Pocock--Laura will remember him?" "I guess so!" cried Laura. "Well, he was one of the big boys in school when I first came here. We had a new teacher--we were always having 'new' teachers. Sometimes there would be as many as four in one term. If they were girls they broke down and cried and gave it up; and if they were young men they were either beaten or driven out of the neighborhood. "But I can remember this particular young man pretty well, little as I was," laughed Eve. "He wasn't very big, but he didn't look puny, although he wore glasses. But when he opened school he took off the glasses and put them in his desk. He was real mild mannered, and he had a nice smile, and the big girls liked him. But Hebe and the other big boys said they were going to run him off right quick!" "And did they?" asked Jess, interested. "Well, I'll tell you. He was taking the names of all us children, and he got along all right till he came to Hebe. Hebron was the ring leader. He always gave the sign for trouble. When the master asked his name Hebe leaned back in his seat, put his feet up on the desk, and looked cross-eyed at the new teacher. Of course, all the little follows thought it was funny--and some of the girls, too, I guess. "'Please tell me your name,' said the master, without seeming to notice Hebe's impudence. "'Wal,' drawled Hebe, 'sometimes they call me Bob, and sometimes Pete, and sometimes they call me too late for dinner. But don't you call me nothin', Mister!' "The teacher listened until he got through," said Eve, her eyes flashing at the remembrance of the scene, "and then he doubled his fist and struck Hebe a blow between the eyes that half stunned him. Hebe was the bigger, but that teacher was awfully strong and smart. He grabbed Hebe by the collar and hauled him headlong over the desks and seats, stood him up before the big desk with a slam, and roared at him: "'What is your name?' "'He--Hebe Pocock,' exclaimed the fellow, only half sensing what had happened to him. "'Hebe?' repeated the master, with a sneer. 'You look like a 'Hebe.' Go take your seat.' "And do you know," laughed Eve, "that Hebe was almost the best behaved boy in the school all that term?" "Oh!" laughed Jess, "it must be lots of fun to go to an ungraded school like that one." "It's all according to the teacher," Eve said. "When we had a poor teacher it was just a scramble for the scholars to learn anything. The big ones helped the little ones. But our present teacher, Miss Harris, is a college girl and she is fine. But some funny things happen because we have the old-fashioned district system of government, with 'school trustees' elected every year. This year at the far end of the district they put in old Mr. Moose, a very illiterate man, for trustee. And one of the girls was telling me about the day he visited school to 'examine' it. That is the method, you know; each trustee makes an official visit and is supposed to find out in that visit how the teachers are getting along." "Tell us about it, Eve," urged Laura. "Why," laughed Eve, "Mr. Moose came in and sat on the teacher's platform for a while, listening and watching, and showing himself to be dreadfully uncomfortable. But he thought he had to make some attempt to examine the school, so when Miss Harris called the spelling class he reached for the speller and said he'd put out a few words. So he read to the first boy: "'Spell "eggpit."' "'E--double g--p--i--t,' says the boy. "'Nope,' says Mr. Moose. 'Next.' "Next scholar spelled it the same way and that didn't suit Mr. Moose, and so it went on down the line, everybody taking a shy at 'Eggpit.' Finally Miss Harris asked to see the book. "'These young 'uns of yourn air mighty bad spellers,' said Mr. Moose. "'But they have all spelled 'eggpit' right,' said Miss Harris. 'Where is the word?' "And what do you suppose Moose pointed out?" chuckled Eve. "Give it up!" was the chorus of her listeners. "'Egypt!'" "My goodness!" cried Jess, choked with laughter. "Can you beat that for a school trustee?" They arrived at the sloping hollow at the end of Peveril Pond, where they proposed to picnic, very soon after this. It was a pretty glade, and the smooth road went down to the shore and skirted it for half a mile. Off on a rocky point were several boys or men fishing; but they were not near enough to disturb our friends. Of course the boys clamored for lunch at once; but while the girls prepared it the boys were shooed off to begin the nut gathering. Lance Darby, with a perfectly solemn face, set Pretty Sweet to work thumping an oak tree with a huge club to "rattle off the nuts;" and he might have been whaling away at the trunk of the tree until luncheon had not Chet taken pity on him and showed him that neither chestnuts or shell-barks grew on oak trees, and that that particular oak didn't even have an acorn on it! Suddenly, just as the girls had the good things spread on the seats of the two cars, a chorus of screams arose from the fishermen. There were three of them, and when our friends' gaze was attracted by the shouts they saw that the bigger one was down in the water and the other two were leaping about on the sands. "Guess they've caught a whale," said Chet. "They are in trouble--serious trouble," declared his sister, leaving the car herself to start for the scene of the difficulty. "That's little Mike Pocock," said Eve, grabbing her arm. "And I believe the fellow in the water is Hebe." "Never mind. He's in some difficulty. See! he can't stand up," cried Laura. "But weally!" gasped Prettyman Sweet. "The lunch is just weady----" "Come on, you cannibal!" ejaculated Lance. "Let's see what's wanted over there." The whole party, girls as well as boys, trooped along the shore of the pond toward the rock where the fishermen had been standing. They saw in a moment that this boulder had rolled over--probably while Hebe Pocock was standing upon it to make a cast--and that Hebe was caught by the rock and held down to the bottom of the pond. He was barely able to keep his head out of water as the boys and girls of Central High approached. CHAPTER XVIII MOTHER WIT TO THE RESCUE The young ruffian who was so notorious about the Four Corners was really in a serious predicament. In making a long cast the boulder had rolled under him and, being precipitated into the pond, he was pinned to the bottom by his legs. The two boys with him had sprung into the pond, and were now wet to their necks; but they could not roll back the heavy boulder. Just as Laura and Chet, with their school mates, arrived Hebe sank back with a gurgle, and the water went over his head. He had been barely able to keep his mouth and nostrils out of water until that moment. "Hebe's gettin' drowned! Hebe's gettin' drowned!" yelled Mike, the victim's young brother, dancing up and down on the shore. "Get in there at once and hold his head up!" commanded Laura Belding. "Then we'll roll away the stone. But he _will_ drown if you don't hold him up." Mike did as he was bid. When Hebe got his breath again he began to use language that was unfit for the girls to hear, at least. "Say!" exclaimed Chet, his eyes blazing, "you stop that or I'll hold your head under the water myself. What kind of a fellow are you, anyway?" Hebe gasped and kept still. Perhaps he had scarcely realized who the people were about him. Laura said: "Can't you boys, all together, roll away that stone?" "We'll try," said Lance, already beginning to strip off his shoes and stockings. "Come ahead, Chet." They made even Purt Sweet join them, bare-footed and with their trousers rolled up as far as they would go. They waded in and got around the rock. Hebe was in a sitting posture, and the weight of the stone bore both his legs down into the muddy bottom. But there was hard-pan under the mud, and it was impossible to drag the victim from beneath the huge rock. But the boys couldn't even jar the rock. It had slipped from the bank and rolled a little, and now it was settling slowly into the ooze, bearing Hebe's legs down under it. The situation was serious in the extreme. Slowly, as Hebe settled beneath the rock, the water was creeping up about his lips and nose. Although he held his head back the water would, in time, rise above his mouth. And the rise was as steady as a tide. Again and again Chet Belding and his comrades tried to push the huge rock over. But, as at first, they could not even budge it. Mike began to cry again. Hebe said, gruffly: "I reckon I gotter croak, eh? This ain't no nice way to die, you bet!" "Die--nothing!" cried Laura. She ran back to the car and tore the piece of rubber pipe away from the bulb of the horn. Handing this to Hebe, she showed him how he could lie back in a more comfortable position, if he wished, and breathe through the tube. She produced some cotton, too, so that he could stop his ears and nostrils. "Now, you keep up your courage," Mother Wit told him. "We'll soon find a way of getting you out of this. You're not dead yet." Hebe said nothing, but he watched her, when his eyes were above water, with a grateful air. "But I tell you, Laura, we can't begin to start this stone even," growled Chet, in her ear. "You will have to think of something better than _this_." "So I will," cried Laura. "I'll think of a rope." "A rope?" "Yes. A good, strong one. One that will go around that rock and then be plenty long enough to hitch to one of the cars--the big car. I believe we can start the rock that way." "Hurrah!" cried Lance. "She's got the idea! What do you say, Chet?" "Looks like it. But how about the rope? Where'll we get it?" "We got a goot one at our house," said Otto, who was sitting down, puffing, after having strained at the rock. "Dot hay rope, he be juist de t'ing." "The hay rope for ours, then," cried Chet. "Come on, Otto. We'll go after it!" He started for the machines, the Swiss youth after him. They got in the Belding car immediately and started the engine. Purt Sweet sprang up with a yell and ran along the shore of the pond after the car. "Oh, oh! Stop!" he shrieked. But Chet did not hear him. Lance caught Pretty by the arm and demanded to know what he was yelling about. "Why," gasped Purt, "they've driven off with a whole lot of the lunch the girls spread on the seats. And look at them go! Why! it'll all be joggled onto the floor of the tonneau before they get back." "Oh--_you_!" exclaimed Lance, balked for words with which to express his contempt. The Belding car was quickly out of sight. The boys and girls gathered around the spot where Hebe Pocock had met with his accident. Nobody could help him, and he began to be in extreme pain. His head was under water a good deal of the time; but the piece of rubber pipe allowed him to breathe, and Mike, or the other smaller boy from the Four Corners, held Hebe's face above water as much as possible. Chet and Otto were not gone an hour; but it seemed, as Lance said, "a creation of time." Pocock was pretty weak when the rope was brought. Meanwhile the chauffeur had run the big car along the road and backed it near the rock and headed in the proper direction. They passed the heavy cable around the boulder and then wrapped it around the car so that the strain would not come in any one place and perhaps do the car damage. "You bigger boys get in there," said Laura, "and take Hebe under the arms. As soon as the rock moves pull him out. For the rope may slip and the rock slide back deeper into the water than it is now. That would kill him, perhaps." "You're right, Laura," said her brother, gravely. "We'll take care." Chet and Lance went to the aid of the unfortunate youth. Otto managed the rope. The chauffeur started his engine and got into his seat. "Ready! start easily," called Laura, when the boys were placed directly behind Hebe. The car lurched forward; the rope strained and creaked; then--slowly but surely--the rock began to move. "Easy, boys!" commanded Laura. Hebe shrieked with pain. The boulder rolled and the rope slipped. But the two boys darted back into deeper water, dragging the victim of the accident with them. It was all over and Hebe was released in a few seconds. But he had lost consciousness and they carried him out and put him into the Belding car. "Shall we take him home?" Chet demanded. "He ought to have a doctor at once," said Laura. "Better still, he ought to be taken to the hospital." "That's what we'll do," said Chet, quickly. "Lance, you and Purt come with me. We'll make him easy in the tonneau. And gee! here's the luncheon all in a jumble." "What did I tell you?" wailed Prettyman. "Oh, get in! get in!" exclaimed Chet. "You can stuff your face with all those goodies while we ride into town. And maybe this poor fellow will come to his senses and try Nellie's lemon meringue pie--it's a dandy, Nellie!" By the shortest road they could take--through the Four Corners--the ride to the City Hospital was bound to occupy an hour--and another to return. Meanwhile the remainder of the party had their lunch and then went after the nut harvest. Despite the incident of the wounded Pocock, the day ended happily enough and they went home at dusk with stores of chestnuts and shellbarks. The Beldings were late, of course, and Mammy Jinny, their old black cook, held back dinner for them, but with many complaints. "It's jest de beatenes' what disher fambly is a-comin' to," she grumbled, as she helped wait at table when the family had gathered for the belated meal. "Gits so, anyhow, dat de hull on youse is out 'most all day long. Eberything comes onter Mammy's shoulders." "That's all right, Jinny. They're good and broad," said Mr. Belding, for she was a privileged character. "Ya--as. Dat's wot youse allus say, Mars' Belding. Den dere was de watah man come ter bodder we-uns. Sech a combobberation I never do see. I tol' him we nebber drink no tap watah, but has it bro't in bottles, same as nice fo'ks does----" "The water man?" repeated Mrs. Belding, curiously. "I can't imagine who that could be." "Ya--as, ma'am!" exclaimed Mammy Jinny, who certainly loved the sound of long words, and hard words. "He come yere enquiratin' erbout de tuberculosis in de watah." "Crickey jacks!" gasped Chet, choking. "What's that?" "My son!" begged his mother. "Please do not use such awful expressions. You are worse than Jinny." "Ain't nothin' de matter wid wot I sez!" declared the old black woman. "Dat's wot he wanted ter know erbout--de tuberculosis in de watah." Mr. Belding recovered his breath. "Was by chance the man asking about the _consumption_ of water, Jinny?" he asked. "Dat's it," said the black woman. "Same t'ing, ain't it? Miss Laura say so. 'Consumption' an' 'tuberculosis' jes de same--heh?" "That's one on you, Laura!" shouted Chet, as Mammy Jinny indignantly waddled out. "Shouldn't teach Mammy words of more than one 'syllabub.' You've been warned before. "By the way," he added, for they had told their parents about the adventure of the afternoon, "that Pocock is in the ward with the man Hester Grimes saved from the forest fire--right in the next bed to Billson. Pocock had both legs broken, the doctors told me--one above the knee and the other below. He's going to have a bad time of it." "Pocock, eh?" said Mr. Belding. "Hebron Pocock is the name of the person who applied to the Board of Education for the job of watchman at the girls' gymnasium. I believe he gave Henry Grimes as reference. But I think we shall keep Jackway. He's a faithful soul and, whoever got into the gym. and did that damage, I am convinced that it was not Jackway's fault." "No; it wasn't Jackway's fault," muttered Chet to Laura. "But I guess we could find the person at fault pretty easily, eh?" CHAPTER XIX AT LUMBERPORT The girls of Central High were not neglecting other athletic work through their interest in basketball; but just as the boys were giving most of their spare time to football, so their sisters, during the fall weather, were mainly interested in their own game. As a whole, the girls' classes of Central High were given practice at the game at least twice a week; and of course the representative team, to which our particular friends belonged, was on the court almost daily. There were games between the less advanced teams, too, which brought the parents of the girls to the athletic field; and as the season advanced the courts were marked out in the large upper room of the gymnasium building, so that the game could be played under cover on stormy days. With the handicap against it at the beginning, of having been roughly played in the city clubs, and the record of several girls having been hurt who played without the oversight of a proper instructor, the game gradually grew in favor at Central High until even such old-fashioned folk as Mrs. Belding spoke approvingly of the exercise. The girls themselves, even the "squabs" and "broilers," as Bobby Hargrew called the freshmen and sophomores, were more and more enthusiastic over basketball as the days passed. Although their champion team was being beaten or tied in the trophy inter-school series, they went to see each game, from week to week, and cheered the Central High team with unflagging loyalty. The very next week Laura's team went to Lumberport, a small steamboat being chartered. It was filled with Central High girls and their friends, and they went over to the game, intending to have a collation aboard after the game and return down the lake by moonlight. "Whether you girls beat the Lumberport girls, or not," chuckled Chet, "we're bound to have a fine time. But I _do_ hope you'll lead your team to victory at least _once_ this season, Laura. It looks as if you girls couldn't beat an addled egg!" "Nor anybody else, Mr. Smartie!" snapped Jess Morse. "You don't know much about eggs, I guess." "Nor you girls don't seem to know much about basketball," chuckled Chet. "What's the fight about?" demanded Bobby, coming up to the group on the upper deck of the steamer. "We ought to all pitch into him," said Jess, pointing to Chet. "He is maligning the team." "All right I'll help--if it's to be 'battle, murder, and sudden death,'" chuckled Bobby. "We ought to get our hands in, anyway, for to-morrow." "What's to-morrow?" cried the girls. "Didn't you hear what Gee Gee said to the English class to-day when the gong rang?" "Go on, Bobby. What's the joke?" urged Dora Lockwood. "Why, Gee Gee said, 'Now, young ladies, that we have finished this present subject, to-morrow we shall take the life of Carlyle. Come prepared.' If Jess really wants us to help her draw and quarter Chet, it might be good practice for what we're going to do to Mr. Carlyle." "Poor Gee Gee," said Nellie, shaking her head. "She has her hands full just now. Some of the squabs are as bad as ever you were, Bobby, when you were a freshie." "I like that!" exclaimed the irrepressible. "Me bad!" "But what's happened to Miss Carrington?" asked Laura. "She's got some mighty smart scholars in the freshman class," said Nellie. "The other day she asked them what two very famous men were boys together, and what do you suppose was the answer she got?" "Give it up!" exclaimed Jess. "What was it?" "One of those fresh squabs put up her hand and when Gee Gee nodded to her, she squeals: 'Oh, I know, Miss Carrington! The Siamese Twins!'" There were enough old folk aboard the steamboat to keep the exuberance of the boys and girls within bounds. Short and Long had brought with him his famous piratical wig and whiskers, and with these in place and an old red sash-curtain draped about him, he looked more like a gnome than ever, he was so little. The girls dressed up a stateroom for him, into which he retired and told fortunes. And as Billy Long did not lack in wit he told some funny ones. This was one of the few occasions when Alice Long, Billy's busy sister, had escaped from her manifold home duties to join in the "high jinks" of her schoolmates. When they were all laughing at Billy's antics and prophecies, Laura said to Alice: "How do you ever manage to get along with those children, Alice? Tommy is as full of mischief as Billy, isn't he?" "He's worse," sighed the big sister; yet she smiled, too. "Tommy's pretty cute, just the same. He had a birthday last week, and Dr. Agnew came through our street going to see Johnny Doyle. "'Hullo, Doctor!' Tommy called to him. 'I gotter birfday.' "'You have!' exclaimed the doctor, apparently very much astonished.'How many birthdays does that make?' "'I'm five, I am,' says Tommy. "'Five years old! Well,' ruminated the doctor, stopping at the gate as though he contemplated coming in, 'what had I better do to a boy that's got a birthday?' "And Tommy speaks right up promptly: 'You can't! I'm sitting on it!'" They had a lot of fun on the boat; but when the basketball team of Central High got into their gymnasium suits in the Lumberport High School dressing-room, they came down to serious thoughts again. "We really _must_ beat these girls," said Laura, Mrs. Case being out of the room. "It's all right to talk about being 'good losers' and all that. But we don't want to be either good, or bad, losers all the time. We've lost enough in the past. It's up to us to put Lumberport on the shelf!" "Hear! hear!" cried Bobby. "That's the talk." "We have usually been able to handle Lumberport at basketball," continued Laura. "Let's not make this an exception to a good rule." Even Roberta felt the inspiration of coming success before the game. The team had been practicing faithfully and there was no real reason why every member of it should not make a good showing. Mrs. Case encouraged them as they went on to the court, and the Central High crowd lined out the "yell" to greet them. There was a big audience, for the Lumberport school had a good field and the parents of the girls engaged were enthusiastic over basketball. The ball was tossed up and Laura shot it over to Lily. Lily was a pretty sure player when she was not excited. It was safe to trust her during the first of any game. She now passed it quickly according to her captain's signal, and to the right girl. The girls of Central High kept the ball in play for a couple of minutes, and entirely away from their opponents. Then Nellie got it for a good throw and--pop! the ball went into the basket. "First goal--hurrah!" yelled the boys from Central High. For despite the insistence of the League rules, and the advice and preachments of physical instructors, there was bound to be a spirit of rivalry in the games. How else would the interest be kept up? Playing for the sake of the game is all right; but the personal desire to win is, after all, what inspires any player to do his, or her, best. There was no ugly playing, however; tense as was the interest, the opposing teams played fair and there was not an unpleasant word or look indulged in by a member of either. With Hester Grimes off the team from Central High there could be no complaint that they played too hard, or unfairly. The whistle in this first half sounded very seldom for fouls. And the game was played with a snap and vigor that was delightful. Central High had somewhat the best of it from that very first goal. They won point after point. Half way through the first half Central High was three points in the lead. When there were five minutes still to go they made another clean goal, putting them up two more points. But the Lumberport girls played well, too; they did not "go to pieces" because the visitors' efforts were crowned with success. They fought steadily and made a goal during that last five minutes. Then the girls of Central High got the ball and made a run with it down the field. Nellie seized it again and turned swiftly to throw. As she did so her ankle turned under her and she came down upon one knee with a little cry. The umpire was about to sound the whistle for time; but the doctor's daughter sprang up instantly and threw the ball straight into the basket. As she did so the timekeeper sounded her whistle. The half was over. Two of the girls ran to help Nellie, who stood, as Bobby said, "on one leg like a stork!" She hobbled to the dressing-room between them. "Oh, dear me! who'll we put in, Laura?" wailed Jess. "You sha'n't put in anybody," cried Nellie, gritting her teeth to keep back a cry of pain as she set the injured foot to the floor again. "This will be all right in a moment." "Looks like it!" cried Dorothy. "You're knocked out, Miss," said Dora. "You know you are." "I'm not!" replied Nellie. Mrs. Case came hurriedly in. "You'll have to rest that ankle, child" she said. "Captain Belding will have to put in a substitute." "No, Mrs. Case. I'm going to play out the game," declared Nellie. "You must not forbid it. I've only twisted my ankle. It will be all right to-morrow. I'll show you!" she cried, and began stripping off her shoe and stocking. CHAPTER XX WINNING ALL ALONG THE LINE "I Can't allow you to take risks, Nellie Agnew," cried the physical instructor. "What would the doctor say to me?" "I'll tell you what Daddy Doctor would say," returned Nellie, grinning grimly to answer the shoot of pain that went through the injured ankle. "And what is that, Miss?" "He'd say: 'Grin and bear it! Play up!'" laughed Nellie, yet with a choke in her voice. "Bring me my bag, Bobby. I want my 'first-aid' kit." "Nellie!" gasped Laura, amazed to see the gentle girl so firm. "We can find somebody else to put in instead of you----" "Yes, but you're not going to," cried Nellie. "Give me that bandage, Bobby. There, Mrs. Case! you know how it ought to be used. Tight--tight, now! That will hold me up. And, really, half an hour's rest would cure the ache, anyway. Daddy Doctor admires pluck. He admires Hester's bravery. I guess I wouldn't be his daughter if I didn't have just a bit of pluck myself." "Hurrah for Nell!" squealed Bobby, waving a second bandage over her head, and the pin coming out, the strip of muslin soon became a tangle of ribbon-like cloth. "Can she do it, Mrs. Case?" asked the doubtful Laura. "She _shall_ do it!" returned the instructor. "It won't hurt the ankle--bound up like that. Now, on with her stocking--and her shoe. Does it hurt, Nellie?" "It's all right," declared the doctor's daughter. "Does the shoe hurt it?" "It's all right, I tell you," insisted Nellie, standing up. Then the gong rang. The girls started for the door. Nellie was not the last one to reach her position. At first the audience was amazed to see her in place after she had hobbled off the field between two of her mates. Then, understanding, they cheered her--the boys deafeningly. "You're all right, Nellie Agnew!" yelled Chet from where the boys of Central High were massed. And how those girls of Central High played! Perhaps it was the inspiration of Nellie's courage. Perhaps it was the inspiration of the cheering spectators. But never before had Laura and her team-mates played better basketball than in that second half with the Lumberport team. Nor did the latter team "go to pieces." Every point was fought for. Suddenly the ball reached Nellie's hands again. Her guard was in front of her. She dashed quickly back, as light of foot as she had been before her injury. Her guard was after her, but Nellie dodged to the right and then caged the ball from almost the center line! "Good for you, Nell Agnew!" shouted the spectators. Again the ball was at center and was tossed up. "Shoot it to Nell, Laura!" advised some boy in the audience. "She'll know what to do with it!" "Quick, there, center! don't be all night!" yelled another. But the girls of Central High kept their heads about them. They watched their captain's signals. The Lumberport jumping center threw the ball the wrong way. Again Nellie jumped for it, and almost fell again; but she shot the ball true and fair to the basket. By this time Nell was the heroine of the whole crowd. Her opposing guard was putting up a splendid game, but she was always just a breath too late. Laura saw that the doctor's daughter was keyed up for fine work, and she let her have the ball once more. Nell dashed first to the left, then to the right; she completely lost her guard, and the guard from the other side ran in to intercept her. This is not altogether good basketball, and it gave Nell a splendid opening. "Shoot it here, Nell!" cried Laura. The ball passed through the hands of three Central High girls--a triple play often practiced on their own court--and then--plop! into the basket! Another goal to their score. Time and again the Lumberport team came near to making a goal; but at the end the tally stood with the visitors eight points ahead of their opponents, after a fifteen-minute session that abounded in good plays and vigorous action. The crowd from Central High certainly were in fine fettle when they marched down to the dock and went aboard their steamer. There was a fine spread in the cabin and Chet Belding made a speech. That was arranged for beforehand and most of Chet's speech dealt with "Why Prettyman Sweet Eats So Much." Pretty was used to being joked, and didn't mind it much as long as Chet was talking and _he_ could continue to graze at his pleasure upon the good things on the table. "Only, I say!" he exclaimed, when Chet's speech was concluded, "I don't see why I am always selected to point a mowal and adorn a tale. Weally, I don't eat so much more than anybody else--according to my height." "That's right, Purt!" cried Lance. "There's a lot of you--lengthwise!" "And just think what a thin shell you've got," cackled Billy Long. "That's why it takes so much to fill you up, old boy." "Don't carp and criticise, Billy-boy," said his sister, Alice. "I notice that a good deal goes onto your plate, too--and you haven't arrived at Purt's age yet." "Don't talk to Billy about ages," giggled Bobby. "He can't remember anybody's age. I bet he couldn't tell how old Methuselah was." "Give it up! Didn't know the gentleman. What team did _he_ play on?" asked Billy, with his mouth full. "Methuselah was 969 years old," declared Purt, seriously. "Pshaw, Purt! was that it?" demanded Billy. "I always thought that was his telephone number." The moon was up in all her October glory when the young folk crowded upon the upper deck. There was a big gramophone on the boat and they had music, and singing, and the trip home was as enjoyable as it could be. The day, too, was a red letter one for the basketball team of Central High. From that time they began to win all along the line in the inter-school series. They won from both East and West Highs during that month, and tied Keyport when that team came to the Hill to play them. The score of games played that fall showed Central High third on the list at the end of October, whereas they had been fifth. Keyport was in the lead and East High second; for in playing with other teams these two schools almost always won. Chet Belding kept in touch with Hebe Pocock's condition at the hospital and occasionally sent the injured fellow some fruit and other delicacies. Once when he went to ask after Hebe the doctor told the boy to go up to the accident ward and see him. "He's been asking after you. Wants to thank you for the stuff you've sent in. He's a pretty tough citizen, is Hebe," laughed the doctor. "But he has some gratitude in his make-up." Chet went up and found that Hebe and the man Billson were pretty good friends, being in neighboring beds. In fact, Billson was now up and about the ward and would soon be allowed to leave the hospital; but it would be some time yet before Hebe could walk. "It jest dishes me about gittin' that job at the young ladies' gymnasium, heh?" said Hebe. "Did they put that Jackway out?" "Why, no," said Chet, puzzled a bit by the young man's manner and look. "Why should they?" "He warn't no good," grunted Hebe. "You bet, if I'd had his job, nobody would have got in there and cut up all that stuff without my knowin' who did it." "Perhaps he _does_ know who did it," said Chet, slowly. Pocock flashed him a sudden look of interest. "He ain't said so, has he?" "Well--no." "And they ain't give him the bounce?" "My father says he doesn't think Jackway is to blame." "Huh!" grumbled Hebe. "Maybe I'll git that job yet." "How do you expect to do it?" demanded Chet. "Never you mind. Henry Grimes has got some influence, I reckon, an' he said I should have it." "I guess they'll keep on Jackway. I wouldn't think of it, if I was you," said Chet, seriously. "Say! that fellow's a dub!" growled Hebe, and became silent. Chet talked with the squatter, Billson, as they walked down the long ward together. "He's always goin' on about that job at the gym.," chuckled Billson, with a hitch of his shoulder toward Hebe's bed. "He was talkin' to Miss Grimes about it when she was in to see me the other day. That's a fine gal--Miss Grimes." "I'm glad you find her so," returned Chet, but with considerable surprise. "Nobody really knows who did that mean job in the girls' gymnasium, eh?" "Well--some of us suspect pretty hard," said Chet, slowly. Billson looked at him, screwing up his eyes tight. "Mebbe I could find out, Mr. Belding." "How could you?" demanded Chet, quickly. "That's telling. Perhaps I know something. I'd do a good deal to clear Miss Grimes of all this suspicion. Oh, I've heard the doctors and nurses talking about it." "Say! do you think it would help clear her of suspicion if you found out the truth?" demanded Chet, in wonder. "Huh! why not?" returned Billson. "I guess you're one of these crazy folk that think she did it?" "No. But I bet she knows who _did_ do it," blurted out Chet. "Good-day, young man!" snapped Billson. "I guess you ain't interested in what I know," and he turned on his heel and limped away up the ward. But Chet went out, feeling very much puzzled, and proceeded to take Mother Wit into his confidence. If Hester was innocent of even the smallest part in that affair, the whole school--and people outside the school, too--were treating Hester very unfairly. For by this time Hester Grimes scarcely had a speaking acquaintance with the other girls of Central High, and she was welcome only at Lily Pendleton's home. CHAPTER XXI WHAT HESTER DID Dr. Agnew was very much troubled over his little patient down in the tenements, and he told Nellie about it one evening after supper. "I have had to insist that the child be taken to the hospital," said the good doctor. "That almost broke his mother's heart; but their rooms were not sufficiently airy. And then, the child is suffering from pernicious anæmia, and unless he mends he will die, anyway." "That is an awful hard name to call little Johnny, Daddy Doctor," said Nellie. "It is awfully hard for little Johnny, that's a fact," said the doctor, thoughtfully. "It is awfully hard for his mother, who, like the plucky widow she is, has struggled so hard to bring those children to where they are. Bill, of course, has helped her; but Bill isn't much smarter in some ways than silly Rufe. The widow's done it all; and she's just wrapped up in Johnny." "How cruel for anything to happen to him!" sighed Nellie. "It looks so. We can't see things in their true light very often, I suppose. It takes a Divine Eye to see straight," and the doctor wagged his head. "Here's this poor woman would give her heart's blood--that's the expression she uses--to save the little fellow. But her blood won't do. She is not in a healthy condition herself. And Johnny needs perfectly healthy, normal blood----" "My goodness, Daddy Doctor!" exclaimed Nellie, with a shiver. "How you do talk!" "Eh?" "As though anybody's blood could help poor Johnny." "Ah! but that's just it, Nellie. Somebody's blood _would_ help poor little Johnny. A pint or so of somebody's healthy, red blood----" "How horrid!" cried the girl, trying to jump off the chair; but her father's big hand held her. "Wait. Don't be a ridiculous Miss Nancy!" he said, with a chuckle. "You are as much a surgeon's daughter as a doctor's daughter, I hope." "I'm proud that you heal folk of diseases, Daddy Doctor," she said, laughing faintly. "But you talk now just like a butcher." "No. The transfusion of blood is one of the most wonderful and blessed discoveries of recent years. Perhaps not a discovery; but the proper way to do it is a recent discovery. And that is what we want to try on little Johnny at the hospital." "Oh, Daddy!" gasped Nellie, at last seeing that he was in earnest. "Johnny's condition is such that he needs good, red corpuscles pumping through his veins, and without a proper amount or a proper quality of blood, he cannot live. The nourishment he can take is insufficient to make this blood. What he must have is now in the possession of some other person. We must find that person very quickly--or not at all." "Oh, Daddy Doctor!" she whispered. "_I_ could never do a thing like that!" "I should say not," responded her father, quickly. "Don't make this a personal matter, Kitten. You need every ounce of blood you've got for yourself. You have been perilously near the anæmic state yourself in times past. This athletic business and the resultant hearty appetite you maintain has been the salvation of you, Nellie girl. "Ah! we need a robust, healthy young person who would be willing to give a quantity of blood and not miss it. And I venture to say it's healthy blood that gives her that color, despite the fact that you Miss Namby-pambies consider it 'coarse' and 'horrid' to have a red face." "Hester!" exclaimed Nellie. The doctor nodded, then fell into silence again. It was the next afternoon that they proposed taking little Johnny Doyle to the hospital. The good doctor was at the widow's waiting for the ambulance when Hester Grimes came in. The widow was wailing as though her heart were broken; for with people of this degree of intelligence, to take a patient to the hospital is equal to signing his death warrant. "Ochone! Ochone! I'll never see me little Johnny runnin' around the flure again," she said to Hester. "He's goin' jest like his poor feyther." "What nonsense you're talking, Mrs. Doyle!" cried Hester, cheerfully. "He'll come back to you as chipper as a sparrow. Won't he, Dr. Agnew?" "So I tell her--if God wills," added the physician in a lower tone. Hester glanced at him sharply and then walked to the front room window where Dr. Agnew sat. "What is it he needs, Doctor?" she asked, in a low voice. "His mother's always talking so wild I cannot make head nor tail of it. She says you want to put new blood in him." "That is it exactly," said Dr. Agnew, his eyes twinkling. "A pint of blood such as your veins carry in such abundance might save Johnny's life." "Do you mean that, Doctor?" "Yes, Miss Hester." "Then he can have it," returned the girl, quietly. "You can take it now, for all I care." The doctor jumped up and walked back and forth across the room. Then he saw Hester stripping up her sleeve. "No, no," he said. "It isn't as easy as all that. And I'm not sure I'd be doing right to let you do it----" "I guess you're not _my_ conscience, Dr. Agnew," said Hester, in her usual brusque way. "No; but I have a conscience of my own," said the doctor, grimly. "This isn't a thing to be done in a minute, or in a corner, young lady. It includes one of the very nicest of surgical operations. It will keep you out of school for some time. It will keep you at the hospital. It will, indeed, keep you in bed longer than you care to stay, perhaps." "Is it dangerous?" "To you? No. Not in any appreciable degree. You are a full-blooded girl. You can spare much more than Johnny needs----" "Then let it be done," said Hester, firmly. "We'll have to see what your mother and father say." "You leave that to me," said Hester. "I know how to manage them." Dr. Agnew looked at her for a moment with his brow wrinkled and his lips pursed up. "I'm not sure whether, if you were my daughter, I should be most proud of you, or afraid for you," he said. She only looked puzzled by his speech. "What do you want me to do?" she asked, finally. "Come here to the light," the doctor said, rummaging in his kit for a tiny instrument. He held her thumb firmly. "It will only be a needle prick." "Go ahead," said Hester. He shot the needle into the ball of her thumb and drew out a drop or two of blood in the glass bulb of the syringe. "We'll just find out what _this_ tells about you in the laboratory," said the doctor. "I'm much mistaken if it doesn't tell a good story, Hester Grimes. Then I'll come and see your father and mother this evening." "You needn't bother if you're going to be busy," observed Hester, coolly. "They will give their permission. When will you want me at the hospital?" "You will sleep there to-night under the care of one of our very nicest nurses--Miss Parraday," said the doctor, smiling again. "And our little boy here--God willing--shall have a chance for life." CHAPTER XXII WHAT MR. BILLSON COULD TELL The champion basketball team of Central High was holding its own, and even gaining a point or two now and then in the trophy series; but it seemed impossible for the hard-working girls to change their standing in the schedule of the teams. They remained Number 3. They could beat West High and Lumberport High School teams every time they played with them; but it was a hard struggle for Laura and her mates to break even with East High or Centerport, and the Keyport girls almost always downed them. "It's a boiling shame!" cried Bobby Hargrew, one day at Laura's, when some of the team were talking matters over. "We're getting swiped----" "Goodness me, Bobby!" gasped Laura. "_Don't_ let poor mother hear you use such dreadful language. It positively hurts her to have Chet use slang; and you are worse than he is." "One would think that you had never been under the benign influence of Miss Carrington," chuckled Jess Morse. "Bah!" retorted Bobby. "I don't know but I feel a good deal like my little cousin Effie about education. You know, Effie is only six. The other day her mother had company and her mother and the other lady were talking about something that they didn't want 'little pitchers' to understand. So they spelled some of the words instead of speaking them out, and Effie listened with both eyes and mouth wide open. But she couldn't catch the meaning of the spelled words. Finally she got mad and went out to her papa on the porch and says she: "'Daddy, there's altogether too much education in this house!' "And I'm getting so saturated with Gee Gee's English and Dimple's Latin, and Miss Gould's French, that positively I _have_ to let off steam by using slang," concluded Bobby. "Just keep your slang for other places then, Bobby," said Laura. "Mother is likely to overhear you----" "And Laura's pretty prim and particular herself," laughed Dora Lockwood. Jess began to giggle. "She's getting literary, I understand," she said. "So Mammy Jinny says. I heard her grumbling to herself only this morning when Jinny was 'ridding up' the living room here. She says: "'Dese yere literary folk is suah a trouble. Leabin' books, an' papers, an' pen an' ink eroun' fo' odder folks to pick up.'" "'Is Laura literary, Mammy?' I asked her. "'Suah is,' says Mammy Jinny. 'Littahs t'ings all ober de house!'" When the laugh against her had subsided, Laura said: "But what good is it to boil, Bobby, if we can't win games? To reach the top and win the trophy, we must win every game of the series from now on." "And a fat chance we've got to do that!" exclaimed Bobby, scornfully. "Four of them are as good as won," said Dora, confidently. "Those with the West High and Lumberport teams." "Don't be too sure of the Lumberport team," advised Laura. "It improves all the time." "We can beat it if Roberta keeps up her end," declared Jess. "But how about Keyport and East High?" "Keyport has outplayed us all but one game," complained Dorothy Lockwood. "East High has beaten us two games and one was a draw. But we _have_ beaten them and we ought to be able to do it again." "That's when Hester was on the team," said Laura, quietly. Bobby stood up and smote her two hands together loudly. "If we only had Hester back!" she cried. "Why, Bobby!" cried Jess. "I don't care. It's so. I don't like Hester; but I hate to see Central High lose the trophy for the need of another good player." Nellie Agnew was just coming in and she heard part of what Bobby said. "Oh, girls!" she cried. "Do you know where Hester is?" "She wasn't at school to-day," said Dora. "Nor yesterday," added her twin. "Nor the day before that," cried Laura. "What's happened to her?" "She is in the hospital," said Nellie, solemnly. "My goodness me! what for?" gasped Bobby Hargrew. Nellie told them. Indeed, she expatiated on the affair to the full. Hester had displayed a quality of courage that appealed strongly to the doctor's daughter. It was no brave act inspired by impulse, and "of the minute." It took right down moral courage to do what Hester had done. "The transfusion of blood was accomplished yesterday. The operation was entirely successful. Hester and Johnny are side by side in little narrow beds in the children's ward of the hospital. Daddy Doctor let me in to peek at them," said Nellie, her eyes full of tears. "That girl's just splendid! Johnny is going to live and be strong again, the doctors say. Oh! I feel so _little_ when I think of Hester. I'm so sorry I signed that round robin, or said anything against her being on the team. I--I wish we had her back." "So--so do I," exclaimed Dora, and Dorothy echoed her twin's desire. "I wouldn't mind if old Hess was playing with us," said Bobby, with a grin. "Huh! I guess I was the first one to say so." And this last incident marked the further--and stronger--interest the boys and girls of Central High had centered in the City Hospital. Laura and Chet had not forgotten Mr. Billson's odd remarks about the gymnasium mystery and Chet had gone again and again to the hospital to sound the man who had been so badly injured in the forest fire. But Billson was hard to approach. He considered Chet one of those who believed Hester Grimes guilty of instigating the raid on the gymnasium. Billson had acquired a fierce admiration for Hester, and it made him angry with anybody who expressed a doubt of her entire innocence of the crime which Rumor laid at her door. But suddenly public opinion veered clear around. The story of little Johnny Doyle's necessity and how Hester had volunteered to come to his aid spread about the Hill section of Centerport almost as quickly as had the story of the gymnasium mystery. "What do you think?" Billson asked Chet Belding, when the boy visited him and Hebe Pocock again--but this was out of Hebe's hearing. "What do you think--that a girl like this would hire a foolish boy to do such dirty work? If Miss Grimes had wanted to bust up that gymnasium, you bet she'd have had the pluck to go and do it herself! That's my opinion." "Well, Rufe was there," said Chet, quietly. "Where?" "In the gym. The first night the things were disturbed. Bill Jackway admits that. They've got time-clocks for him and he goes all over the building several times a night, now; and they have let him hire another man to help him on the field during the day. But he says that he let Rufe out at midnight because the boy was scared and wanted to go home. And the second time, Rufe could have slipped in when Bill had the door ajar, and afterward got out of the window and walked backward to the field fence. Oh, he could have done it." "But why mix Hester Grimes up with it?" growled Billson. "Rufe would never have thought of the thing himself, I don't believe. And Hester threatened to 'fix' all the girls, and said she hated them, and the gym., and the whole thing." "Guess she was mad," said the man. "Quite likely. She sure wasn't _glad_," returned the boy, drily. "And I suppose you think," said Mr. Billson, scowling, "that she is doing all this for the Doyles to pay Rufus for his monkey-shines, eh?" "No I never said such a thing," cried the indignant Chet. "Then what? If folks have really got anything against Miss Hester, why don't they come out square and say so? This hinting at things--going 'all 'round Robin Hood's barn'--gets my goat--it does so!" "I guess the girls of Central High feel a whole lot differently toward Hester than they did," admitted Chet. "At least, they talk differently." And it was a fact. While Chet and Billson were talking the basketball team had gathered at the Belding house and had concocted another "round robin." But this one was couched in quite different language from the first that had been presented to their physical instructor. This time both Lily Pendleton and Roberta Fish signed the paper, which was an unequivocal request that Hester Grimes be invited to take her old position on the team. Hester had not come back to school yet; the doctor would not allow it. But she was taking her lessons at home. Johnny Doyle was well on the way to recovery and all Hester needed was a little rest, the doctor said, to put her in as good condition as usual. The round robin went to Mrs. Case and, after an interview with the principal, Mrs. Case went again to call on Hester at her home. "Ain't she the greatest girl you ever heard of, Mis' Case?" demanded Mrs. Grimes, fluttering about as she ushered the teacher into Hester's presence. "Me and her father can't do a thing with her when Hess is set on doing anything she wants to do. And this at the hospital--well, if we say a thing about it she gets that mad!" "How-do, Mrs. Case?" yawned Hester, who had been reading, curled up in the window-seat. "Do take that easy chair. Mother! I declare--you have got a grease spot on that wrapper." "Oh, excuse me!" exclaimed the simple Mrs. Grimes. "I'll go change it for a fresh one." Thus her daughter got her out of the room before Mrs. Case began to talk. And, indeed, it was Hester herself who began the conversation in her usual abrupt way. "I don't know how you feel towards me, Mrs. Case, but I know I was impudent to you when you were here before. But you said you could show me how to get back on the basketball team, and I guess I _do_ want to get back--if it isn't too late?" she concluded, wistfully. "That's what I've come to talk about," said Mrs. Case, promptly. "The girls want you back----" "Oh, no!" exclaimed Hester, in surprise. "Oh, yes!" returned the teacher, smiling, and bringing out the paper the members of the team had signed. She put it into Hester's hand; the girl read it quickly and then turned her face away so that Mrs. Case should not see her eyes for a moment. "They say they need me!" Hester said, in a choked tone. "Yes," returned the teacher, simply. "That they can't win the trophy without me," added Hester, devouring the writing again. "Yes." "And they don't say a word about that foolish business at the hospital. Folks talk too much about that," said Hester, recovering her usual manner. "If these girls really want me to help the team, I'll play." "They want you, Hester, for just that purpose. If they have more kindly feelings toward you than they have had of late, that is between them and you. But as for your joining the team again----" "Yes, Mrs. Case?" "You must remember the rules and play the game in a sportsmanlike manner," declared the instructor firmly. "You understand me?" "Yes, Mrs. Case," returned the girl, hanging her head. "Then I shall expect you to appear for practice just as soon as Dr. Agnew allows you to take up that work," said the teacher, rising briskly. "And I shall be glad to have you back on the first team," she added, giving Hester's hand a hearty squeeze. CHAPTER XXIII CLIMBING UP By the middle of the next week Hester was playing regularly in her old position on the basketball team. Roberta Fish had dropped back into the second team with all the grace of the sweet-tempered girl she was. "I'm only too glad she's come back," said Roberta, referring to Hester Grimes. "It's much more important that Central High should win that beautiful silver trophy than for _me_ to have the honor of playing on the champion team." "You're a good sort, Roberta," said Bobby Hargrew, admiringly. "Now, I'd be _mad_ if they'd asked me to step down and let somebody take my place." "No," said Laura. "You'd be loyal, too, Bobby." "And that's the A. B. C. of athletics, child," said Nellie Agnew, remembering very clearly what the doctor had said to her weeks before on the subject. "'A. B. C.,' indeed!" sniffed Bobby. "You make me feel like a primary kid again, I declare!" Jess Morse began to laugh. "Some of these primary kids, as Bobby calls them, are pretty smart. Allison Mapes--you know her?--who teaches the first grade, was telling of a little Bohemian boy in her class. He is smart as a whip, but English is quite a paralyzing language to him. She asked him the other day: "'Ivan, what is a calf?' "And the boy answered: 'Missis, that's the child of a cow and the back of your leg!'" When the laugh over this had subsided Laura spoke seriously. They were talking in one of the small offices of the school, having retired to discuss the forthcoming games. "It isn't all plum cake and lemonade, girls, even to beat West High and Lumberport----" "Oh, my!" croaked Bobby. "See what we did to West High last time without Hester." "That was a fluke," declared the captain. "Why, they're babies!" said Josephine Morse, confidently. "And Lumberport as well." "Don't get the idea in your head that we are going to whip any team so easily. That's when we are going to lose," urged Laura. "Being too sure is as bad as being careless in your play." "Now she is hitting _me_," grumbled her chum. "Well, Jess, if the cap fits, put it on." "But do let us encourage ourselves, Mother Wit," cried one of the twins. "Goodness knows, we need it." "That's right," said her sister. "We've had _such_ bad luck!" "Aw, she's a regular old croaker!" shouted Bobby, dancing up and down. "We are going to win every game from now on!" "Hush!" exclaimed Laura. "We're making too much noise. Somebody will come and put us out." "Nope. Nobody here but John, the janitor. Gee Gee's gone home, you bet. I wish those other girls would come and we could get down to business." "You look out, Bobby. If you get black marks again maybe _you'll_ be taken off the team for the rest of the term." "Oh, oh!" cried the irrepressible. "Don't say such a thing." "That would be too mean!" cried Dora. "Indeed it would!" added her sister. They were all making a deal of noise. As Laura said, "one could scarcely hear one's self think." And noise was not allowed in the school building, whether in classes, or out. Suddenly, at the height of the revelry, there came a stern knock on the door. Behind the thick oak the startled girls heard a sharp voice exclaim: "Young ladies!" "Oh, gee!" gasped Bobby. "Hush!" commanded Laura. "Shucks! Somebody's fooling us," cried Bobby, springing to the door. "Who's there?" she shouted. "It is me--Miss Carrington," said the muffled voice. For a breath the other girls were stricken dumb when the name of the strict disciplinarian of the school was spoken. But it was Bobby who recovered her speech first, and she broke into a loud laugh. "Go 'way!" she cried. "You can't fool us. If it was Gee Gee she would have said: 'It is I'!" "Oh, my goodness! suppose it _should_ be Miss Carrington?" gasped Nellie, in horror. But the sounds outside the door ceased. Bobby, after a trembling moment, snapped open the lock and unlatched the door. The corridor was empty. But in a moment Hester Grimes appeared from the stairway and approached the meeting place of the team. "You said you wanted everybody here, Laura," she said. "But did you have Miss Carrington at your meeting?" "Miss Carrington!" they shrieked in chorus. "Yes. I just met her. And she had the funniest look on her face. What was the matter with her?" demanded Hester. "Oh, my soul!" groaned Jess. "I can tell you what the matter is. Bobby just corrected Miss Carrington's English. What do you know about _that_?" But the occasion was not one for laughter or joking now. That had surely been Miss Carrington at the door, and the reckless Bobby had called her "Gee Gee" to her face, and been saucy into the bargain! "We're done for!" Dora Lockwood groaned. "Wait till assembly to-morrow. Bobby will be called out before the whole school." "Oh! she'd never be mean enough for that!" almost wept Dorothy. "But something dreadful will happen to Bobby," urged Nellie. "She'll be forbidden after-hour athletics, as sure as shooting!" declared Jess Morse. Bobby, for once, was stricken dumb. She saw in an instant all the horrid possibilities of her reckless speech. Barred from the team for the rest of the term would be the lightest punishment she could hope for. "And Gee Gee is always lying in wait for a chance to spoil our athletics," wailed Lily Pendleton, who for once felt the sorrows of her fellows. Hester wanted to know what it all meant, and they told her. "She certainly _did_ look funny when I met her on the stairs," admitted the butcher's daughter. "And you told her she couldn't be herself because she said, 'It is me?' My! that must have been a shock to her. One of her pupils correcting Miss Carrington's use of the English language!" "It isn't any laughing matter!" flared up Bobby. "And I don't see that crying over it will help any," returned Hester, grimly. The team as a whole, however, was worried a good deal by Bobby's "bad break." To be obliged to break in a new girl at Bobby's place would be almost ruinous now. Just having gotten the team into shape once more, it seemed an awful thing to contemplate. But assembly passed the next morning without Mr. Sharp saying a word about Bobby. The session dragged on till closing time without Gee Gee's speaking to Bobby Hargrew. That very day East High was to come to play the girls of Central High on their court. The uncertainty, however, made Bobby less sure in classes, and she came near to being held to make up her Latin. But she slipped through somehow and ran away from the school building as hard as she could run, for fear that Gee Gee would send for her at the last moment. "Something's happened to her. She's had a change of heart. I'm afraid she isn't well," gasped Bobby, once safely in the dressing room of the gym. "She is _never_ going to overlook that awful break of mine--is she?" "You'd better walk a chalk line from now to the end of the term," advised Jess. "If she ever _does_ get you on any other matter she will double your punishment. I believe she is ashamed to call you up for what you said to her yesterday, because you caught her using language unbecoming a purist." "Be thankful, Bobby--and be good," advised Laura. "You have certainly escaped 'by the skin of your teeth,' as the prophet has it. No, that is not slang; it is Scripture. And do, _do_ be good for the rest of this half." "Oh, I'll be a lamb--a little, woolly lamb," groaned Bobby. "You see if I'm not!" The girls of Central High played a splendid game of basketball that afternoon. They beat the East High team fairly and squarely, and their winning this game put them up a notch in the series. They took East High's place as Number 2. There was still the Lumberport and Keyport teams to whip before Central High could win the trophy. CHAPTER XXIV HESTER WINS The final games of the trophy series between the girls of the High Schools of Centerport, Lumberport, and Keyport were played on the grounds of Central High. It was verging on winter. Thanksgiving was at hand, and the first basketball series must be out of the way before the boys' big football games on Thanksgiving eve. Although school athletics was much in the minds of the girls, those who participated in the games had to stand well in their classes to retain their positions on the teams. Books first, athletics afterward. That was the iron-bound rule of the Girls' Branch Athletic League. But most of the girls on the team of Central High were bright scholars. Miss Grace G. Carrington was never "easy" on the athletic girls. That wouldn't be her way. She usually seemed glad to put obstacles in the way of those who she knew were so deeply interested in athletics. But aside from Bobby Hargrew, that last fortnight she had no chance to demerit any of the basketball team. And--to the wonderment of the girls themselves--she never said a word to Bobby regarding what had happened when she, Miss Carrington, rapped on the office door. Having whipped East High so decisively, Captain Laura and her mates went at the Lumberport team with greater confidence. Lumberport was not the weakest team in the league; but Central High had managed to beat them in every previous game, and in this last one the home team played such snappy basketball that the visitors never came near them after the first toss-up. It was a great game and the enthusiasm of the spectators increased with every play. How the boys cheered! There was a big crowd of spectators from Lumberport and they "rooted" for their home team. Despite the excitement, however, there was not a moment's rough play. Mrs. Case had watched Hester narrowly during these final games. There had been moments when the big girl was crossed by circumstances, or by her opponents, when--in the past--she might have flared up and said, or done, something unpleasant. But Hester seemed to have gained some control of her temper, and the hard places in the games were passed over successfully. It was a fact that Hester had very little in common with the rest of her team-mates, save Lily. She did not put herself forward, and as none of them had been her close friends before she was put off the team, she still kept her distance now that she was back in harness again. At home Hester's mother was determined to make a heroine of her. Many of the ladies of the Hill, who seldom before this had called on easy-going, slip-shod Mrs. Grimes, came to see her now and praised Hester's courage and her kindness to Johnny Doyle and his widowed mother. Mrs. Grimes was, naturally, pleased at all this praise. "I've a mind to give a party, so I have!" she said to Hester, one day. "Your father could easy pay for as nice a party as was ever given on the Hill. He needn't be stingy. And we could get to be friends with all these nice folks----" "Oh, Mother!" sighed Hester. "Don't be foolish. These people don't really care a thing for us. They'd only laugh. Their houses are not even furnished like ours----" "I should say not!" cried Mrs. Grimes. "We have some of the most expensive furnichoor you could buy at Stresch & Potter's----" "Yes. At a department store. Nice people do not furnish their homes in that way. The varnish smells too new on our chairs and tables. We are too new. We never should have come to live on the Hill when father made money." "How ye talk!" exclaimed the astonished Mrs. Grimes. "Where would ye have us live--at the Four Corners still?" "Perhaps we wouldn't be so much like fish out of water there," grumbled Hester. "I'm no fish, I'd have ye understand!" exclaimed Mrs. Grimes. "And Mrs. Belding axed me to join a club--the New Century 'tis called. 'Tis all women and our husbands haven't a livin' thing to say in it. I'm goin' to join." "The New Century!" exclaimed Hester, indeed surprised. "Yes. I'd be glad to be in something that Henry couldn't poke his finger into and boss," sighed the much harassed lady. "But it's never the New Century?" cried Hester. "Why not?" "That's the most select club on the Hill. Lily's mother belongs, and Mrs. Agnew, and all those folk." "And why not _me_?" demanded her mother. "We've got as much money----" "Hush! Stop talking about money if you want to be popular in the New Century Club," said her daughter, who had learned a thing or two herself of late. "That is what is the matter with us--we're proud of our money." "And why not? When Henry began with a shoestring." "Well, don't be telling of it!" cried Hester. "These other people got their money so long ago that they've forgotten how they got it. We want to forget, too." But Hester was learning lessons fast. It had amazed her to see how people--and nice people, too--thought that what she had done for Johnny Doyle was of serious importance; while her lavish expenditure of money among her mates had heretofore won her few friends. The fact that she had saved a man from the burning woods and carried the warning of the forest fire, had made her friends, too. When she had jumped into the sewer-basin after Johnny, Dr. Agnew seemed for the first time pleased with her. _It was unselfishness that counted!_ Hester Grimes had never thought of it before. She had never thought out logically why Laura Belding was so popular, why Nellie Agnew was liked so well, and what made the other girls cluster about harum-scarum Bobby Hargrew. They were all unselfish girls, thoughtful in their several ways for the comfort of others. Hester was learning what really paid in life--especially in the life of school and athletics. A good temper, a tongue without a barb to it, and thoughtfulness for the comfort of others. Those attributes won out among the girls of Central High--as they are bound to win out in every walk in life. And Hester Grimes had begun to conduct herself accordingly. The final game of the series for the cup was slated for a certain Friday afternoon. Colonel Richard Swayne--Laura Belding's very good friend, and a liberal supporter of girls' athletics--had invited the contesting basketball teams from all five High Schools to partake of a collation in the big upper hall of Central High's new gymnasium, after the final game. _That_ was to be played between the Keyport and Central High teams. Whichever of the two teams won would stand highest in the schedule of the league, and to such winning team would be presented the trophy by the president of the Board of Education. There would be such a crowd to see the game that tickets had to be issued, and those tickets went mostly to the girls who had competed in the basketball series, for distribution among their parents and friends. There was not so much cheering by the spectators at this game, for the boys were cut out of it. There wasn't room for the regular "rooters." Many parents, however, who had not been attentive to the game before, were in the seats provided now, to criticise the sport of which they had heard so much. And everybody admitted that the two best teams of the schools were now struggling for the trophy. From the first toss-up the girls played with a snap and vigor that amazed and delighted even their instructors. Trained as they had been all the fall, there were few fouls to record, and very little retarding of the game. The signals were passed silently and the girls indulged in little talking. Unnecessary talking and laughter mars basketball. It was a pleasure to watch the lithe, vigorous young girls. They were untrammeled by any foolish fashions, or demands of dress. Their bodily movements were as free as Nature intended them to be. They jumped, and ran, and threw, with a confidence that none but the well trained athlete possesses. The first half included a series of fierce rushes upon the Keyport side for baskets; but Central High held them down. Hester played brilliantly. Not once did she lose her temper, nor foul her opponent. She blocked the attempts of the Keyport players to make goals, but the referee did not catch her over-guarding or otherwise playing foul basketball. She really won the onlookers with her splendid form in playing. They began cheering her particularly. Where Roberta Fish had been weak in the mass plays, Hester was strong. The Keyport captain, remembering that weak place in the former Central High line-up, forced the play into Hester's territory. "Oh, you Hester!" yelled Bobby, beside herself at last, with enthusiasm. "You're a bear! Shoot it, Hessie! Let it come!" But each time that the ball was shot for the basket, something intervened. Once it went straight for the basket, rolled around the rim, and dropped--to the floor without entering the receptacle! The Central High rooters met this failure with a groan. But it was not Hester's fault. She had done her best, and her shooting was as clean as it could be. The timekeeper's whistle called the play at the end of the half without either side having made a point. It had been a rasping game. Many times Hester Grimes had been tempted to say something or do something that would be counted as "rough play"; but she had restrained herself, and when she walked to the dressing room she found Mrs. Case walking beside her with a hand upon her shoulder. "Good girl!" exclaimed the physical instructor of Central High. "Keep it up, my dear, and you'll be the best player we have on the roll." "But I didn't get a chance to do a thing!" grumbled Hester, shaking her head. "That is why I am praising you," said Mrs. Case, drily. "For what you _didn't_ do. Keep it up. Restrain yourself as well for the rest of the game. Your chance may come for a brilliant play; but if it doesn't, keep a grip on yourself just the same." Hester was secretly strengthened by this praise. She went out into the field at the call of the gong for the second half with the determination to deserve Mrs. Case's good word, whether the team won or lost. And almost at first chance came Hester's way and she was permitted to display a brilliant bit of play. It brought a goal for Central High--the first scored in the game. But the girls could not stop to cheer her. Laura nodded and smiled at her, however, as the ball was brought back from the basket to be tossed up. For some reason Hester began to feel a warm glow about her heart. Her captain's commendation had never meant much to her before. Up went the ball and Laura and the other jumping center did their best to get it. The ball went from girl to girl, first in the hands of one team, then in the other. The Keyport team almost made a goal; but they were foiled by good guarding on Central High's part. Up and down the field went the ball and the excitement grew moment by moment. Two to nothing in favor of the home team! That was a situation bound to create excitement both in the field and on the benches. Suddenly the captain of the visiting team got the ball. She passed it swiftly to her back center. Signaling one after the other of her team-mates, the Keyport captain sent the ball from hand to hand until--to the startled amazement of her opponents, the ball was in hand for a clear throw. In another moment it was in the basket and the score was tied again! Four minutes more to play! When the referee threw the ball up again every one of the eighteen girls playing was on the _qui vive_. The subordinate players watched their captains for signals. Central High got the ball. They rushed it down the field. But the guarding of the Keyport team was too much for them. They could not reach the basket. Again and again was the ball passed back and forth. Once more the Keyport captain shot it back for a clear throw. But Hester managed to halt it. There were but a few moments of play left. It is not good basketball to oppose other than one's immediate opponent; but for once Hester went out of her field to stop the ball. A side swipe, and the ball was hurtled directly into Laura's hands. She turned and threw it swiftly, making the signal for the famous massed play which was the strongest point in the game as played by Central High. Down the field the ball shot, from one to the other. Hester's quick break in the Keyport plan had rattled the latter team for a moment. And before the visitors recovered, the ball was hurtling through the air straight for the basket. The whistle blew. But the ball sped on. It struck the edge of the basket; but the next breath it slid in and--_the game was won_! Central High had outstripped its strongest opponent. The game won, so was the series, and the beautiful cup would remain in the possession of Central High. "And all because of you, Hessie!" shouted Bobby, when they got back to the dressing room. "You're a bully good sport! Isn't she, girls?" "She won the game," declared Laura, coming forward to shake Hester's hand. They all had something nice to say to her. Hester couldn't reply. She stood for a moment or two in the middle of the room, listening to them; then she turned away and sought her own locker, for there were tears in her eyes. CHAPTER XXV THE MYSTERY EXPLAINED The boys, as has been said, were shut out from seeing the last basketball game of the series. Chet Belding was at the hospital that afternoon, having taken up some fruit to Hebe Pocock and Billson. The latter would soon go out and would return to his burned-over clearing in the woods. "Guess that fire helped me as much as it hurt me. I'll have to build a new shanty; but Doc Leffert was in here and said he'd rode over my piece, and that my heaps of rubbish had burned clean and all I'd have to do to clear my acres for corn would be to tam-harrow it." "Hebe isn't getting along as fast as you do, Mr. Billson," said Chet, in a low voice, for the Four Corners fellow was having a hard time to even move about on crutches. "Dunno as he deserves any better than he's got," said Billson, grumpily. "What you so cross about?" laughed Chet. "Surely you're not sore over the way folks are treating Hester Grimes _now_? She comes pretty near being the heroine of the Hill section." "Ya-as. They praise her because she done what she did for little Johnny Doyle. But many of 'em still think she set that foolish boy onto raiding the girls' gymnasium." "I don't know about that," confessed Chet, slowly. "Although we may believe that Rufe had something to do with it, perhaps he did it, after all, because he's not quite right in his head." "Oh, shucks!" exclaimed Billson. "All because he was crying to be let out of the gym. the night of the first raid?" "Well, Jackway admits he was there," repeated Chet. "And Jackway is a good deal of a fool, too," snarled Billson. "Say! there's Rufe and his mother in the corridor now, going to see Johnny in the children's ward. You bring Rufe into this ward for a minute. I want to show you something." Much puzzled, Chet Belding did as he was bid. "Come here, Rufie," said Billson, beckoning to the gangling youth. "I want to show you somebody. Come here." Billson swung back a section of the screen that hid Hebron Pocock's bed. The big fellow was lying there with his eyes closed, but he opened them quickly when Rufe appeared, and scowled. "Watcher want here, gooney?" he demanded. Rufus sprang back and looked about for escape, his weak face working pitifully. But Chet and Billson barred the way of escape. Rufe began to snivel. "What's the matter with you?" demanded Chet. "Are you afraid of this man?" asked Billson. Rufe nodded, and tried to crowd farther away from the bed. "What you doing to that kid?" demanded Hebe, sitting up. "What's the matter? Why! that's the softy I saw----" "He's a bad man. He said he'd kill me if I told!" gasped Rufus. "Where was that?" asked Billson, with his hand on the boy's arm. "Tell us all about it. He sha'n't touch you, Rufie." "Aw! I wouldn't have really hurt the gooney," growled Hebe. "He was in the place where Uncle Bill watches. I hate that old gymniasium! I wish it would burn down, so I do." "And when you were in there that night this fellow was there?" asked Billson, shaking the boy a little by the arm. "Yes. And he broke things. And Uncle was worried afterward. But I never told," Rufe urged, looking fearfully at Hebe. "I said I wouldn't----" "Aw, drop it! You've told on me now, haven't you?" demanded the fellow from the Four Corners. "Well, it don't much matter, I reckon. I wanted to queer that Jackway so he'd lose his job. Henry Grimes told me that if he was discharged he'd speak a good word for me and I'd get it. That's what I was after." "Yah!" said Billson, with scorn. "You certainly are one mean scoundrel, Pocock. And lettin' folks think mebbe Miss Hester was mixed up in it. Nice feller, you are!" "Well! I don't see where it's any of _your_ funeral," growled Pocock. "You make me tired!" But the result of Rufe's confession and Pocock's admission changed the latter's place of abode rather suddenly. Both Chet and Billson decided that the truth about the gymnasium raids should be made known at once, and the Board of Education took the matter up promptly. Pocock found himself in the infirmary of the county prison, with the chance of serving three months at hard labor when the prison doctors pronounced him able to work. His attempt to work Jackway out of the job of watchman, so that he could be appointed to the position, had acted like a boomerang. Hebron Pocock was most thoroughly punished. And Chet Belding hurried to spread the tidings of the discovery among the girls of Central High, too. He got hold of Laura before the spread the basketball teams were to enjoy, and she told Principal Sharp, who was present. When he made his usual speech of welcome, he tacked onto it a paragraph regarding the gymnasium mystery. "Which is," said Mr. Sharp, "a mystery no longer. As I said when first the matter was brought to my attention, no pupil of Central High, either male or female, could be guilty of such an abominable crime. Such a malicious piece of mischief had to be originated in a perverted mind; and we have no such minds at Central High." "But it has furnished excitement enough for us all to last for the rest of the winter," said Laura, later, to her immediate friends. "I'm so glad for Hester! But we've all been stirred up enough about it, I guess. No more excitement this term, girls!" Whether Laura's wish came true, or not, the reader will be able to find out for herself in the perusal of the next volume of this series, entitled "The Girls of Central High on the Stage; Or, The Play That Took the Prize." None of them looked forward to a really "tame" winter, however. There would be other basketball games, and plenty of out-of-door sports as well. As Bobby Hargrew said: "It's all right to say that school takes up all our time; but it's the fun we get out of school that makes Latin, and French, and mathematics, and--and--Gee Gee bearable! My! suppose we didn't have athletics at all?" "That would certainly be a state of existence perfectly unbearable--for you, Bobby," Nellie Agnew said, gravely. "You'd burst, wouldn't you?" "Into flinders!" agreed Bobby. "Athletics is the 'scape-valve for me--and I guess it is for some of the rest of you. Now, tell the truth!" And her friends had to admit the truth of her declaration. THE END THE NAN SHERWOOD SERIES By Annie Roe Carr 12 mo, cloth, illustrated, and colored jacket In Annie Roe Carr we have found a young woman of wide experience among girls--in schoolroom, in camp and while traveling. She knows girls of to-day thoroughly--their likes and dislikes--and knows that they demand almost as much action as do the boys. And she knows humor--good, clean fun and plenty of it. NAN SHERWOOD AT PINE CAMP or The Old Lumberman's Secret NAN SHERWOOD AT LAKEVIEW HALL or The Mystery of the Haunted Boathouse NAN SHERWOOD'S WINTER HOLIDAYS or Rescuing the Runaways NAN SHERWOOD AT ROSE RANCH or The Old Mexican's Treasure NAN SHERWOOD AT PALM BEACH or Strange Adventures Among the Orange Groves Transcriber's notes: Original publication data: Publisher: The World Syndicate Publishing Co., Cleveland, O. Copyright: 1914, by Grosset & Dunlap Printer: The Commercial Bookbinding Co., Cleveland, O. 
10717	----	THE EXTANT ODES OF PINDAR TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH with INTRODUCTION AND SHORT NOTES BY ERNEST MYERS, M.A. _Sometime Fellow of Wadham College, Oxford_ 1904 _First edition printed 1874._ _Reprinted (with corrections) 1884, 1888, 1892, 1895, 1899, 1904_ SON OF THE LIGHTNING, FAIR AND FIERY STAR, STRONG-WINGED IMPERIAL PINDAR, VOICE DIVINE, LET THESE DEEP DRAUGHTS OF THY ENCHANTED WINE LIFT ME WITH THEE IN SOARINGS HIGH AND FAR PROUDER THAN PEGASEAN, OR THE CAR WHEREIN APOLLO RAPT THE HUNTRESS MAID. SO LET ME RANGE MINE HOUR, TOO SOON TO FADE INTO STRANGE PRESENCE OF THE THINGS THAT ARE. YET KNOW THAT EVEN AMID THIS JARRING NOISE OF HATES, LOVES, CREEDS, TOGETHER HEAPED AND HURLED, SOME ECHO FAINT OF GRACE AND GRANDEUR STIRS FROM THY SWEET HELLAS, HOME OF NOBLE JOYS. FIRST FRUIT AND BEST OF ALL OUR WESTERN WORLD; WHATE'ER WE HOLD OF BEAUTY, HALF IS HERS. INTRODUCTION. Probably no poet of importance equal or approaching to that of Pindar finds so few and so infrequent readers. The causes are not far to seek: in the first and most obvious place comes the great difficulty of his language, in the second the frequent obscurity of his thought, resulting mainly from his exceeding allusiveness and his abrupt transitions, and in the third place that amount of monotony which must of necessity attach to a series of poems provided for a succession of similar occasions. It is as an attempt towards obviating the first of these hindrances to the study of Pindar, the difficulty of his language, that this translation is of course especially intended. To whom and in what cases are translations of poets useful? To a perfect scholar in the original tongue they are superfluous, to one wholly ignorant of it they are apt to be (unless here and there to a Keats) meaningless, flat, and puzzling. There remains the third class of those who have a certain amount of knowledge of a language, but not enough to enable them to read unassisted its more difficult books without an expenditure of time and trouble which is virtually prohibitive. It is to this class that a translation ought, it would seem, chiefly to address itself. An intelligent person of cultivated literary taste, and able to read the easier books in an acquired language, will feel himself indebted to a hand which unlocks for him the inner chambers of a temple in whose outer courts he had already delighted to wander. Without therefore saying that the merely 'English reader' may never derive pleasure and instruction from a translation of a foreign poet, for to this rule our current version of the Hebrew psalmists and prophets furnish one marked exception at least--still, it is probably to what may be called the half-learned class that the translator must preeminently look to find an audience. The other causes of Pindar's unpopularity to which reference was made above, the obscurity of his thought and the monotony of his subjects, will in great measure disappear by means of attentive study of the poems themselves, and of other sources from which may be gathered an understanding of the region of thought and feeling in which they move. In proportion to our familiarity not only with Hellenic mythology and history, but with Hellenic life and habits of thought generally, will be our readiness and facility in seizing the drift and import of what Pindar says, in divining what has passed through his mind: and in his case perhaps even more than in the case of other poets, this facility will increase indefinitely with our increasing acquaintance with his works and with the light thrown on each part of them by the rest[1]. The monotony of the odes, though to some extent unquestionably and unavoidably real, is to some extent also superficial and in appearance only. The family of the victor, or his country, some incident of his past, some possibility of his future life, suggest in each case some different legendary matter, some different way of treating it, some different application of it, general or particular, or both. Out of such resources Pindar is inexhaustible in building up in subtly varying forms the splendid structure of his song. Yet doubtless the drawbacks in reading Pindar, though they may be largely reduced, will always in some degree exist: we shall always wish that he was easier to construe, that his allusions to things unfamiliar and sometimes undiscoverable to us were less frequent, that family pride had not made it customary for him to spend so many lines on an enumeration of prizes won elsewhere and at other times by the victor of the occasion or by his kin. Such drawbacks can only fall into insignificance when eclipsed by consideration of the far more than counterbalancing attractions of the poems, of their unique and surpassing interest, poetical, historical, and moral. Of Pindar as a poet it is hard indeed to speak adequately, and almost as hard to speak briefly, for a discussion of his poetical characteristics once begun may wander far before even a small part has been said of what might be. To say that to his poetry in supreme degree belong the qualities of force, of vividness, often of impressive weight, of a lofty style, seeming to be the expression of a like personality, of a mastery of rhythm and metre and imaginative diction, of a profoundly Hellenic spirit modified by an unmistakable individuality, above all of a certain sweep and swiftness as of the flight of an eagle's wing--to say all this would be to suggest some of the most obvious features of these triumphal odes; and each of these qualities, and many more requiring exacter delineation, might be illustrated with numberless instances which even in the faint image of a translation would furnish ample testimony[2]. But as this introduction is intended for those who purpose reading Pindar's poetry, or at any rate the present translation of it, for themselves, I will leave it to them to discover for themselves the qualities which have given Pindar his high place among poets, and will pass on to suggest briefly his claims to interest us by reason of his place in the history of human action and human thought. We know very little of Pindar's life. He was born in or about the year B.C. 522, at the village of Kynoskephalai near Thebes. He was thus a citizen of Thebes and seems to have always had his home there. But he travelled among other states, many of which have been glorified by his art. For his praise of Athens, 'bulwark of Hellas,' the city which at Artemision 'laid the foundation of freedom,' the Thebans are said to have fined him; but the generous Athenians paid the fine, made him their Proxenos, and erected his statue at the public cost. For the magnificent Sicilian princes, Hieron of Syracuse and Theron of Akragas, not unlike the Medici in the position they held, Pindar wrote five of the longest of his extant odes, and probably visited them in Sicily. But he would not quit his home to be an ornament of their courts. When asked why he did not, like Simonides, accept the invitations of these potentates to make his home with them, he answered that he had chosen to live his own life, and not to be the property of another. He died at the age of 79, that is, probably, in the year 443, twelve years before the Peloponnesian war began. Legend said that he died in the theatre of Argos, in the arms of Theoxenos, the boy in whose honour he wrote a Skolion of which an immortal fragment remains to us. Other myths gathered round his name. It was said that once when in childhood he had fallen asleep by the way 'a bee had settled on his lips and gathered honey,' and again that 'he saw in a dream that his mouth was filled with honey and the honeycomb;' that Pan himself learnt a poem of his and rejoiced to sing it on the mountains; that finally, while he awaited an answer from the oracle of Ammon, whence he had enquired what was best for man, Persephone appeared to him in his sleep and said that she only of the gods had had no hymn from him, but that he should make her one shortly when he had come to her; and that he died within ten days of the vision. Two several conquerors of Thebes, Pausanias of Sparta and Alexander of Macedon, 'bade spare The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower Went to the ground.' At Delphi they kept with reverence his iron chair, and the priest of Apollo cried nightly as he closed the temple, 'Let Pindar the poet go in unto the supper of the god.' Thus Pindar was contemporary with an age of Greek history which justifies the assertion of his consummate interest for the student of Hellenic life in its prime. It was impossible that a man of his genius and temperament should have lived through these times without representing to us with breadth and intensity the spirit that was in them, and there are several points in Pindar's circumstances which make his relation to his age peculiarly interesting. We may look on him as in some points supplementary to the great Athenian dramatists, whose works are doubtless far the most valuable literary legacy of the time. Perhaps however the surpassing brilliance of Athenian literature and history has made us somewhat prone to forget the importance of non-Athenian elements in the complex whole of Hellenic life and thought. Athens was the eye of Hellas, nay, she had at Marathon and Salamis made good her claim to be called the saving arm, but there were other members not to be forgotten if we would picture to ourselves the national body in its completeness. Pindar was a Boeotian, of a country not rich in literary or indeed any kind of intellectual eminence, yet by no means to be ignored in an estimate of the Hellenic race. Politically indeed it only rises into pre-eminence under Epameinondas; before and afterwards Boeotian policy under the domination of Thebes is seldom either beneficent or glorious: it must be remembered, however, that the gallant Plataeans also were Boeotians. The people of Boeotia seem to have had generally an easy, rather sensually inclined nature, which accorded with their rich country and absence of nautical and commercial enterprise and excitement, but in their best men this disposition remains only in the form of a genial simplicity. Pelopidas in political, and Plutarch and Pausanias in literary history, will be allowed to be instances of this. That the poetry which penetrated Hellenic life was not wanting in Boeotia we have proof enough in the existence of the Sacred Band, that goodly fellowship of friends which seems to have united what Hallam has called the three strongest motives to enthusiastic action that have appeared in history, patriotism, chivalric honour, and religion. Nor is there any nobler figure in history than that of Epameinondas. One fact indeed there is which must always make the thought of Pindar's Theban citizenship painful to us, and that is the shameful part taken by Thebes in the Persian war, when compulsion of her exposed situation, and oligarchical cabal within her walls, drew her into unholy alliance with the barbarian invader. Had it been otherwise how passionately pure would Pindar's joy have uttered itself when the 'stone of Tantalos' that hung over the head of Hellas was smitten into dust in that greatest crisis of the fortunes of humanity. He exults nobly as it is, he does all honour to Athens, 'bulwark of Hellas,' but the shame of his own city, his 'mother' Thebes, must have caused him a pang as bitter as a great soul has ever borne. For his very calling of song-writer to all Hellenic states without discrimination, especially when the songs he had to write were of the class which we still possess, triumphal odes for victories in those great games which drew to them all men of Hellenic blood at the feet of common deities, and which with each recurring festival could even hush the clamour of war in an imperious Truce of God--such a calling and such associations must have cherished in him the passion for Panhellenic brotherhood and unanimity, even had there not been much else both within and without him to join to the same generous end. It was the time when Panhellenic feeling was probably stronger than ever before or after. Before, the states had been occupied in building up their own polities independently; the Hellenic activity had been dispersing itself centrifugally among the trans-marine colonies, and those of Italy and Sicily seemed at one time to make it doubtful whether the nucleus of civilization were to be there or in the mother-country. But by the time of the Persian war the best energies of the race had concentrated themselves between the Aegean and Ionian seas; and the supreme danger of the war had bound the states together against the common enemy and taught them to forget smaller differences in the great strife between Hellene and barbarian. Yet again when that supreme danger was past the old quarrels arose anew more deadly and more complicated: instead of a Persian there was a Peloponnesian war, and the Peloponnesian war in its latter stages came, by virtue of the political principles involved, to partake much of the character of a civil war. But the time of Pindar, of Aeschylus, of Sophocles, of Pheidias, of Polygnotos, was that happy interval when Hellas had beaten off the barbarian from her throat and had not yet murdered herself. And Pindar's imagination and generosity were both kindled by the moment; there was no room in his mind for border squabbles, for commercial jealousies, for oligarchic or democratic envy: these things were overridden by a sentiment of nationality wanting indeed in many circumstances which modern nationalities deem essential to the existence of such sentiment, and many of which are really essential to its permanence--yet a sentiment which no other nation ever before or since can have possessed in the peculiar lustre which it then wore in Hellas; for no other nation has ever before or since known what it was to stand alone immeasurably advanced at the head of the civilization of the world. Pindar was of a noble family, of the house of the Aigeidai, and it is probable that his kinsmen, or some of them, may have taken the side of oligarchy in the often recurring dissensions at Thebes, but of this we know nothing certain. He himself seems to have taken no part in politics. When he speaks on the subject in his odes it is not with the voice of a partisan. An ochlocracy is hateful to him, but if he shows himself an 'aristocrat' it is in the literal and etymological meaning of the word. Doubtless if Pindar had been asked where the best servants of the state in public life were most likely to be found he would have answered that it would be among those ancient families in whose veins ran the blood of gods and demigods, who had spent blood and money for the city's honour, championing her in war or in the mimic strife of the games, who had honourable traditions to be guided by and an honourable name to lose or save. These things were seldom undervalued by Hellenic feeling: even in Athens, after it was already the headquarters of the democratic principle, the noble and wealthy families obtained, not probably without wisdom of their own in loyally accepting a democratic position, as fair a place and prospects as anywhere in Hellas. But that, when the noble nature, the [Greek: aretae], which traditions of nobility ought to have secured, was lacking, then wealth and birth were still entitled to power, this was a doctrine repugnant utterly to Pindar's mind: nor would his indignation slumber when he saw the rich and highborn, however gifted, forgetting at any time that their power was a trust for the community and using it for their own selfish profit. An 'aristocrat' after Pindar's mind would assuredly have a far keener eye to his duties than to his rights, would consider indeed that in his larger share of duties lay his infinitely most precious right. But he 'loved that beauty should go beautifully;' personal excellence of some kind was in his eyes essential; but on this he would fain shed outward radiance and majesty. His imagination rejoiced in splendour--splendour of stately palace--halls where the columns were of marble and the entablature of wrought gold, splendour of temples of gods where the sculptor's waxing art had brought the very deities to dwell with man, splendour of the white-pillared cities that glittered across the Aegean and Sicilian seas, splendour of the holy Panhellenic games, of whirlwind chariots and the fiery grace of thoroughbreds, of the naked shapely limbs of the athlete man and boy. On this characteristic of Pindar it is needless to dwell, for there are not many odes of those remaining which do not impress it on our minds. And it is more with him than a mere manner in poetical style. The same defect which we feel more or less present in all poets of antiquity--least of all perhaps in Virgil and Sophokles, but even in them somewhat--a certain want of widely sympathetic tenderness, this is unquestionably present in Pindar. What of this quality may have found expression in his lost poems, especially the Dirges, we can scarcely guess, but in his triumphal odes it hardly appears at all, unless in the touches of tender gracefulness into which he softens when speaking of the young. And we find this want in him mainly because objects of pity, such as especially elicit that quality of tenderness, are never or seldom present to Pindar's mind. He sees evil only in the shape of some moral baseness, falsehood, envy, arrogance, and the like, to be scathed in passing by the good man's scorn, or else in the shape of a dark mystery of pain, to be endured by those on whom it causelessly falls in a proud though undefiant silence. It was not for him, as for the great tragedians, to 'purge the mind by pity and fear,' for those passions had scarcely a place in his own mind or in the minds of those of whom he in his high phantasy would fain have had the world consist. And as in this point somewhat, so still more in others, does Pindar remind us, even more than might have been expected in a contemporary, of Aeschylus. The latter by virtue of his Athenian nurture as well as of his own greater natural gifts reveals to us a greater number of thoughts, and those more advanced and more interesting than we find in Pindar, but the similarity in moral temper and tone is very striking, as also is the way in which we see this temper acting on their beliefs. Both hold strongly, as is the wont of powerful minds in an age of stability as opposed to an age of transition, to the traditions and beliefs on which the society around them rests, but both modify these traditions and beliefs according to the light which arises in them, and which is as much moral as intellectual light. In so doing they are indeed in harmony with the best instincts of the society around them, but they lead and guide such instincts and give them shape and definiteness. In the Oresteän trilogy of Aeschylus we have an ever-memorable assertion of the supreme claims of human morality to human allegiance, of the eternal truth that humanity can know no object of reverence and worship except itself idealised, its own virtues victorious over its own vices, and existing in the greatest perfection which it can at any given time conceive. Somewhat the same lesson as that of the Oresteia is taught later, with more of sweetness and harmony, but not with more force, in the Oedipus Coloneus of Sophokles. And in Pindar we see the same tendencies inchoate. Like Aeschylus he does by implication subordinate to morality both politics and religion. He ignores or flatly denies tales that bring discredit on the gods; he will only bow down to them when they have the virtues he respects in man. Yet he, like Aeschylus and Sophokles, does so bow down, sincerely and without hesitation, and that poets of their temper could do so was well indeed for poetry. By rare and happy fortune they were inspired at once by the rich and varied presences of mythology, 'the fair humanities of old religion,' and also by the highest aspirations of an age of moral and intellectual advance. We do not of course always, or even often, find the moral principles clearly and consciously expressed or consistently supported, but we cannot but feel that they are present in the shape of instincts, and those instincts pervading and architectonic. And if we allow so much of ethical enlightenment to these great spokesmen of the Hellenic people, we cannot deny something of like honour to the race among whom they were reared. Let us apportion our debt of gratitude to our forerunners as it is justly due. There would seem to be much of fallacy and of the injustice of a shallow judgment in the contrast as popularly drawn between 'Hellenism' and 'Hebraism,' according to which the former is spoken of as exclusively proclaiming to the world the value of Beauty, the latter the value of Righteousness. In this there is surely much injustice done to Hellas. Because she taught the one, she did not therefore leave the other untaught. It may have been for a short time, as her other greatness was for a short time, though its effects are eternal, but for that short time the national life, of Athens at any rate, is at least as full of high moral feeling as that of any other people in the world. Will not the names of Solon, of Aristeides, of Kallikratidas, of Epameinondas, of Timoleon and many more, remind us that life could be to the Hellene something of deeper moral import than a brilliant game, or a garden of vivid and sweet sights and sounds where Beauty and Knowledge entered, but Goodness was forgotten and shut out? For it is not merely that these men, and very many more endowed with ample portion of their spirit, were produced and reared among the race; they were honoured and valued in a way that surely postulated the existence of high ethical feeling in their countrymen. And even when the days of unselfish statesmen and magnanimous cities were over, there were philosophers whose schools were not the less filled because they claimed a high place for righteousness in human life. To Solon and Aristeides succeeded Socrates and Plato, to Epameinondas and Timoleon succeeded Zeno and Epictetus. That the morality of the Hellenes was complete on all sides, it would of course be irrational to maintain. They had not, for instance, any more than the Hebrews, or any other nation of antiquity, learnt to abhor slavery, though probably it existed in a milder form at Athens than anywhere else in the old or new world: they were more implacable in revenge and laxer in sexual indulgence than the Christian ethics would allow in theory, though not perhaps much more so than Christendom has shown itself in practice. And though undoubtedly the greatest single impulse ever given to morality came from Palestine, yet the ground which nurtured the seeds of Christianity was as much Hellenic as Hebrew. It would be impossible here to enter on an exhaustive comparison of the ethical capacities of the two races, but before we pronounce hastily for the superiority of the Hebrew there are surely some difficulties to surmount. We may well ask, for example, Would Hellas ever have accepted as her chief national hero such a man as David a man who in his life is conspicuous by his crimes not less than by his brilliant gifts, and who dies with the words of blood and perfidy on his lips, charging his son with the last slaughterous satisfaction of his hate which he had sworn before his God to forego? And though the great Hebrew prophets teach often a far loftier morality than this, they cannot have been nearly so representative of the feeling of this nation as were Aeschylus and Sophocles and Pindar of the feeling of theirs. The Hebrews of the prophets' age 'slew the prophets,' and left it to the slayers' descendants to 'build their sepulchres,' and at the same time to show their inherited character still more unmistakeably by once more slaying the last prophet and the greatest.[3] In truth in the literature, the art, the life generally of Hellas in her prime, the moral interest whenever it appears, and that is not seldom, claims for itself the grave and preponderant attention which it must claim if it is to appear with fit dignity. But it is not thrust forward unseasonably or in exaggeration, nor is it placed in a false opposition to the interests of the aesthetic instincts, which after all shade into the moral more imperceptibly than might be generally allowed. There must be a moral side to all societies, and the Hellenic society, the choicest that the world has seen, the completest, that is, at once in sensibilities and in energies, could not but show the excellence of its sensibilities in receiving moral impressions, the excellence of its energies in achieving moral conduct. This, however, is no place to discuss at length questions in the history of ethics. Yet it must be remembered that in the ancient world departments of thought, and the affairs of men generally, were far less specialized than in modern times. If the philosophy of Hellas be the most explicit witness to her ethical development, her poetry is the most eloquent. And scarcely at any time, scarcely even in Aristotle, did Hellenic philosophy in any department lose most significant traces of its poetical ancestry. But enough here if I have succeeded in pointing out that in the great poet with whom we are concerned there is an ethical as well as a poetical and historical interest, supplying one more reason against neglect of his legacy of song. Yet indeed even now there remains a further question which to the mind of any one who at present labours in this field of classical scholarship must recur persistently if not depressingly, and on which it is natural if not necessary to say a few words. If the selection of Pindar in particular as a Greek poet with claims to be further popularized among Englishmen may be defended, there is still a more general count to which all who make endeavours to attract or retain attention to Greek literature will in these times be called upon to plead by voices which command respect. To such pleas this is not the place to give large room, or to discriminate in detail between the reasonable and unreasonable elements in the attacks on a system of education in which a preeminent position is allotted to the literature of antiquity. While fully admitting that much time and labour are still wasted in efforts to plant the study of ancient and especially of Greek literature in uncongenial soil, while admitting also most fully the claims, and the still imperfect recognition of the claims, of physical science to a rank among the foremost in modern education, I should yet be abundantly willing that this attempt to help in facilitating the study of a Greek author should be looked on as implying adhesion to the protest still sometimes raised, that in the higher parts of a liberal education no study can claim a more important place than the study of the history and the literature of Hellas. The interest which belongs to these is far wider and deeper than any mere literary interest. To the human mind the most interesting of phenomena are and ought to be the phenomena of the human mind, and this granted, can there be any knowledge more desirable than the knowledge of the most vigorous and sensitive and in some ways also the most fruitful action of human minds that the world has known hitherto? But again, we are told that the age we seek thus toilsomely to illustrate and realize is too remote to justify the attempt, that our civilisation is of too different a type from the Hellenic, and that a gulf of three-and-twenty centuries is too much for our sight to strain across. But is not the Hellenic life at least less remote now to Western Europe than it has ever been since the Northern invasions? Though the separation in time widens does not the separation in thought decrease? Is not one civilisation more like another than it can be to any barbarism? And shall not this same Physical Science herself by accustoming us to look on men in large masses at once, and on the development of humanity as a process of infinite duration, as a sectional growth included in universal evolution--Science, in whose eyes a thousand years are as a watch in the night--shall she not thereby quicken our sympathies with the most gifted race that has appeared in our short human history, and arouse the same feeling toward it as a family may cherish toward the memory of their best and choicest, who has died young? Only let us take heed that such regret shall make us not more but less unworthy of those noble forerunners. One symptom of the renewed influence of antiquity on the modern world is doubtless and has been from time to time since the Revival of Letters a tendency to selfish and somewhat sickly theories so-called of life, where sensibility degenerates through self-consciousness into affectation, and efforts to appreciate fully the delightfulness of life and art are overstrained into a wearisome literary voluptuousness, where duty has already disappeared and the human sympathies on which duty is based scarcely linger in a faint aesthetic form, soon to leave the would-be exquisiteness to putrefy into the vulgarity of egoism. Such tendencies have less in common with the Hellenic prime than with the court of Leo the Tenth, though even that had perhaps an advantage over them as being in some ways a more real thing. But that the Hellenic prime with all its exquisite sensibility was deficient in recognition of a high ideal of duty can never be believed among those who have studied it candidly and attentively; I have endeavoured above to suggest that in this point, take it all in all, it yields to no age or race. It would indeed be a mistaken following of those noble servants of humanity to draw from their memories an argument for selfish isolation or for despair of the commonwealth of man. He who has drunk deeply of that divine well and gazed long at the fair vision of what then was, will, if his nature be capable of true sympathy with the various elements of that wonderful age, turn again without bitterness to the confused modern world, saddened but not paralysed by the comparison, grieving, but with no querulous grief, for the certainty that those days are done. 1874. PREFATORY NOTE. The few notes appended to this translation are not intended to supply the place of such reference to Dictionaries of Mythology, Antiquities and Geography, as is needful to the student of Pindar who is not already somewhat accomplished in knowledge of the customs, history and legendary traditions of Hellas. And although it may reasonably be supposed that the chief of these will be already known to most readers of Pindar, yet so profusely allusive is this poet that to understand his allusions will very often require knowledge which would not have been derived from a study of the more commonly read Hellenic writers. Nor have I attempted to trace in detail the connection of the parts in each ode which binds them into one harmonious whole with many meanings--a connection so consummately contrived where we can trace it that we may suppose it no less exquisite where we cannot. Study and thought will generally suggest explanations, though these will sometimes approve themselves differently to different minds. Too often we must acknowledge, as elsewhere in ancient literature, that the key is lost beyond all certain hope of recovery. Still less have I attempted to discuss questions of critical scholarship. Sometimes where there are more than one plausible reading I have signified which I adopt; once only (Ol. 2. 56.) I have ventured on an emendation of my own. For the most part I have, as was natural, followed the text of Böckh and Dissen. In the spelling of names I remain in that inconsistency which at present attaches to most modern writers who deal with them. Olympus, Athens, Corinth, Syracuse, and the like are naturalized among us by long familiarity; it seems at present at least pedantic to change them. In the case of other less familiar names I have concurred with the desire, which seems in the main a reasonable one, that the names of Hellenic persons and places should be reproduced, as far as possible, without Latin mediation. Of the Fragments I have translated six of the longest and most interesting. They are 289 in all, but the greater part are not longer than a line or two, and very many even shorter. The odes are unequal in poetical merit, and many readers may not unreasonably wish to have those pointed out which, in the judgement of one acquainted with all, are among the best worth reading; though of course the choice of individual readers will not always be the same. To those therefore who would wish to begin with a selection, the following may be recommended as at any rate among those of preeminent merit: Pyth. 4, 9, 1, 10, 3; Ol. 7, 6, 2, 3, 13, 8, 1; Nem. 5, 10; Isthm. 2, 7; all the Fragments translated. In the arrangement of the odes I have adhered to the traditional order. I should much have liked to place them in what must always be the most interesting and rational arrangement of a poet's works, that is, in chronological order. This would have been approximately possible, as we know the dates of the greater part of them. But convenience of reference and of comparison with the Greek text seems to supply a balance of reasons on the other side. Subjoined however is a list of the odes in their probable chronological order so far as it can be obtained. Pythian 10-------------B.C. 502. " 6------------- " 494. " 12------------- " 494 or 490. " 7------------- " 490. " 3------------- " 486 or 482. Olympian 10 } ---------- " 484. " 11 } ---------- " 484. Isthmian 5 Nemean 5 Isthmian 7 ------------ " 480. Isthmian 3 Pythian 8-------------- " 478. " 9-------------- " 478. " 11-------------- " 478. " 2-------------- " 477. Olympian 14-------------- " 476. " }----------------- " 476. " }----------------- " 476. Pythian 1 Nemean 1--------------- " 473. Olympian 1--------------- " 472. " 12-------------- " 472. Nemean 9 Isthmian 2 Olympian 6-------------- " 468. Pythian 4 }------------- " 466. " 5 } Olympian 7-------------- " 464. " 13-------------- " 464. Nemean 7 " 3 " 4 " 6 " 8 Olympian 9-------------- " 456. Isthmian 6 Olympian 4 }------------ " 452. " 5 } The Olympic games were held once in four years, in honour of Zeus. The prize was a wreath of wild olive. The Pythian games were held once in four years, in honour of Apollo. The prize was a wreath of bay. The Nemean games were held once in two years, in honour of Zeus. The prize was a wreath of wild parsley. The Isthmian games were held once in two years, in honour of Poseidon. The prize was a wreath of wild parsley or of pine. [Footnote 1: The importance and interest to a student in Hellenic literature of a collateral study of whatever remains to us of Hellenic plastic art--statues, vases, gems, and coins--can hardly be too strongly insisted on.] [Footnote 2: In Mr. J.A. Symonds' 'Studies of the Greek Poets' there is an essay on Pindar which dwells with much appreciative eloquence upon the poets literary characteristics.] [Footnote 3: In thus touching on the obligations of our morality to the Hebrew and to the Hellene respectively, I have insisted more exclusively on the weak points of the former than I should have done in a fuller discussion of the subject: here I am merely concerned to question in passing what seems to be a popular one-sided estimate.] * * * * * OLYMPIAN ODES. I. FOR HIERON OF SYRACUSE, WINNER IN THE HORSE-RACE. * * * * * This ode seems to owe its position at the head of Pindar's extant works to Aristophanes the grammarian, who placed it there on account of its being specially occupied with the glorification of the Olympic games in comparison with others, and with the story of Pelops, who was their founder. Hieron won this race B.C. 472, while at the height of his power at Syracuse. Probably the ode was sung at Syracuse, perhaps, as has been suggested, at a banquet. * * * * * Best is Water of all, and Gold as a flaming fire in the night shineth eminent amid lordly wealth; but if of prizes in the games thou art fain, O my soul, to tell, then, as for no bright star more quickening than the sun must thou search in the void firmament by day, so neither shall we find any games greater than the Olympic whereof to utter our voice: for hence cometh the glorious hymn and entereth into the minds of the skilled in song, so that they celebrate the son[1] of Kronos, when to the rich and happy hearth of Hieron they are come; for he wieldeth the sceptre of justice in Sicily of many flocks, culling the choice fruits of all kinds of excellence: and with the flower of music is he made splendid, even such strains as we sing blithely at the table of a friend. Take from the peg the Dorian lute, if in any wise the glory of Pherenikos[2] at Pisa hath swayed thy soul unto glad thoughts, when by the banks of Alpheos he ran, and gave his body ungoaded in the course, and brought victory to his master, the Syracusans' king, who delighteth in horses. Bright is his fame in Lydian Pelops' colony[3], inhabited of a goodly race, whose founder mighty earth-enfolding Poseidon loved, what time from the vessel of purifying[4] Klotho took him with the bright ivory furnishment of his shoulder. Verily many things are wondrous, and haply tales decked out with cunning fables beyond the truth make false men's speech concerning them. For Charis[5], who maketh all sweet things for mortal men, by lending honour unto such maketh oft the unbelievable thing to be believed; but the days that follow after are the wisest witnesses. Meet is it for a man that concerning gods he speak honourably; for the reproach is less. Of thee, son of Tantalos, I will speak contrariwise to them who have gone before me, and I will tell how when thy father had bidden thee to that most seemly feast at his beloved Sipylos, repaying to the gods their banquet, then did he of the Bright Trident[6], his heart vanquished by love, snatch thee and bear thee behind his golden steeds to the house of august Zeus in the highest, whither again on a like errand came Ganymede in the after time. But when thou hadst vanished, and the men who sought thee long brought thee not to thy mother, some one of the envious neighbours said secretly that over water heated to boiling they had hewn asunder with a knife thy limbs, and at the tables had shared among them and eaten sodden fragments of thy flesh. But to me it is impossible to call one of the blessed gods cannibal; I keep aloof; in telling ill tales is often little gain. Now if any man ever had honour of the guardians of Olympus, Tantalos was that man; but his high fortune he could not digest, and by excess thereof won him an overwhelming woe, in that the Father hath hung above him a mighty stone that he would fain ward from his head, and therewithal he is fallen from joy. This hopeless life of endless misery he endureth with other three[7], for that he stole from the immortals and gave to his fellows at a feast the nectar and ambrosia, whereby the gods had made him incorruptible. But if a man thinketh that in doing aught he shall be hidden from God, he erreth. Therefore also the immortals sent back again his son to be once more counted with the short-lived race of men. And he when toward the bloom of his sweet youth the down began to shade his darkening cheek, took counsel with himself speedily to take to him for his wife the noble Hippodameia from her Pisan father's hand. And he came and stood upon the margin of the hoary sea, alone in the darkness of the night, and called aloud on the deep-voiced Wielder of the Trident; and he appeared unto him nigh at his foot. Then he said unto him: 'Lo now, O Poseidon, if the kind gifts of the Cyprian goddess are anywise pleasant in thine eyes, restrain Oinomaos' bronze spear, and send me unto Elis upon a chariot exceeding swift, and give the victory to my hands. Thirteen lovers already hath Oinomaos slain, and still delayeth to give his daughter in marriage. Now a great peril alloweth not of a coward: and forasmuch as men must die, wherefore should one sit vainly in the dark through a dull and nameless age, and without lot in noble deeds? Not so, but I will dare this strife: do thou give the issue I desire.' Thus spake he, nor were his words in vain: for the god made him a glorious gift of a golden car and winged untiring steeds: so he overcame Oinomaos and won the maiden for his bride. And he begat six sons, chieftains, whose thoughts were ever of brave deeds: and now hath he part in honour of blood-offerings in his grave beside Alpheos' stream, and hath a frequented tomb, whereto many strangers resort: and from afar off he beholdeth the glory of the Olympian games in the courses called of Pelops, where is striving of swift feet and of strong bodies brave to labour; but he that overcometh hath for the sake of those games a sweet tranquillity throughout his life for evermore. Now the good that cometh of to-day is ever sovereign unto every man. My part it is to crown Hieron with an equestrian strain in Aeolian mood: and sure am I that no host among men that now are shall I ever glorify in sounding labyrinths of song more learned in the learning of honour and withal with more might to work thereto. A god hath guard over thy hopes, O Hieron, and taketh care for them with a peculiar care: and if he fail thee not, I trust that I shall again proclaim in song a sweeter glory yet, and find thereto in words a ready way, when to the fair-shining hill of Kronos I am come. Her strongest-wingëd dart my Muse hath yet in store. Of many kinds is the greatness of men; but the highest is to be achieved by kings. Look not thou for more than this. May it be thine to walk loftily all thy life, and mine to be the friend of winners in the games, winning honour for my art among Hellenes everywhere. [Footnote 1: The Olympic games were sacred to Zeus.] [Footnote 2: The horse that won this race for Hieron.] [Footnote 3: Peloponnesos.] [Footnote 4: I. e. immediately on his birth, for among the Fates Klotho was peculiarly concerned with the beginning of man's life. Pindar refuses to accept the legend which made Pelops' ivory shoulder a substitute for his fleshly one eaten at Tantalos' table by the gods; for thus the gods would have been guilty of an infamous act.] [Footnote 5: Goddess of Grace or Beauty. Often there are three Charites or Graces. Pindar means here that men are prone to believe an untrue tale for the sake of the beauty of the form in which it is presented, but that such tales will not stand the test of time.] [Footnote 6: Poseidon.] [Footnote 7: Sisyphos, Ixion, and Tityos.] II. FOR THERON OF AKRAGAS, WINNER IN THE CHARIOT-RACE. * * * * * Theron's ancestors the Emmenidai migrated from Rhodes to Sicily and first colonized Gela and then Akragas (the Latin Agrigentum and Italian Girgenti). His chariot won this victory B.C. 476. * * * * * Lords of the lute[1], my songs, what god, what hero, or what man, are we to celebrate?[2] Verily of Zeus is Pisa the abode, of Herakles the Olympian feast was founded from the chief spoils of war, and Theron's name must we proclaim for his victory with the four-horse-car, a righteous and god-fearing host, the stay of Akragas, of famous sires the flower, a saviour of the state. They after long toils bravely borne took by a river's side a sacred dwelling place, and became the eye of Sicily, and a life of good luck clave to them, bringing them wealth and honour to crown their inborn worth. O son of Kronos and of Rhea, lord of Olympus' seat, and of the chief of games and of Alpheos' ford, for joy in these my songs guard ever graciously their native fields for their sons that shall come after them. Now of deeds done whether they be right or wrong not even Time the father of all can make undone the accomplishment, yet with happy fortune forgetfulness may come. For by high delights an alien pain is quelled and dieth, when the decree of God sendeth happiness to grow aloft and widely. And this word is true concerning Kadmos' fair-throned daughters, whose calamities were great, yet their sore grief fell before greater good. Amid the Olympians long-haired Semele still liveth, albeit she perished in the thunder's roar, and Pallas cherisheth her ever, and Father Zeus exceedingly, and her son, the ivy-bearing god. And in the sea too they say that to Ino, among the sea-maids of Nereus, life incorruptible hath been ordained for evermore. Ay but to mortals the day of death is certain never, neither at what time we shall see in calm the end of one of the Sun's children, the Days, with good thitherto unfailing; now this way and now that run currents bringing joys or toils to men. Thus destiny which from their fathers holdeth the happy fortune of this race[3], together with prosperity heaven-sent bringeth ever at some other time better reverse: from the day when Laïos was slain by his destined son[4] who met him on the road and made fulfilment of the oracle spoken of old at Pytho. Then swift Erinys when she saw it slew by each other's hand his war-like sons: yet after that Polyneikes fell Thersander[5] lived after him and won honour in the Second Strife[6] and in the fights of war, a saviour scion to the Adrastid house. From him they have beginning of their race: meet is it that Ainesidamos receive our hymn of triumph, on the lyre. For at Olympia he himself received a prize and at Pytho, and at the Isthmus to his brother of no less a lot did kindred Graces bring crowns for the twelve rounds of the four-horse chariot-race. Victory setteth free the essayer from the struggle's griefs, yea and the wealth that a noble nature hath made glorious bringeth power for this and that, putting into the heart of man a deep and eager mood, a star far seen, a light wherein a man shall trust if but[7] the holder thereof knoweth the things that shall be, how that of all who die the guilty souls pay penalty, for all the sins sinned in this realm of Zeus One judgeth under earth, pronouncing sentence by unloved constraint. But evenly ever in sunlight night and day an unlaborious life the good receive, neither with violent hand vex they the earth nor the waters of the sea, in that new world; but with the honoured of the gods, whosoever had pleasure in keeping of oaths, they possess a tearless life: but the other part suffer pain too dire to look upon. Then whosoever have been of good courage to the abiding steadfast thrice on either side of death and have refrained their souls from all iniquity, travel the road of Zeus unto the tower of Kronos: there round the islands of the blest the Ocean-breezes blow, and golden flowers are glowing, some from the land on trees of splendour, and some the water feedeth, with wreaths whereof they entwine their hands: so ordereth Rhadamanthos' just decree, whom at his own right hand hath ever the father Kronos, husband of Rhea, throned above all worlds[8]. Peleus and Kadmos are counted of that company; and the mother of Achilles, when her prayer had moved the heart of Zeus, bare thither her son, even him who overthrew Hector, Troy's unbending invincible pillar, even him who gave Kyknos to death and the Ethiop son[9] of the Morning. Many swift arrows have I beneath my bended arm within my quiver, arrows that have a voice for the wise, but for the multitude they need interpreters. His art is true who of his nature hath knowledge; they who have but learnt, strong in the multitude of words, are but as crows that chatter vain things in strife against the divine bird of Zeus. Come bend thy bow on the mark, O my soul--at whom again are we to launch our shafts of honour from a friendly mind? At Akragas will I take aim, and will proclaim and swear it with a mind of truth, that for a hundred years no city hath brought forth a man of mind more prone to well-doing towards friends or of more liberal mood than Theron. Yet praise is overtaken of distaste, wherewith is no justice, but from covetous men it cometh, and is fain to babble against and darken the good man's noble deeds. The sea-sand none hath numbered; and the joys that Theron hath given to others--who shall declare the tale thereof? [Footnote 1: In Hellenic music the accompaniment was deemed subordinate to the words.] [Footnote 2: Here are three questions and three answers.] [Footnote 3: The Emmenidai.] [Footnote 4: Oedipus.] [Footnote 5: Son of Polyneikes. Theron traced his descent from him.] [Footnote 6: The War of the Epigonoi against Thebes.] [Footnote 7: Reading [Greek: ei ge min echon]. The old readings were [Greek: ei de min echon] and [Greek: ei de min echei; eu de min echon] has also been suggested; but of these three none seems to me to be at all satisfactory. In the reading I suggest the change is very slight, and it makes good sense.] [Footnote 8: For Pindar's ideas as to a future life see especially the fragments of his Dirges which remain to us. He seems to have been influenced by Pythagoreanism.] [Footnote 9: Memnon.] III. FOR THERON OF AKRAGAS, WINNER IN THE CHARIOT-RACE. * * * * * This ode celebrates the same victory as the preceeding one. It was sung at the feast of the Theoxenia, given by Theron in the name of the Dioskouroi (Kastor and Polydeukes) to the other gods. Hence the epithet _hospitable_ ([Greek: philoxeinois]) applied to the Dioskouroi in the first line. The clan of the Emmenidai to which Theron belonged was especially devoted to the worship of the Twins. * * * * * Tyndareus' hospitable sons and lovely-haired Helen shall I please assuredly in doing honour to renownëd Akragas by a hymn upraised for Theron's Olympian crown; for hereunto hath the Muse been present with me that I should find out a fair new[1] device, fitting to feet that move in Dorian time the Komos-voices' splendid strain. For crowns entwined about his hair demand from me this god-appointed debt, that for Ainesidamos' son I join in seemly sort the lyre of various tones with the flute's cry and ordering of words. And Pisa bids me speak aloud, for from her come to men songs of divine assignment, when the just judge of games the Aitolian[2] man, fulfilling Herakles' behests of old, hath laid upon one's hair above his brows pale-gleaming glory of olive. That tree from Ister's shadowy springs did the son of Amphitryon bear to be a memorial most glorious of Olympian triumphs, when that by his words he had won the Hyperborean folk, who serve Apollo. In loyal temper he besought for the precinct of Zeus, whereto all men go up, a plant that should be a shadow of all folk in common, and withal a crown for valorous deeds. For already, when the altars had been sanctified to his sire, the midmonth Moon riding her golden car lit full the counter-flame of the eye of Even, and just judgment of great games did he ordain, and the fifth year's feast beside the holy steeps of Alpheos[3]. But no fair trees were nursed upon that place in Kronian Pelops' glens; whereof being naked his garden seemed to him to be given over to the keen rays of the sun. Then was it that his soul stirred to urge him into the land of Ister; where Leto's horse-loving daughter[4] received him erst when he was come from the ridged hills and winding dells of Arcady, what time his father laid constraint upon him to go at Eurystheus' bidding to fetch the golden-hornëd hind, which once Taÿgete vowed to her[5] of Orthion and made a sign thereon of consecration. For in that chase he saw also the land that lieth behind the blast of the cold North-wind: there he halted and marvelled at the trees: and sweet desire thereof possessed him that he might plant them at the end of the course which the race-horses should run twelve times round. So now to this feast cometh he in good-will in company with the Twins Divine, deep-girdled Leto's children. For to them he gave charge when he ascended into Olympus to order the spectacle of the games, both the struggle of man with man, and the driving of the nimble car. Me anywise my soul stirreth to declare that to the Emmenidai and to Theron hath glory come by gift of the Tyndaridai of goodly steeds, for that beyond all mortals they do honour to them with tables of hospitality, keeping with pious spirit the rite of blessed gods. Now if Water be the Best[6], and of possessions Gold be the most precious, so now to the furthest bound doth Theron by his fair deeds attain, and from his own home touch the pillars of Herakles. Pathless the things beyond, pathless alike to the unwise and the wise. Here I will search no more; the quest were vain. [Footnote 1: i. e. probably a new combination of lyre and flute to accompany the singing.] [Footnote 2: When the Dorians invaded Peloponnesos one of their leaders is said to have been Oxylos, a man of Elean descent but living in Aitolia. As a result of the invasion he became king of Elis; and the judge at the Olympic games seems to have been considered a descendant of him or of some Aitolian who came with him.] [Footnote 3: The Olympic games were held in the middle of the month Hekatombaion, when the moon was full. It is here implied that Herakles wished to institute them when the moon was full, as that was a season of good luck.] [Footnote 4: Artemis.] [Footnote 5: Artemis.] [Footnote 6: See Ol. i. 1.] IV. FOR PSAUMIS OF KAMARINA, WINNER IN THE MULE-CHARIOT-RACE. * * * * * Psaumis won this race in the year 452; therefore this ode and its companion, the next following, are the latest work of Pindar possessed by us to which we can assign a date. The mule-chariot-race was introduced at Olympia B.C. 500 and abolished B.C. 444, according to Pausanias. This ode seems to have been written immediately on Psaumis' victory, to be sung the same night beneath the moon by the company of friends who escorted the winner to return thanks at the altar of Zeus. * * * * * Hurler of thunderbolts unfaltering, the most high Zeus, for that thy chosen hour recurrent hath sent me with a song set to the music of the subtle lute for a witness to the greatest of all games--and when friends have good hap the good are glad forthwith at the sweet tidings--now therefore, O son of Kronos, unto whom �tna belongeth, the wind-beaten burden that crusheth fierce Typhon's hundred heads, receive thou this band of triumph for an Olympian victory won by the Graces' aid, a most enduring light of far-prevailing valorous deeds. For the sake of Psaumis' mule-chariot it draweth nigh to thee--Psaumis, who, crowned with Pisan olive, hasteth to raise up glory for Kamarina. May God be gracious to our prayers for what shall be! For I praise him as a man most zealous in the rearing of horses, and delighting in ever-open hospitality, and bent on peace and on the welfare of his city, with guileless soul. With no lie will I tinge my tale: trial is the test of men; this it was that delivered the son of Klymenos from the Lemnian women's slight. He, when he had won the foot-race in bronze armour[1], spake thus to Hypsipyle as he went to receive his crown: 'For fleetness such am I: hands have I and a heart to match. So also on young men grow oftentimes grey hairs even before the natural season of man's life[2].' [Footnote 1: See introduction to Pythian ix.] [Footnote 2: We may suppose that Psaumis probably had grey hair.] V. FOR PSAUMIS OF KAMARINA, WINNER IN THE MULE-CHARIOT-RACE. * * * * * This ode is for the same victory as the foregoing one, but was to be sung after Psaumis' return home, at Kamarina, and probably at, or in procession to, a temple of either Pallas, Zeus, or the tutelary nymph Kamarina, all of whom are invoked. The city is called 'new-peopled' ([Greek: neoikos]) because it had been destroyed by Gelo, and was only restored B.C. 461, nine years before this victory, the first which had been won by any citizen since its restoration. * * * * * Of lofty deeds and crowns Olympian this sweet delight, O daughter[1] of Ocean, with glad heart receive, the gift of Psaumis and his untiring car. He to make great thy city, Kamarina, with its fostered folk, hath honoured six twin altars in great feasts of the gods with sacrifices of oxen and five-day contests of games, with chariots of horses and of mules and with the steed of single frontlet[2]. To thee hath the victor consecrated the proud token[3] of his fame, and hath glorified by the herald's voice his father Akron and this new-peopled town. Also, returning from the gracious dwelling place of Oinomaos and Pelops, thy sacred grove, O city-guarding Pallas, doth he sing, and the river Oanis, and the lake of his native land, and the sacred channels wherethrough doth Hipparis give water to the people, and build[4] with speed a lofty forest of stedfast dwellings, bringing from perplexity to the light this commonwealth of citizens. Now ever in fair deeds must toil and cost contend toward an accomplishment hidden in perilous chance: yet if men have good hap therein, even to their own townsfolk is their wisdom approved. O guardian Zeus that sittest above the clouds, that inhabitest the Kronian hill and honourest the broad river of Alpheos and Ida's holy cave, suppliant to thee I come, making my cry on Lydian flutes, to pray thee that thou wilt glorify this city with brave men's renown. For thee also, Olympian victor, I pray that, joying in the steeds Poseidon[5] gave, thou mayest bear with thee to the end a serene old age, and may thy sons, O Psaumis, be at thy side. If a man cherish his wealth to sound ends, having a sufficiency of goods and adding thereto fair repute, let him not seek to become a god. [Footnote 1: Kamarina.] [Footnote 2: I. e. probably with horses ridden, not driven.] [Footnote 3: His Olympian crown of wild olive.] [Footnote 4: This seems to mean that the new city was built with wood brought down the stream of the river Hipparis.] [Footnote 5: When Poseidon and Athene were contending for the protectorate of Athens, Poseidon brought the first horse up out of the earth, Athene the first olive-tree.] VI. FOR AGESIAS OF SYRACUSE, WINNER IN THE MULE-CHARIOT-RACE. * * * * * One of the Iamid clan, to which belonged hereditary priestly functions in Arcadia and at Olympia, had come with the first colonists to Syracuse, and from him the present victor Agesias was descended. Thus the ode is chiefly concerned with the story of his ancestor Iamos. Agesias was a citizen of Stymphalos in Arcadia, as well as of Syracuse, where he lived, and the ode was sung by a chorus in Stymphalos, B.C. 468. * * * * * Golden pillars will we set up in the porch of the house of our song, as in a stately palace-hall; for it beseemeth that in the fore-front of the work the entablature shoot far its splendour. Now if one be an Olympian conqueror and treasurer to the prophetic altar of Zeus at Pisa, and joint founder[1] of glorious Syracuse, shall such an one hide him from hymns of praise, if his lot be among citizens who hear without envy the desired sounds of song? For in a sandal of such sort let the son of Sostratos know that his fortunate foot is set. Deeds of no risk are honourless whether done among men or among hollow ships; but if a noble deed be wrought with labour, many make mention thereof. For thee, Agesias, is that praise prepared which justly and openly Adrastos spake of old concerning the seer Amphiaraos the son of Oikleus, when the earth had swallowed him and his shining steeds. For afterward, when on seven pyres dead men were burnt, the son[2] of Talaos spake on this wise: 'I seek the eye of my host, him who was alike a good seer and a good fighter with the spear.' This praise also belongeth to the Syracusan who is lord of this triumphal song. I who am no friend of strife or wrongful quarrel will bear him this witness even with a solemn oath, and the sweet voice of the Muses shall not say me nay. O Phintis[3] yoke me now with all speed the strength of thy mules that on the clear highway we may set our car, that I may go up to the far beginning of this race. For those mules know well to lead the way in this course as in others, who at Olympia have won crowns: it behoveth them that we throw open to them the gates of song, for to Pitane by Eurotas' stream must I begone betimes to-day. Now Pitane[4], they say, lay with Poseidon the son of Kronos and bare the child Euadne with tresses iris-dark. The fruit of her body unwedded she hid by her robe's folds, and in the month of her delivery she sent her handmaids and bade them give the child to the hero son[5] of Elatos to rear, who was lord of the men of Arcady who dwelt at Phaisane, and had for his lot Alpheos to dwell beside. There was the child Euadne nurtured, and by Apollo's side she first knew the joys of Aphrodite. But she might not always hide from Aipytos the seed of the god within her; and he in his heart struggling with bitter strain against a grief too great for speech betook him to Pytho that he might ask of the oracle concerning the intolerable woe. But she beneath a thicket's shade put from her silver pitcher and her girdle of scarlet web, and she brought forth a boy in whom was the spirit of God. By her side the gold-haired god set kindly Eleutho and the Fates, and from her womb in easy travail came forth Iamos to the light. Him in her anguish she left upon the ground, but by the counsel of gods two bright-eyed serpents nursed and fed him with the harmless venom[6] of the bee. But when the king came back from rocky Delphi in his chariot he asked all who were in the house concerning the child whom Euadne had born; for he said that the sire whereof he was begotten was Phoibos, and that he should be a prophet unto the people of the land excelling all mortal men, and that his seed should be for ever. Such was his tale, but they answered that they had neither seen nor heard of him, though he was now born five days. For he was hidden among rushes in an impenetrable brake, his tender body all suffused with golden and deep purple gleams of iris flowers; wherefore his mother prophesied saying that by this holy name[7] of immortality he should be called throughout all time. But when he had come to the ripeness of golden-crowned sweet youth, he went down into the middle of Alpheos and called on wide-ruling Poseidon his grandsire, and on the guardian of god-built Delos, the bearer of the bow[8], praying that honour might be upon his head for the rearing of a people; and he stood beneath the heavens, and it was night. Then the infallible Voice of his father answered and said unto him: Arise, my son, and come hither, following my voice, into a place where all men shall meet together. So they came to the steep rock of lofty Kronion; there the god gave him a twofold treasure of prophecy, that for the time then being he should hearken to his voice that cannot lie; but when Herakles of valorous counsels, the sacred scion of the Alkeidai, should have come, and should have founded a multitudinous feast and the chief ordinance of games[9], then again on the summit of the altar of Zeus he bade him establish yet another oracle, that thenceforth the race of Iamidai should be glorious among Hellenes. Good luck abode with them; for that they know the worth of valour they are entered on a glorious road. The matter proveth the man, but from the envious calumny ever threateneth them on whom, as they drive foremost in the twelfth[10] round of the course, Charis sheddeth blushing beauty to win them fame more fair. Now if in very truth, Agesias, thy mother's ancestors dwelling by the borders of Kyllene did piously and oft offer up prayer and sacrifice to Hermes, herald of the gods, who hath to his keeping the strife and appointment of games, and doeth honour to Arcadia the nurse of goodly men,--then surely he, O son of Sostratos, with his loud-thundering sire, is the accomplisher of this thy bliss. Methinks I have upon my tongue a whetstone of loud sounding speech, which to harmonious breath constraineth me nothing loth. Mother of my mother was Stymphalian Metope[11] of fair flowers, for she bare Thebe the charioteer, whose pleasant fountain I will drink, while I weave for warriors the changes of my song. Now rouse thy fellows, Ainëas, first to proclaim the name of maiden[12] Hera, and next to know for sure whether we are escaped from the ancient reproach that spake truly of Boeotian swine. For thou art a true messenger, a writing-tally[13] of the Muses goodly-haired, a bowl wherein to mix high-sounding songs. And bid them make mention of Syracuse and of Ortygia, which Hieron ruleth with righteous sceptre devising true counsels, and doth honour to Demeter whose footsteps make red the corn, and to the feast of her daughter with white steeds, and to the might of Aetnaean Zeus. Also he is well known of the sweet voices of the song and lute. Let not the on-coming time break his good fortune. And with joyful welcome may he receive this triumphal song, which travelleth from home to home, leaving Stymphalos' walls, the mother-city of Arcadia, rich in flocks. Good in a stormy night are two anchors let fall from a swift ship. May friendly gods grant to both peoples[14] an illustrious lot: and thou O lord and ruler of the sea, husband of Amphitrite of the golden distaff, grant this my friend straight voyage and unharmed, and bless the joyous flower of my song. [Footnote 1: Agesias is so called because an Iamid ancestor of his had gone with Archias when he planted the Corinthian colony of Syracuse.] [Footnote 2: Adrastos.] [Footnote 3: Phintis was Agesias' charioteer.] [Footnote 4: I. e. the nymph who gave her name to the place.] [Footnote 5: Aipytos.] [Footnote 6: Honey.] [Footnote 7: Iamos, from [Greek: ion]: the iris was considered a symbol of immortality.] [Footnote 8: His father, Apollo.] [Footnote 9: At Olympia.] [Footnote 10: The course in the chariot-race was twelve times round the Hippodrome.] [Footnote 11: The nymph of the lake Metopë near Stymphalos.] [Footnote 12: Hera was worshipped in her prenuptial as well as her postnuptial state.] [Footnote 13: It was a custom between correspondents who wished for secrecy to have duplicate [Greek: skutalai], or letter-sticks. The writer wrote on a roll wrapt round his stick, and the receiver of the letter read it wrapt similarly on his. And thus Aineas the bearer of this ode would teach the chorus of Stymphalians how rightly to sing and understand it. See [Greek: skutalae] in Dict. Ant.] [Footnote 14: I. e. of Stymphalos and Syracuse. Agesias was a citizen of both, and thus his two homes are compared to two anchors.] VII. FOR DIAGORAS OF RHODES, WINNER IN THE BOXING-MATCH. * * * * * Rhodes is said to have been colonised at the time of the Dorian migrations by Argive Dorians from Epidauros, who were Herakleidai of of the family of Tlepolemos. They founded a confederacy of three cities, Kameiros, Lindos, and Ialysos. Ialysos was then ruled by the dynasty of the Eratidai. Their kingly power had now been extinct two hundred years, but the family was still pre-eminent in the state. Of this family was Diagoras, and probably the ode was sung at a family festival; but it commemorates the glories of the island generally. The Rhodians caused it to be engraved in letters of gold in the temple of Athene at Lindos. There is a noteworthy incident of the Peloponnesian war which should be remembered in connection with this ode. In the year 406, fifty-eight years after this victory of Diagoras, during the final and most embittering agony of Athens, one Dorieus, a son of Diagoras, and himself a famous athlete, was captured by the Athenians in a sea-fight. It was then the custom either to release prisoners of war for a ransom or else to put them to death. The Athenians asked no ransom of Dorieus, but set him free on the spot. * * * * * As when from a wealthy hand one lifting a cup, made glad within with the dew of the vine, maketh gift thereof to a youth his daughter's spouse, a largess of the feast from home to home, an all-golden choicest treasure, that the banquet may have grace, and that he may glorify his kin; and therewith he maketh him envied in the eyes of the friends around him for a wedlock wherein hearts are wedded-- So also I, my liquid nectar sending, the Muses' gift, the sweet fruit of my soul, to men that are winners in the games at Pytho or Olympia make holy offering. Happy is he whom good report encompasseth; now on one man, now on another doth the Grace that quickeneth look favourably, and tune for him the lyre and the pipe's stops of music manifold. Thus to the sound of the twain am I come with Diagoras sailing home, to sing the sea-girt Rhodes, child of Aphrodite and bride of Helios, that to a mighty and fair-fighting man, who by Alpheos' stream and by Kastalia's hath won him crowns, I may for his boxing make award of glory, and to his father Demegetos in whom Justice hath her delight, dwellers in the isle of three cities with an Argive host, nigh to a promontory of spacious Asia. Fain would I truly tell from the beginning from Tlepolemos the message of my word, the common right of this puissant seed of Herakles. For on the father's side they claim from Zeus, and on the mother's from Astydameia, sons of Amyntor. Now round the minds of men hang follies unnumbered--this is the unachievable thing, to find what shall be best hap for a man both presently and also at the last. Yea for the very founder[1] of this country once on a time struck with his staff of tough wild-olive-wood Alkmene's bastard brother Likymnios in Tiryns as he came forth from Midea's chamber, and slew him in the kindling of his wrath. So even the wise man's feet are turned astray by tumult of the soul. Then he came to enquire of the oracle of God. And he of the golden hair from his sweet-incensed shrine spake unto him of a sailing of ships that should be from the shore of Lerna unto a pasture ringed with sea, where sometime the great king of gods rained on the city golden snow, what time by Hephaistos' handicraft beneath the bronze-wrought axe from the crown of her father's head Athene leapt to light and cried aloud with an exceeding cry; and Heaven trembled at her coming, and Earth, the Mother. Then also the god who giveth light to men, Hyperion, bade his beloved sons see that they guard the payment of the debt, that they should build first for the goddess an altar in the sight of all men, and laying thereon a holy offering they should make glad the hearts of the father and of his daughter of the sounding spear. Now Reverence, Forethought's child, putteth valour and the joy of battle into the hearts of men; yet withal there cometh upon them bafflingly the cloud of forgetfulness and maketh the mind to swerve from the straight path of action. For they though they had brands burning yet kindled not the seed of flame, but with fireless rites they made a grove on the hill of the citadel. For them Zeus brought a yellow cloud into the sky and rained much gold upon the land; and Glaukopis herself gave them to excel the dwellers upon earth in every art of handicraft. For on their roads ran the semblances of beasts and creeping things: whereof they have great glory, for to him that hath knowledge the subtlety that is without deceit[2] is the greater altogether. Now the ancient story of men saith that when Zeus and the other gods made division of the earth among them, not yet was island Rhodes apparent in the open sea, but in the briny depths lay hid. And for that Helios was otherwhere, none drew a lot for him; so they left him portionless of land, that holy god. And when he spake thereof Zeus would cast lots afresh; but he suffered him not, for that he said that beneath the hoary sea he saw a certain land waxing from its root in earth, that should bring forth food for many men, and rejoice in flocks. And straightway he bade her of the golden fillet, Lachesis, to stretch her hands on high, nor violate the gods' great oath, but with the son of Kronos promise him that the isle sent up to the light of heaven should be thenceforth a title of himself alone. And in the end of the matter his speech had fulfilment; there sprang up from the watery main an island, and the father who begetteth the keen rays of day hath the dominion thereof, even the lord of fire-breathing steeds. There sometime having lain with Rhodos he begat seven sons, who had of him minds wiser than any among the men of old; and one begat Kameiros, and Ialysos his eldest, and Lindos: and they held each apart their shares of cities, making threefold division of their father's land, and these men call their dwelling-places. There is a sweet amends for his piteous ill-hap ordained for Tlepolemos leader of the Tirynthians at the beginning, as for a god, even the leading thither of sheep for a savoury burnt-offering, and the award of honour in games[3]. Of garlands from these games hath Diagoras twice won him crowns, and four times he had good luck at famous Isthmos and twice following at Nemea, and twice at rocky Athens. And at Argos the bronze shield knoweth him, and the deeds of Arcadia and of Thebes and the yearly games Boeotian, and Pellene and Aigina where six times he won; and the pillar of stone at Megara hath the same tale to tell. But do thou, O Father Zeus, who holdest sway on the mountain-ridges of Atabyrios glorify the accustomed Olympian winner's hymn, and the man who hath done valiantly with his fists: give him honour at the hands of citizens and of strangers; for he walketh in the straight way that abhorreth insolence, having learnt well the lessons his true soul hath taught him, which hath come to him from his noble sires. Darken not thou the light of one who springeth from the same stock of Kallianax. Surely with the joys of Eratidai the whole city maketh mirth. But the varying breezes even at the same point of time speed each upon their various ways. [Footnote 1: Tlepolemos.] [Footnote 2: That is, probably, without magic, or the pretence of being anything but machines. This is considered an allusion to the Telchines who lived before the Heliadai in Rhodes, and were magicians as well as craftsmen. For illustrations of Rhodian art at various times the British Museum may be consulted, which is particularly rich in vases from Kameiros and Ialysos.] [Footnote 3: That is, he presides over the celebration of games, as tutelar hero of the island.] VIII. FOR ALKIMEDON OF AIGINA, WINNER IN THE WRESTLING-MATCH OF BOYS. * * * * * The date of this victory is B.C. 460. Long as the ode is, it would seem however to have been written, like the fourth Olympian, to be sung in the procession to the altar of Zeus on the night of the victory. Of the forty-four odes remaining to us no less than eleven are in honour of winners from Aigina. * * * * * O mother of gold-crowned contests, Olympia, queen of truth; where men that are diviners observing burnt-offerings make trial of Zeus the wielder of white lightnings, whether he hath any word concerning men who seek in their hearts to attain unto great prowess and a breathing-space from toil; for it is given in answer to the reverent prayers of men--do thou, O tree-clad precinct of Pisa by Alpheos, receive this triumph and the carrying of the crown. Great is his glory ever on whom the splendour of thy honour waiteth. Yet this good cometh to one, that to another, and many are the roads to happy life by the grace of gods. Thee, O Timosthenes[1], and thy brother hath Destiny assigned to Zeus the guardian of your house, even to him who hath made thee glorious at Nemea, and Alkimedon by the hill of Kronos a winner in Olympic games. Now the boy was fair to look upon, neither shamed he by his deeds his beauty, but in the wrestling match victorious made proclamation that his country was Aigina of long oars, where saviour Themis who sitteth in judgment by Zeus the stranger's succour is honoured more than any elsewhere among men[2]. For in a matter mighty and bearing many ways to judge with unswayed mind and suitably, this is a hard essay, yet hath some ordinance of immortals given this sea-defended land to be to strangers out of every clime a pillar built of God. May coming time not weary of this work. To a Dorian folk was the land given in trust from Aiakos, even the man whom Leto's son and far-ruling Poseidon, when they would make a crown for Ilion, called to work with them at the wall, for that it was destined that at the uprising of wars in city-wasting fights it should breathe forth fierce smoke. Now when it was new-built three dragons fiery-eyed leapt at the rampart: two fell and perished in despair; but the third sprang in with a war-cry[3]. Then Apollo pondering, the sign spake straightway unto Aiakos by his side: 'Hero, where thy hands have wrought is Pergamos taken: thus saith this sign, sent of the son of Kronos, loud-thundering Zeus. And that not without thy seed; but with the first and fourth it shall be subdued'[4]. Thus plainly spoke the god, and away to Xanthos and the Amazons of goodly steeds and to Ister urged his car. And the Trident-wielder for Isthmos over seas harnessed his swift chariot, and hither[5] first he bare with him Aiakos behind the golden mares, and so on unto the mount of Corinth, to behold his feast of fame. Now shall there never among men be aught that pleaseth all alike. If I for Melesias[6] raise up glory in my song of his boys, let not envy cast at me her cruel stone. Nay but at Nemea too will I tell of honour of like kind with this, and of another ensuing thereon, won in the pankration of men. Verily to teach is easier to him that knoweth: it is folly if one hath not first learnt, for without trial the mind wavereth. And beyond all others can Melesias declare all works on that wise, what method shall advance a man who from the sacred games may win the longed-for glory. Now for the thirtieth time is honour gained for him by the victory of Alkimedon, who by God's grace, nor failing himself in prowess, hath put off from him upon the bodies of four striplings the loathed return ungreeted of fair speech, and the path obscure[7]; and in his father's father he hath breathed new vigour to wrestle with old age. A man that hath done honourable deeds taketh no thought of death. But I must needs arouse memory, and tell of the glory of their hands that gave victory to the Blepsiad clan, to whom this is now the sixth crown that hath come from the wreathed games to bind their brows. Even the dead have their share when paid them with due rites, and the grace of kinsmen's honour the dust concealeth not. From Hermes' daughter Fame shall Iphion[8] hear and tell to Kallimachos this lustre of Olympic glory, which Zeus hath granted to this house. Honour upon honour may he vouchsafe unto it, and shield it from sore disease[9]. I pray that for the share of glory fallen to them he raise against them no contrary discontent, but granting them a life unharmed may glorify them and their commonwealth. [Footnote 1: Alkimedon's brother. He had won a victory at the Nemean games.] [Footnote 2: Aigina had a high commercial reputation, and strangers were equitably dealt with in her courts.] [Footnote 3: The two first dragons typify the Aiakids, Aias and Achilles, who failed to enter Troy, the third typifies Achilles' son, Neoptolemos, who succeeded.] [Footnote 4: Aiakos' son, Telamon, was with Herakles when he took Troy: his great-grandson Neoptolemos was in the Wooden Horse.] [Footnote 5: To Aigina.] [Footnote 6: Alkimedon's trainer.] [Footnote 7: I. e. Alkimedon has escaped the disagreeable circumstances of defeat and transferred them to the four opponents against whom he was matched in four successive ties.] [Footnote 8: Iphion seems to have been the father and Kallimachos the uncle of Alkimedon.] [Footnote 9: Perhaps Iphion and Kallimachos died of some severe illness.] IX. FOR EPHARMOSTOS OF OPOUS, WINNER IN THE WRESTLING-MATCH. * * * * * The date of this ode is uncertain. Its last line seems to imply that it was sung at a banquet at Opous, after crowning the altar of Aias Oileus, tutelar hero of the Lokrians. From the beginning we gather that on the night of the victory at Olympia Epharmostos' friends had sung in his honour the conventional triple strain of Archilochos-- [Greek: (o kallinike chair' anax Herakleaes autos te k' Iolaos, aichmaeta duo. taenella kallinike)] to which perhaps some slight additions had been made, but not by Pindar. * * * * * The strain of Archilochos sung without music at Olympia, the triple resonant psalm of victory, sufficed to lead to the hill of Kronos Epharmostos triumphing with his comrade friends: but now with darts of other sort, shot from the Muses' far-delivering bow, praise Zeus of the red lightning, and Elis' holy headland, which on a time Pelops the Lydian hero chose to be Hippodameia's goodly dower. And shoot a feathered arrow of sweet song Pythoward, for thy words shall not fall to the ground when thou tunest the throbbing lyre to the praise of the wrestlings of a man from famous Opous, and celebratest her and her son. For Themis and her noble daughter Eunomia the Preserver have made her their own, and she flourisheth in excellent deeds both at Kastalia and beside Alpheos' stream: whence come the choicest of all crowns to glorify the mother city of Lokrians, the city of beautiful trees. I, to illuminate the city of my friends with eager blaze of song, swifter than high-bred steed or winged ship will send everywhere these tidings, so be it that my hand is blessed at all in labouring in the choice garden of the Graces; for they give all pleasant things to men. By fate divine receive men also valour and wisdom: how else[1] might the hands of Herakles have wielded his club against the trident, when at Pylos Poseidon took his stand and prest hard on him, ay, and there prest him hard embattled Phoibos with his silver bow, neither would Hades keep his staff unraised, wherewith he leadeth down to ways beneath the hollow earth the bodies of men that die? O my mouth, fling this tale from thee, for to speak evil of gods is a hateful wisdom, and loud and unmeasured words strike a note that trembleth upon madness. Of such things talk thou not; leave war of immortals and all strife aside; and bring thy words to the city of Protogeneia, where by decree of Zeus of the bickering lightning-flash Pyrrha and Deukalion coming down from Parnassos first fixed their home, and without bed of marriage made out of stones a race to be one folk: and hence cometh the name of peoples[2]. Awake for them the clear-toned gale of song, and if old wine be best, yet among songs prefer the newer flowers. Truly men say that once a mighty water swept over the dark earth, but by the craft of Zeus an ebb suddenly drew off the flood. From these first men came anciently your ancestors of the brazen shields, sons of the women of the stock of Iapetos and of the mighty Kronidai, Kings that dwelt in the land continually; until the Olympian Lord caught up the daughter[3] of Opöeis from the land of the Epeians, and lay with her in a silent place among the ridges of Mainalos; and afterward brought her unto Lokros, that age might not bring him[4] low beneath the burden of childlessness. But the wife bare within her the seed of the Mightiest, and the hero saw the bastard born and rejoiced, and called him by the name of his mother's father, and he became a man preeminent in beauty and great deeds: and his father gave unto him a city and a people to rule over. Then there came unto him strangers, from Argos and from Thebes, and from Arcadia others, and from Pisa. But the son of Aktor and Aigina, Menoitios, he honoured above all settlers, him whose son[5] went with the Atreidai to the plain of Teuthras and stood alone beside Achilles, when Telephos had turned the valiant Danaoi to flight, and drove them into the sterns of their sea-ships; so proved he to them that had understanding that Patroklos' soul was strong. And thenceforward the son of Thetis persuaded him that he should never in murderous battle take his post far from his friend's conquering spear. Fit speech may I find for my journey in the Muses' car; and let me therewith have daring and powers of ample scope. To back the prowess of a friend I came, when Lampromachos won his Isthmian crown, when on the same day both he and his brother overcame. And afterward at the gates[6] of Corinth two triumphs again befell Epharmostos, and more in the valleys of Nemea. At Argos he triumphed over men, as over boys at Athens. And I might tell how at Marathon he stole from among the beardless and confronted the full-grown for the prize of silver vessels, how without a fall he threw his men with swift and cunning shock, and how loud the shouting pealed when round the ring he ran, in the beauty of his youth and his fair form and fresh from fairest deeds. Also before the Parrhasian host was he glorified, at the assembly of Lykaian Zeus, and again when at Pellene he bare away a warm antidote of cold winds[7]. And the tomb of Iolaos, and Eleusis by the sea, are just witnesses to his honours. The natural is ever best: yet many men by learning of prowess essay to achieve fame. The thing done without God is better kept in silence. For some ways lead further than do others, but one practice will not train us all alike. Skill of all kinds is hard to attain unto: but when thou bringest forth this prize, proclaim aloud with a good courage that by fate divine this man at least was born deft-handed, nimble-limbed, with the light of valour in his eyes, and that now being victorious he hath crowned at the feast Oilean Alas' altar. [Footnote 1: This is the common interpretation, implying that Herakles in contending with the gods here mentioned must have been helped by other gods. But perhaps it might also be translated 'therefore how could the hands, &c.,' meaning that since valour, as has just been said, comes from a divine source, it could not be used against gods, and that thus the story ought to be rejected.] [Footnote 2: Perhaps the story of the stones arose from the like sound of [Greek: Laos] and [Greek: Laas], words here regarded in the inverse relation to each other.] [Footnote 3: Protogeneia.] [Footnote 4: Lokros.] [Footnote 5: Patroklos.] [Footnote 6: The Isthmus, the gate between the two seas.] [Footnote 7: A cloak, the prize.] X. FOR AGESIDAMOS OF EPIZEPHYRIAN LOKRIS, WINNER IN THE BOYS' BOXING-MATCH. * * * * * This ode bears somewhat the same relation to the next that the fourth does to the fifth. It was to be sung at Olympia on the night after the victory, and Pindar promises the boy to write a longer one for the celebration of his victory in his Italian home. The date is B.C. 484. * * * * * Sometimes have men most need of winds, sometimes of showered waters of the firmament, the children of the cloud. But when through his labour one fareth well, then are due honey-voiced songs, be they even a prelude to words that shall come after, a pledge confirmed by oath in honour of high excellence. Ample is the glory stored for Olympian winners: thereof my shepherd tongue is fain to keep some part in fold. But only by the help of God is wisdom[1] kept ever blooming in the soul. Son of Archestratos, Agesidamos, know certainly that for thy boxing I will lay a glory of sweet strains upon thy crown of golden[2] olive, and will have in remembrance the race of the Lokrians' colony in the West. There do ye, O Muses, join in the song of triumph: I pledge my word that to no stranger-banishing folk shall ye come, nor unacquainted with things noble, but of the highest in arts and valiant with the spear. For neither tawny fox nor roaring lion may change his native temper. [Footnote 1: Perhaps [Greek: sophos] (which means often rather clever or skilful than wise) has here the special reference to poetic skill, which it often has in Pindar.] [Footnote 2: Golden here means supremely excellent, as in the first line of the eighth Olympian.] XI. FOR AGESIDAMOS OF EPIZEPHYRIAN LOKRIS, WINNER IN THE BOYS' BOXING-MATCH. * * * * * It would seem by his own confession that Pindar did not remember till long afterwards the promise he made to Agesidamos in the last ode. We do not know how long afterwards this was written, but it must have been too late to greet the winner on his arrival in Italy; probably it was to be sung at the anniversary or some memorial celebration of his victory. * * * * * Read me the name of the Olympic winner Archestratos' son that I may know where it is written upon my heart: for I had forgotten that I owed him a sweet strain. But do thou, O Muse, and thou Truth, daughter of Zeus, put forth your hands and keep from me the reproach of having wronged a friend by breaking my pledged word. For from afar hath overtaken me the time that was then yet to come, and hath shamed my deep debt. Nevertheless from that sore reproach I may be delivered by payment with usury: behold how[1] the rushing wave sweepeth down the rolling shingle, and how we also will render for our friend's honour a tribute to him and to his people. Truth inhabiteth the city of the Lokrians of the West, and Kalliope they hold in honour and mailëd Ares; yea even conquering Herakles was foiled by that Kykneän combat[2]. Now let Agesidamos, winner in the boxing at Olympia, so render thanks to Ilas[3] as Patroklos of old to Achilles. If one be born with excellent gifts, then may another who sharpeneth his natural edge speed him, God helping, to an exceeding weight of glory. Without toil there have triumphed a very few. Of that light in the life of a man before all other deeds, that first of contests, the ordinances of Zeus[4] have stirred me to sing, even the games which by the ancient tomb of Pelops the mighty Herakles founded, after that he slew Kleatos, Poseidon's goodly son, and slew also Eurytos, that he might wrest from tyrannous Augeas against his will reward for service done[5]. Lying in ambush beneath Kleonai did Herakles overcome them on the road, for that formerly these same violent sons of Molos made havoc of his own Tirynthian folk by hiding in the valleys of Elis. And not long after the guest-betraying king of the Epeans saw his rich native land, his own city, beneath fierce fire and iron blows sink down into the deep moat of calamity. Of strife against stronger powers it is hard to be rid. Likewise Augeas last of all in his perplexity fell into captivity and escaped not precipitate death. Then the mighty son of Zeus having gathered together all his host at Pisa, and all the booty, measured a sacred grove for his sovereign Father; and having fenced round the Altis he marked the bounds thereof in a clear space, and the plain encompassing it he ordained for rest and feasting, and paid honour to the river Alpheos together with the twelve greatest gods. And he named it by the name of the Hill of Kronos; for theretofore it was without name, when Oinomaos was king, and it was sprinkled with much snow[6]. And at this first-born rite the Fates stood hard at hand, and he who alone proveth sure truth, even Time. He travelling onward hath told us the clear tale of how the founder set apart the choicest of the spoil for an offering from the war, and sacrificed, and how he ordained the fifth-year feast with the victories of that first Olympiad. Who then won to their lot the new-appointed crown by hands or feet or chariot, setting before them the prize of glory in the games, and winning it by their act? In the foot-race down the straight course of the stadion was Likymnios' son Oionos first, from Nidea had he led his host: in the wrestling was Tegea glorified by Echemos: Doryklos won the prize of boxing, a dweller in the city of Tiryns, and with the four-horse chariot, Samos of Mantinea, Halirrhothios' son: with the javelin Phrastor hit the mark: in distance Enikeus beyond all others hurled the stone with a circling sweep, and all the warrior company thundered a great applause. Then on the evening the lovely shining of the fair-faced moon beamed forth, and all the precinct sounded with songs of festal glee, after the manner which is to this day for triumph. So following the first beginning of old time, we likewise in a song named of proud victory will celebrate the thunder and the flaming bolt of loud-pealing Zeus, the fiery lightning that goeth with all victory[7]. And soft tones to the music of the flute shall meet and mingle with my verse, which beside famous Dirke hath come to light after long time. But even as a son by his lawful wife is welcome to a father who hath now travelled to the other side of youth, and maketh his soul warm with love--for wealth that must fall to a strange owner from without is most hateful to a dying man--so also, Agesidamos, when a man who hath done honourable deeds goeth unsung to the house of Hades, this man hath spent vain breath, and won but brief gladness for his toil. On thee the pleasant lyre and the sweet pipe shed their grace, and the Pierian daughters of Zeus foster thy wide-spread fame. I with them, setting myself thereunto fervently, have embraced the Lokrians' famous race, and have sprinkled my honey upon a city of goodly men: and I have told the praises of Archestratos' comely son, whom I beheld victorious by the might of his hand beside the altar at Olympia, and saw on that day how fair he was of form, how gifted with that spring-tide bloom, which erst with favour of the Cyprian queen warded from Ganymede unrelenting death. [Footnote 1: Reading [Greek: horat on hopa].] [Footnote 2: This Kyknos seems to have been a Lokrian freebooter, said to have fought with success against Herakles.] [Footnote 3: His trainer.] [Footnote 4: Probably because Zeus was especially concerned, both with the fulfilment of promises and with the Olympic games.] [Footnote 5: For the story of these Moliones see Nestor's speech, Hom. Il. xi. 670-761.] [Footnote 6: Perhaps this implies a tradition of a colder climate anciently prevailing in Peloponnesos: perhaps the mention of snow is merely picturesque, referring to the habitual appearance of the hill in winter, and the passage should then rather be rendered 'when Oinomaos was king its snow-sprinkled top was without name.'] [Footnote 7: The Lokrians worshipped Zeus especially as the Thunderer, as certain coins of theirs, stamped with a thunderbolt, still testify.] XII. FOR ERGOTELES OF HIMERA, WINNER IN THE LONG FOOT-RACE. * * * * * Ergoteles was a native of Knosos in Crete, but civil dissension had compelled him to leave his country. He came to Sicily and was naturalized as a citizen of Himera. Had he stayed in Crete he would not have won this victory; nor the Pythian and Isthmian victories, referred to at the end of the ode, for the Cretans seem to have kept aloof, in an insular spirit, from the Panhellenic games. The date of the ode is B.C. 472, the year after the Himeraeans had expelled the tyrant Thrasydaios of Akragas. The prayer to Fortune would seem to have reference specially to this event. The ode was probably sung in a temple either of Zeus or of Fortune. * * * * * I pray thee, daughter of Zeus the Deliverer, keep watch over wide-ruling Himera, O saviour Fortune. By thee upon the sea swift ships are piloted, and on dry land fierce wars and meetings of councils. Up and down the hopes of men are tossed as they cleave the waves of baffling falsity: and a sure token of what shall come to pass hath never any man on the earth received from God: the divinations of things to come are blind. Many the chances that fall to men when they look not for them, sometimes to thwart delight, yet others after battling with the surge of sorrowful pain have suddenly received for their affliction some happiness profound. Son of Philanor, verily even the glory of thy fleet feet would have fallen into the sere leaf unrenowned, abiding by the hearth of thy kin, as a cock that fighteth but at home, had not the strife of citizen against citizen driven thee from Knosos thy native land. But now at Olympia hast thou won a crown, O Ergoteles, and at Pytho twice, and at Isthmos, whereby thou glorifiest the hot springs where the nymphs Sicilian bathe, dwelling in a land that is become to thee as thine own. XIII. FOR XENOPHON OF CORINTH, WINNER IN THE STADION RACE AND IN THE PENTATHLON. * * * * * The date of this victory is B.C. 464, when Xenophon won both the Stadion, or short foot-race of about a furlong or 220 yards, and also the Pentathlon, that is, probably, he won at least three out of the five contests which composed the Pentathlon--the Jump, Throwing the Disk, Throwing the Javelin, the Foot-race, and Wrestling, ([Greek: alma podokeian diskon akonta palaen]). For details, see Dict. Antiq. and Note on Nem. vii 71-73. This ode and the speech of Glaukos in the sixth Book of the Iliad are the most conspicuous passages in poetry which refer to the great Corinthian hero Bellerophon. It is thought that this ode was sung on the winner's public entrance into Corinth. * * * * * Thrice winner in Olympic games, of citizens beloved, to strangers hospitable, the house in whose praise will I now celebrate happy Corinth, portal of Isthmian Poseidon and nursery of splendid youth. For therein dwell Order, and her sisters, sure foundation of states, Justice and likeminded Peace, dispensers of wealth to men, wise Themis' golden daughters. And they are minded to keep far from them Insolence the braggart mother of Loathing. I have fair witness to bear of them, and a just boldness stirreth my tongue to speak. Nature inborn none shall prevail to hide. Unto you, sons[1] of Aletes, ofttimes have the flowery Hours given splendour of victory, as to men excelling in valour, pre-eminent at the sacred games, and ofttimes of old have they put subtleties into your men's hearts to devise; and of an inventor cometh every work. Whence were revealed the new graces of Dionysos with the dithyramb that winneth the ox[2]? Who made new means of guidance to the harness of horses, or on the shrines of gods set the twin images of the king of birds [3]? Among them thriveth the Muse of dulcet breath, and Ares in the young men's terrible spears. Sovran lord of Olympia, be not thou jealous of my words henceforth for ever, O father Zeus; rule thou this folk unharmed, and keep unchanged the favourable gale of Xenophon's good hap. Welcome from him this customary escort of his crown, which from the plains of Pisa he is bringing, having won with the five contests the stadion-race beside; the like whereof never yet did mortal man. Also two parsley-wreaths shadowed his head before the people at the games of Isthmos, nor doth Nemea tell a different tale. And of his father Thessalos' lightning feet is record by the streams of Alpheos, and at Pytho he hath renown for the single and for the double stadion gained both in a single day, and in the same month at rocky Athens a day of swiftness crowned his hair for three illustrious deeds, and the Hellotia[4] seven times, and at the games of Poseidon between seas longer hymns followed his father Ptoiodoros with Terpsias and Eritimos. And how often ye were first at Delphi or in the Pastures of the Lion[5], though with full many do I match your crowd of honours, yet can I no more surely tell than the tale of pebbles on the sea-shore. But in everything is there due measure, and most excellent is it to have respect unto fitness of times. I with your fleet sailing a privateer will speak no lie concerning the valour of Corinth's heroes, whether I proclaim the craft of her men of old or their might in war, whether of Sisyphos of subtlest cunning even as a god, and Medea who made for herself a marriage in her sire's despite, saviour of the ship Argo and her crew: or whether how of old in the struggle before the walls of Dardanos the sons of Corinth were deemed to turn the issue of battle either way, these with Atreus' son striving to win Helen back, those to thrust them utterly away[6]. Now when Glaukos was come thither out of Lydia the Danaoi feared him. To them he proclaimed that in the city of Peirene his sire bare rule and had rich heritage of land and palace, even he who once, when he longed to bridle the snaky Gorgon's son, Pegasos, at Peirene's spring, suffered many things, until the time when maiden Pallas brought to him a bit with head-band of gold, and from a dream behold it was very deed. For she said unto him 'Sleepest thou O Aiolid king? Come, take this charmer of steeds, and show it to thy father[7] the tamer of horses, with the sacrifice of a white bull.' Thus in the darkness as he slumbered spake the maiden wielder of the shadowy aegis--so it seemed unto him--and he leapt up and stood upright upon his feet. And he seized the wondrous bit that lay by his side, and found with joy the prophet of the land, and showed to him, the son of Koiranos, the whole issue of the matter, how on the altar of the goddess he lay all night according to the word of his prophecy, and how with her own hands the child of Zeus whose spear is the lightning brought unto him the soul-subduing gold. Then the seer bade him with all speed obey the vision, and that when he should have sacrificed to the wide-ruling Earth-enfolder the strong-foot beast[8], he should build an altar straightway to Athene, queen of steeds. Now the power of Gods bringeth easily to pass such things as make forecast forsworn. Surely with zealous haste did bold Bellerophon bind round the winged steed's jaw the softening charm, and make him his: then straightway he flew up and disported him in his brazen arms. In company with that horse also on a time, from out of the bosom of the chill and desert air, he smote the archer host of Amazons, and slew the Solymoi, and Chimaira breathing fire. I will keep silence touching the fate of him: howbeit Pegasos hath in Olympus found a home in the ancient stalls of Zeus. But for me who am to hurl straight the whirling javelin it is not meet to spend beside the mark my store of darts with utmost force of hand: for to the Muses throned in splendour and to the Oligaithidai a willing ally came I, at the Isthmos and again at Nemea. In a brief word will I proclaim the host of them, and a witness sworn and true shall be to me in the sweet-tongued voice of the good herald[9], heard at both places sixty times. Now have their acts at Olympia, methinks, been told already: of those that shall be hereafter I will hereafter clearly speak. Now I live in hope, but the end is in the hands of gods. But if the fortune of the house fail not, we will commit to Zeus and Enyalios the accomplishment thereof. Yet other glories won they, by Parnassos' brow, and at Argos how many and at Thebes, and such as nigh the Arcadians[10] the lordly altar of Zeus Lykaios shall attest, and Pallene, and Sikyon, and Megara, and the well-fenced grove of the Aiakidai, and Eleusis, and lusty Marathon, and the fair rich cities beneath Aetna's towering crest, and Euboea. Nay over all Hellas if thou searchest, thou shalt find more than one sight can view. O king Zeus the Accomplisher, grant them with so light feet[11] to move through life, give them all honour, and sweet hap of their goodly things. [Footnote 1: The clan of the Oligaithidai, to which Xenophon belonged.] [Footnote 2: I. e. as a prize. But the passage may be taken differently as referring to the symbolical identification of Dionysos with the bull. Dithyrambic poetry was said to have been invented or improved by Arion of Corinth.] [Footnote 3: This refers to the introduction into architecture by the Corinthians of the pediment, within or above which were at that time constantly placed images of eagles.] [Footnote 4: The feast of Athene Hellotis.] [Footnote 5: Nemea.] [Footnote 6: The Lykians who fought under Glaukos on the Trojan side were of Corinthian descent.] [Footnote 7: Poseidon.] [Footnote 8: A bull.] [Footnote 9: Proclaiming the name and city of the winner in the games.] [Footnote 10: Reading [Greek: Arkasin asson].] [Footnote 11: As in their foot-races.] XIV. FOR ASOPICHOS OF ORCHOMENOS, WINNER IN THE BOYS' SHORT FOOT-RACE. * * * * * This ode was to be sung, probably by a chorus of boys, at the winner's city Orchomenos, and most likely in the temple of the three or Graces, Aglaia, Euphrosyne and Thalia. The date of the victory is B.C. 476. * * * * * O ye who haunt the land of goodly steeds that drinketh of Kephisos' waters, lusty Orchomenos' queens renowned in song, O Graces, guardians of the Minyai's ancient race, hearken, for unto you I pray. For by your gift come unto men all pleasant things and sweet, and the wisdom of a man and his beauty, and the splendour of his fame. Yea even gods without the Graces' aid rule never at feast or dance; but these have charge of all things done in heaven, and beside Pythian Apollo of the golden bow they have set their thrones, and worship the eternal majesty of the Olympian Father. O lady Aglaia, and thou Euphrosyne, lover of song, children of the mightiest of the gods, listen and hear, and thou Thalia delighting in sweet sounds, and look down upon this triumphal company, moving with light step under happy fate. In Lydian mood of melody concerning Asopichos am I come hither to sing, for that through thee, Aglaia, in the Olympic games the Minyai's home is winner. Fly, Echo, to Persephone's dark-walled home, and to his father bear the noble tidings, that seeing him thou mayest speak to him of his son, saying that for his father's honour in Pisa's famous valley he hath crowned his boyish hair with garlands from the glorious games. THE PYTHIAN ODES. I. FOR HIERON OF AITNA, WINNER IN THE CHARIOT-RACE. * * * * * The date of this victory is B.C. 474 In the year 480, the year of Salamis, the Syracusans under Hieron had defeated the Carthaginians in the great battle of Himera. In 479 a great eruption of Etna (Aitna) began. In 476 Hieron founded, near the mountain but we may suppose at a safe distance, the new city of Aitna, in honour of which he had himself proclaimed as an Aitnaian after this and other victories in the games. And in this same year, 474, he had defeated the Etruscans, or Tuscans, or Tyrrhenians in a great sea-fight before Cumae. Pindar might well delight to honour those who had been waging so well against the barbarians of the South and West the same war which the Hellenes of the mother-country waged against the barbarians of the East. * * * * * O golden Lyre, thou common treasure of Apollo and the Muses violet-tressed, thou whom the dancer's step, prelude of festal mirth, obeyeth, and the singers heed thy bidding, what time with quivering strings thou utterest preamble of choir-leading overture--lo even the sworded lightning of immortal fire thou quenched, and on the sceptre of Zeus his eagle sleepeth, slackening his swift wings either side, the king of birds, for a dark mist thou hast distilled on his arched head, a gentle seal upon his eyes, and he in slumber heaveth his supple back, spell-bound beneath thy throbs. Yea also violent Ares, leaving far off the fierce point of his spears, letteth his heart have joy in rest, for thy shafts soothe hearts divine by the cunning of Leto's son and the deep-bosomed Muses. But whatsoever things Zeus loveth not fly frighted from the voice of the Pierides, whether on earth or on the raging sea; whereof is he who lieth in dreadful Tartaros, the foe of the gods, Typhon of the hundred heads, whom erst the den Kilikian of many names did breed, but now verily the sea-constraining cliffs beyond Cumae, and Sicily, lie heavy on his shaggy breast: and he is fast bound by a pillar of the sky, even by snowy Etna, nursing the whole year's length her frozen snow. Whereout pure springs of unapproachable fire are vomited from the inmost depths: in the daytime the lava-streams pour forth a lurid rush of smoke: but in the darkness a red rolling flame sweepeth rocks with uproar to the wide deep sea. That dragon-thing[1] it is that maketh issue from beneath the terrible fiery flood, a monster marvellous to look upon, yea a marvel to hear of from such as go thereby and tell what thing is prisoned between the dark-wooded tops of Etna and the plain, where the back of him is galled and furrowed by the bed whereon he lieth. O Zeus, be it ours to find favour in thy sight, who art defender of this mountain, the forehead of a fruitful land, whose namesake neighbour city hath been ennobled by her glorious founder, for that on the race-course at the Pythian games the herald made proclamation of her name aloud, telling of Hieron's fair victory in the chariot-race. Now the first boon to men in ships is that a favourable breeze come to them as they set forth upon the sea; for this is promise that in the end also they shall come with good hap home. So after this good fortune doth reason show us hope of crowns to come for Aitna's horses, and honour in the banquet-songs. O Phoibos, lord of Lykia and of Delos, who lovest the spring of Castaly on thy Parnassos, be this the purpose of thy will, and grant the land fair issue of her men. For from gods come all means of mortal valour, hereby come bards and men of mighty hand and eloquent speech. This is the man I am fain to praise, and trust that not outside the ring shall I hurl the bronze-tipped javelin I brandish in my hand, but with far throw outdo my rivals in the match. Would that his whole life may give him, even as now, good luck and wealth right onward, and of his pains forgetfulness. Verily it shall remind him in what fightings of wars he stood up with steadfast soul, when the people found grace of glory at the hands of gods, such as none of the Hellenes hath reaped, a proud crown of wealth. For after the ensample of Philoktetes he went but now to war: and when necessity was upon them even they of proud spirit sought of him a boon. To Lemnos once they say came godlike heroes to fetch thence the archer son of Paian, vexed of an ulcerous wound; and he sacked the city of Priam and made an end of the Danaoi's labours, for the body wherewith he went was sick, but this was destined from the beginning. Even thus to Hieron may God be a guide for the time approaching, and give him to lay hold upon the things of his desire. Also in the house of Deinomenes do me grace, O Muse, to sing, for sake of our four-horsed car: no alien joy to him is his sire's victory. Come then and next for Etna's king let us devise a friendly song, for whom with god-built freedom after the laws of Hyllic pattern hath that city been founded of Hieron's hand: for the desire of the sons of Pamphylos and of the Herakleidai dwelling beneath the heights of Taÿgetos is to abide continually in the Dorian laws of Aigimios. At Amyklai they dwelt prosperously, when they were come down out of Pindos and drew near in honour to the Tyndaridai who ride on white horses, and the glory of their spears waxed great. Thou Zeus, with whom are the issues of things, grant that the true speech of men ever bear no worse report of citizens and kings beside the water of Amënas. By thine aid shall a man that is chief and that instructeth his son after him give due honour unto his people and move them to be of one voice peacefully. I pray thee, son of Kronos, grant that the Phenician and the Tuscan war-cry be hushed at home, since they have beheld the calamity of their ships that befell them before Cumae, even how they were smitten by the captain of the Syracusans, who from their swift ships hurled their youth into the sea, to deliver Hellas from the bondage of the oppressor. From Salamis shall I of Athenians take reward of thanks, at Sparta when I shall tell[2] in a song to come of the battle[3] before Kithairon, wherein the Medes that bear crooked bows were overthrown, but by the fair-watered banks of Himëras it shall be for the song I have rendered to the sons of Deinomenes, which by their valour they have earned, since the men that warred against them are overthrown. If thou shalt speak in season, and comprehend in brief the ends of many matters, less impeachment followeth of men; for surfeit blunteth the eagerness of expectancy; and city-talk of others' praise grieveth hearts secretly. Nevertheless, for that envy is preferred before pity[4], let slip not fair occasion: guide with just helm thy people and forge the sword of thy speech on an anvil whereof cometh no lie. Even a word falling lightly is of import in that it proceedeth from thee. Of many things art thou steward: many witnesses are there to thy deeds of either kind. But abiding in the fair flower of this spirit, if thou art fain to be continually of good report, be not too careful for the cost: loose free like a mariner thy sail unto the wind. Friend, be not deceived by time-serving words of guile. The voice of the report that liveth after a man, this alone revealeth the lives of dead men to the singers and to the chroniclers: the loving-kindness of Craesus fadeth not away; but him who burned men with fire within a brazen bull, Phalaris that had no pity, men tell of everywhere with hate, neither will any lute in hall suffer him in the gentle fellowship of young boys' themes of songs. To be happy is the chiefest prize; to be glorious the next lot: if a man have lighted on both and taken them to be his, he hath attained unto the supreme crown. [Footnote 1: Typhon.] [Footnote 2: Reading [Greek: erion].] [Footnote 3: Plataea.] [Footnote 4: I. e. it is better to be envied than to be pitied.] II. FOR HIERON OF SYRACUSE, WINNER IN THE CHARIOT-RACE. * * * * * The classification of this ode as Pythian is probably a mistake: perhaps the victory was won at the Theban festival in honour of Herakles, or of Iolaos. Anaxilaos, tyrant of Rhegium and Messana, had been deterred by Hieron's threats from attacking the Epizephyrian Lokrians, and the ode is partly occupied with congratulations of Hieron on this protective act. As Anaxilaos died B.C. 476, and Hieron was only placed at the head of the Syracusan state two years before, this seems to fix the date somewhere in these two years. As Pindar talks of sending his song across the sea, we may suppose that it was sung at Syracuse. There is much obscurity about the significances of this ode. The poet's motive in telling the story of Ixion's sins has been variously guessed at. Some think it was meant to deter Hieron from contriving the death of his brother Polyzelos in battle in order to get possession of Polyzelos' wife (and if Hieron was to be suspected of such a thought it would be quite in Pindar's manner to mingle warning and reproof with praise): some think that it refers to the ingratitude of Anaxilaos toward Hieron. And most probably the latter part of the ode, in which sincerity is approved, and flattery and calumny are condemned, had some special and personal reference, though we need not suppose, as the commentators are fond of doing here and elsewhere, that it was aimed at Bacchylides or other rival poets. * * * * * Great city of Syracuse, precinct of warrior Ares, of iron-armed men and steeds the nursing-place divine, to thee I come[1], bearing from my bright Thebes this song, the tidings of earth-shaking racing of the four-horse car, wherein hath Hieron with his goodly chariot overcome, and decked with far-seen splendour of crowns Ortygia the dwelling-place of Artemis of the river, her by whose help he tamed with soothing hand his colts of spangled rein. For the archer maiden with both hands fitteth the glittering trappings, and Hermes, god of games, whensoever Hieron to the polished car and bridle-guided wheels[2] yoketh the strength of his steeds, calling on the wide-ruling god, the trident-wielder. Now unto various kings pay various men sweet song, their valour's meed. So the fair speech of Cyprus echoeth around the name of Kinyras, him whom Apollo of the golden hair loved fervently, and who dwelt a priest in the house of Aphrodite: for to such praise are men moved by the thankfulness that followeth the recompense of friendly acts. But of thee, O thou son of Deinomenes, the maiden daughter of the Lokrian in the west before the house-door telleth in her song, being out of bewildering woes of war by thy might delivered, so that her eyes are not afraid for anything. Ixion, they say, by order of the gods, writhing on his winged wheel, proclaimeth this message unto men: _To him who doeth thee service make recompense of fair reward_. This lesson learned he plainly; for when that among the friendly Kronidai he had gotten a life of pleasantness, his bliss became greater than he could bear, and with mad heart he lusted after Hera, whose place was in the happy marriage-bed of Zeus: yet insolence drove him to the exceeding folly; but quickly suffering his deserts the man gained to himself a misery most rare. Two sins are the causes of his pain; one that he first among the heroes shed blood of kindred[3] craftily, the other that in the chambers of the ample heavens he attempted the wife of Zeus--for in all things it behoveth to take measure by oneself[4]. Yet a mocking love-bed hurried him as he approached the couch[5] into a sea of trouble; for he lay with a cloud, pursuing the sweet lie, fond man: for its form was as the form of the most highest among the daughters of heaven, even the child of Kronos; and the hands of Zeus had made it that it might be a snare unto him, a fair mischief. Thus came he unto the four-spoked wheel, his own destruction; and having fallen into chains without escape he became proclaimer of that message[6] unto many. His mate[7], without favour of the Graces, bare unto him a monstrous son, and like no other thing anywhere, even as its mother was, a thing with no place or honour, neither among men, neither in the society of gods. Him she reared and called by the name Kentauros, and he in the valleys of Pelion lay with Magnesian mares, and there were born thence a wondrous tribe, like unto both parents, their nether parts like unto the dams, and their upper parts like unto the sire. God achieveth all ends whereon he thinketh--God who overtaketh even the winged eagle, and outstrippeth the dolphin of the sea, and bringeth low many a man in his pride, while to others he giveth glory incorruptible. For me it is meet to eschew the sharp tooth of bitter words; for, though afar off, I have seen the fierce Archilochos lacking most things and fattening but on cruel words of hate. Of most worth are riches when joined to the happy gift of wisdom. And this lot hast thou, and mayest illustrate it with liberal soul, thou sovereign chief over many streets filled with goodly garlands, and much people. If any saith that ever yet was any man of old time throughout Hellas who excelled thee in honour or in the multitude of possessions, such an one with vain purpose essayeth a fruitless task. Upon the flower-crowned prow[8] will I go up to sing of brave deeds done. Youth is approved by valour in dread wars; and hence say I that thou hast won boundless renown in thy battles, now with horsemen, now on foot: also the counsels of thine elder years give me sure ground of praising thee every way. All hail! This song like to Phenician merchandize is sent across the hoary sea: do thou look favourably on the strain of Kaster in Aeolian mood[9], and greet it in honour of the seven-stringed lute. Be what thou art, now I have told thee what that is: in the eyes of children the fawning ape is ever comely: but the good fortune of Rhadamanthos hath come to him because the fruit that his soul bare was true, neither delighteth he in deceits within his heart, such as by whisperer's arts ever wait upon mortal man. An overpowering evil are the secret speakings of slander, to the slandered and to the listener thereto alike, and are as foxes in relentless temper. Yet for the beast whose name is of gain[10] what great thing is gained thereby? For like the cork above the net, while the rest of the tackle laboureth deep in the sea, I am unmerged in the brine. Impossible is it that a guileful citizen utter potent words among the good, nevertheless he fawneth on all and useth every subtlety. No part have I in that bold boast of his, 'Let me be a friend to my friend, but toward an enemy I will be an enemy and as a wolf will cross his path, treading now here now there in crooked ways[11].' For every form of polity is a man of direct speech best, whether under a despotism, or whether the wild multitude, or the wisest, have the state in their keeping. Against God it is not meet to strive, who now upholdeth these, and now again to those giveth great glory. But not even this cheereth the heart of the envious; for they measure by an unjust balance, and their own hearts they afflict with bitter pain, till such time as they attain to that which their hearts devise. To take the car's yoke on one's neck and run on lightly, this helpeth; but to kick against the goad is to make the course perilous. Be it mine to dwell among the good, and to win their love. [Footnote 1: Pindar here identifies himself with his ode, which he sent, not took, to Syracuse. Compare Ol. vii. 13, &c.] [Footnote 2: Properly [Greek: harmata] would seem to include all except the body of the chariot ([Greek: diphros]) in which the charioteer stood.] [Footnote 3: His father-in-law Deioneus.] [Footnote 4: I. e. to estimate rightly one's capacities, circumstances, rights, duties.] [Footnote 5: Reading [Greek: poti koiton ikont'].] [Footnote 6: The message spoken of above, v. 24.] [Footnote 7: The cloud, the phantom-Hera.] [Footnote 8: The prow of the ship carrying this ode, with which Pindar, as has been said, identifies himself.] [Footnote 9: It is supposed that another ode, more especially in honour of the chariot-victory, is here meant, which was to be sent later. From this point to the end the ode reads like a postscript of private import and reference.] [Footnote 10: It is at least doubtful whether [Greek: kerdo] a fox is really connected with [Greek: kerdos] gain.] [Footnote 11: It appears to me to be an absurdity to suppose that Pindar means to express in this sentence his own rule of conduct, as the commentators have fancied. He is all through this passage condemning 'crooked ways.'] III. FOR HIERON OF SYRACUSE, WINNER IN THE HORSE-RACE. * * * * * The dates both of the victory and of the ode are uncertain. But as Pherenikos, the horse that won this race at Pytho, is the same that won at Olympia B.C. 472, in honour of which event the First Olympian was written, the victory cannot have been very long before that date, though the language of the ode implies that it was written a good deal later, probably for an anniversary of the victory. It must at least have been written before Hieron's death in 467. It is much occupied with his illness. * * * * * Fain were I (if meet it be to utter from my mouth the prayer conceived of all) that Cheiron the son of Philyra were alive and had not perished among men, even the wide-ruling seed of Kronos the son of Ouranos; and that there still lorded it in Pelion's glens that Beast untamed, whose soul was loving unto men, even such as when of old he trained the gentle deviser of limb-saving anodynes, Asklepios, the hero that was a defence against all kind of bodily plague. Of him was the daughter[1] of Phlegyas of goodly steeds not yet delivered by Eileithuia aid of mothers, ere by the golden bow she was slain at the hands of Artemis, and from her child-bed chamber went down into the house of Hades, by contriving of Apollo. Not idle is the wrath of sons of Zeus. She in the folly of her heart had set Apollo at nought, and taken another spouse without knowledge of her sire, albeit ere then she had lain with Phoibos of the unshorn hair, and bare within her the seed of a very god. Neither awaited she the marriage-tables nor the sound of many voices in hymeneal song, such as the bride's girl-mates are wont to sing at eventide with merry minstrelsy: but lo, she had longing for things otherwhere, even as many before and after. For a tribe there is most foolish among men, of such as scorn the things of home, and gaze on things that are afar off, and chase a cheating prey with hopes that shall never be fulfilled. Of such sort was the frenzied strong desire fair-robed Koronis harboured in her heart, for she lay in the couch of a stranger that was come from Arcady. But one that watched beheld her: for albeit he was at sheep-gathering Pytho, yet was the temple's king Loxias aware thereof, beside his unerring partner[2], for he gave heed to his own wisdom, his mind that knoweth all things; in lies it hath no part, neither in act or thought may god or man deceive him. Therefore when he was aware of how she lay with the stranger Ischys son of Elatos, and of her guile unrighteous, he sent his sister fierce with terrible wrath to go to Lakereia--for by the steep shores of the Boibian lake was the home of her virginity--and thus a doom adverse blasted her life and smote her down: and of her neighbours many fared ill therefore and perished with her: so doth a fire that from one spark has leapt upon a mountain lay waste wide space of wood. But when her kinsfolk had laid the damsel upon the pile of wood, and fierce brightness of Hephaistos ran around it, then said Apollo: 'Not any longer may I endure in my soul to slay mine own seed by a most cruel death in company with its mother's grievous fate.' He said, and at the first stride he was there, and from the corpse caught up the child, and the blaze of the burning fiery pile was cloven before him asunder in the midst. Then to the Kentaur of Magnes he bare the child, that he should teach him to be a healer of the many-plaguing maladies of men. And thus all that came unto him whether plagued with self-grown sores or with limbs wounded by the lustrous bronze or stone far-hurled, or marred by summer heat or winter cold--these he delivered, loosing each from his several infirmity, some with emollient spells and some by kindly potions, or else he hung their limbs with charms, or by surgery he raised them up to health. Yet hath even wisdom been led captive of desire of gain. Even him did gold in his hands glittering beguile for a great reward to bring back from death a man already prisoner thereto: wherefore the hands of the son of Kronos smote the twain of them through the midst, and bereft their breasts of breath, and the bright lightning dealt them doom. It behoveth to seek from gods things meet for mortal souls, knowing the things that are in our path and to what portion we are born. Desire not thou, dear my soul, a life immortal, but use the tools that are to thine hand. Now were wise Cheiron in his cavern dwelling yet, and had our sweet-voiced songs laid haply some fair magic on his soul, then had I won him to grant to worthy men some healer of hot plagues, some offspring of Leto's son, or of her son's sire[3]. And then in a ship would I have sailed, cleaving the Ionian sea, to the fountain of Arethusa, to the home of my Aitnaian friend, who ruleth at Syracuse, a king of good will to the citizens, not envious of the good, to strangers wondrous fatherly. Had I but landed there and brought unto him a twofold joy, first golden health and next this my song of triumph to be a splendour in his Pythian crown, which of late Pherenikos[4] won by his victory at Kirrha--I say that then should I have come unto him, after that I had passed over the deep sea, a farther-shining light than any heavenly star. But I am minded to pray to the Mother[5] for him, to the awful goddess unto whom, and unto Pan, before my door nightly the maidens move in dance and song. Yet, O Hieron, if thou art skilled to apprehend the true meaning of sayings, thou hast learnt to know this from the men of old; _The immortals deal to men two ill things for one good._ The foolish cannot bear these with steadfastness but the good only, putting the fair side forward. But thee a lot of happiness attendeth, for if on any man hath mighty Destiny looked favourably, surely it is on a chief and leader of a people. A life untroubled abode not either with Peleus, son of Aiakos, or with godlike Kadmos: yet of all mortals these, they say, had highest bliss, who both erewhile listened to the singing of the Muses golden-filleted, the one in seven-gated Thebes, when he wedded large-eyed Harmonia, the other on the mountainside, when he took to him Thetis to be his wife, wise Nereus' glorious daughter. And with both of them gods sate at meat, and they beheld the sons of Kronos sitting as kings on thrones of gold, and they received from them gifts for their espousals; and by grace of Zeus they escaped out of their former toils and raised up their hearts to gladness. Yet again in the after time the bitter anguish of those daughters[6] robbed Kadmos of a part of bliss: howbeit the Father Zeus came to white-armed Thyone's[7] longed-for couch. And so did the son of Peleus whom Thetis bare at Phthia, her only son, die by an arrow in war, and moved the Danaoi to lament aloud, when his body was burning in fire. Now if any by wisdom hath the way of truth he may yet lack good fortune, which cometh of the happy gods. The blasts of soaring winds blow various ways at various times. Not for long cometh happiness to men, when it accompanieth them in exceeding weight. Small will I be among the small, and great among the great. Whatever fortune follow me, I will work therewith, and wield it as my power shall suffice. If God should offer me wealth and ease, I have hope that I should first have won high honour to be in the times afar off. Nestor and Lykian Sarpedon, who live in the speech of men, we know from tales of sounding song, built up by cunning builders. By songs of glory hath virtue lasting life, but to achieve them is easy to but few. [Footnote 1: Koronis.] [Footnote 2: His father, Zeus.] [Footnote 3: Some Asklepios or Apollo.] [Footnote 4: Hieron's horse.] [Footnote 5: Rhea or Kybele, the mother of the gods. 'Next door to Pindar's house was a temple of the mother of the gods and of Pan, which he had built himself.' Scholiast.] [Footnote 6: Ino, Agaue, and Autonoe.] [Footnote 7: Semele.] IV. FOR ARKESILAS OF KYRENE, WINNER IN THE CHARIOT-RACE. * * * * * Pindar has made this victory of Arkesilas, King of the Hellenic colony of Kyrene in Africa, an occasion for telling the story of Jason's expedition with the Argonauts. The ostensible reason for introducing the story is that Kyrene had been colonised from the island of Thera by the descendants of the Argonaut Euphemos, according to the prophecy of Medea related at the beginning of the ode. But Pindar had another reason. He wished to suggest an analogy between the relation of the Iolkian king Pelias to Jason and the relation of Arkesilas to his exiled kinsman Demophilos. Demophilos had been staying at Thebes, where Pindar wrote this ode, to be afterwards recited at Kyrene. It was written B.C. 466, when Pindar was fifty-six years of age, and is unsurpassed in his extant works, or indeed by anything of this kind in all poetry. * * * * * This day O Muse must thou tarry in a friend's house, the house of the king of Kyrene of goodly horses, that with Arkesilas at his triumph thou mayst swell the favourable gale of song, the due of Leto's children, and of Pytho. For at Pytho of old she who sitteth beside the eagles of Zeus--nor was Apollo absent then--the priestess, spake this oracle, that Battos should found a power in fruitful Libya, that straightway departing from the holy isle he might lay the foundations of a city of goodly chariots upon a white breast of the swelling earth, and might fulfil in the seventeenth generation the word of Medea spoken at Thera, which of old the passionate child of Aietes, queen of Colchians, breathed from immortal lips. For on this wise spake she to the warrior Jason's god-begotten crew: 'Hearken O sons of high-hearted mortals and of gods. Lo I say unto you that from this sea-lashed land the daughter[1] of Epaphos shall sometime be planted with a root to bring forth cities that shall possess the minds of men, where Zeus Ammon's shrine is builded. And instead of short-finned dolphins they shall take to them fleet mares, and reins instead of oars shall they ply, and speed the whirlwind-footed car. By that augury shall it come to pass that Thera shall be mother-city of mighty commonwealths, even the augury that once at the outpourings of the Tritonian lake Euphemos leaping from the prow took at the hands of a god who in the likeness of man tendered this present to the stranger of a clod of earth; and the Father Kronian Zeus confirmed it with a peal of thunder. [2]What time he came suddenly upon them as they were hanging against the ship the bronze-fluked anchor, fleet Argo's bridle; for now for twelve days had we borne from Ocean over long backs of desert-land our sea-ship, after that by my counsel we drew it up upon the shore. Then came to us the solitary god, having put on the splendid semblance of a noble man; and he began friendly speech, such as well-doers use when they bid new-comers to the feast. But the plea of the sweet hope of home suffered us not to stay. Then he said that he was Eurypylos son of the earth-embracer, immortal Ennosides; and for that he was aware that we hasted to be gone, he straightway caught up of the chance earth at his feet a gift that he would fain bestow. Nor was the hero unheeding, but leaping on the shore and striking hand in hand he took to him the fateful clod. But now I hear that it was washed down from the ship and departed into the sea with the salt spray of evening, following the watery deep. Yet verily often did I charge the labour-lightening servants that they should keep it safe, but they forgat: and now upon this island[3] is the imperishable seed of spacious Libya strown before the time appointed; for if the royal son[4] of Poseidon, lord of horses, whom Europa Tityos' child bare him on Kephisos' banks, had in his own home thrown it down beside the mouth of Hades'[5] gulf, then in the fourth generation of his sons his seed would have taken that wide continent of Libya, for then they would have gone forth from mighty Lakedaimon, and from the Argive gulf, and from Mykenai. But now he shall in wedlock with a stranger-wife raise up a chosen seed, who coming to this island with worship of their gods shall beget one to be lord of the misty plains[6]. Him sometime shall Phoibos in his golden house admonish by oracles, when in the latter days he shall go down into the inner shrine at Pytho, to bring a host in ships to the rich Nile-garden of the son of Kronos[7].' So ran Medea's rhythmic utterance, and motionless in silence the godlike heroes bowed their heads as they hearkened to the counsels of wisdom. Thee, happy son[8] of Polymnestos, did the oracle of the Delphian bee[9] approve with call unasked to be the man whereof the word was spoken, for thrice she bid thee hail and declared thee by decree of fate Kyrene's king, what time thou enquiredst what help should be from heaven for thy labouring speech. And verily even now long afterward, as in the bloom of rosy-blossomed spring, in the eighth descent from Battos the leaf of Arkesilas is green. To him Apollo and Pytho have given glory in the chariot-race at the hands of the Amphiktyons: him will I commend to the Muses, and withal the tale of the all-golden fleece; for this it was the Minyai sailed to seek when the god-given glories of their race began. What power first drave them in the beginning to the quest? What perilous enterprise clenched them with strong nails of adamant? There was an oracle of God which said that Pelias should die by force or by stern counsels of the proud sons of Aiolos, and there had come to him a prophecy that froze his cunning heart, spoken at the central stone of tree-clad mother Earth, that by every means he should keep safe guard against the man of one sandal, whensoever from a homestead on the hills he shall have come to the sunny land of glorious Iolkos, whether a stranger or a citizen he be. So in the fulness of time he came, wielding two spears, a wondrous man; and the vesture that was upon him was twofold, the garb of the Magnetes' country close fitting to his splendid limbs, but above he wore a leopard-skin to turn the hissing showers; nor were the bright locks of his hair shorn from him but over all his back ran rippling down. Swiftly he went straight on, and took his stand, making trial of his dauntless soul, in the marketplace when the multitude was full. Him they knew not; howbeit some one looking reverently on him would speak on this wise: 'Not Apollo surely is this, nor yet Aphrodite's lord of the brazen car; yea and in glistening Naxos died ere now, they say, the children of Iphimedeia, Otos and thou, bold king Ephialtes: moreover Tityos was the quarry of Artemis' swift arrow sped from her invincible quiver, warning men to touch only the loves within their power.' They answering each to each thus talked; but thereon with headlong haste of mules and polished car came Pelias; and he was astonied when he gazed on the plain sign of the single sandal on the right foot. But he dissembled his fear within his heart and said unto him, 'What land, O stranger, dost thou claim to be thy country, and who of earth-born mortals bare thee of her womb out of due time[10]? Tell me thy race and shame it not by hateful lies.' And him with gentle words the other answered undismayed, 'I say to thee that I bear with me the wisdom of Cheiron, for from Chariklo and Philyra I come, from the cave where the Centaur's pure daughters reared me up, and now have I fulfilled twenty years among them without deceitful word or deed, and I am come home to seek the ancient honour of my father, held now in rule unlawful, which of old Zeus gave to the chief Aiolos and his children. For I hear that Pelias yielding lawlessly to evil thoughts hath robbed it from my fathers whose right it was from the beginning; for they, when first I looked upon the light, fearing the violence of an injurious lord, made counterfeit of a dark funeral in the house as though I were dead, and amid the wailing of women sent me forth secretly in purple swathing-bands, when none but Night might know the way we went, and gave me to Cheiron the son of Kronos to be reared. But of these things the chief ye know. Now therefore kind citizens show me plainly the house of my fathers who drave white horses; for it shall hardly be said that a son of Aison, born in the land, is come hither to a strange and alien soil. And Jason was the name whereby the divine Beast[11] spake to me.' Thus he said, and when he had entered in, the eyes of his father knew him; and from his aged eyelids gushed forth tears, for his soul was glad within him when he beheld his son, fairest of men and goodliest altogether. Then came to him both brothers, when they heard that Jason was come home, Pheres from hard by, leaving the fountain Hypereis, and out of Messena Amythaon, and quickly came Admetos and Melampos to welcome home their cousin. And at a common feast with gracious words Jason received them and made them friendly cheer, culling for five long nights and days the sacred flower of joyous life. But on the sixth day he began grave speech, and set the whole matter before his kinsmen from the beginning, and they were of one mind with him. Then quickly he rose up with them from their couches, and they came to Pelias' hall, and they made haste and entered and stood within. And when he heard them the king himself came forth to them, even the son of Tyro of the lovely hair. Then Jason with gentle voice opened on him the stream of his soft speech, and laid foundation of wise words: 'Son of Poseidon of the Rock, too ready are the minds of mortal men to choose a guileful gain rather than righteousness, howbeit they travel ever to a stern reckoning. But thee and me it behoveth to give law to our desires, and to devise weal for the time to come. Though thou knowest it yet will I tell thee, how that the same mother bare Kretheus and rash Salmoneus, and in the third generation we again were begotten and look upon the strength of the golden sun. Now if there be enmity between kin, the Fates stand aloof and would fain hide the shame. Not with bronze-edged swords nor with javelins doth it beseem us twain to divide our forefathers' great honour, nor needeth it, for lo! all sheep and tawny herds of kine I yield, and all the lands whereon thou feedest them, the spoil of my sires wherewith thou makest fat thy wealth. That these things furnish forth thy house moveth me not greatly; but for the kingly sceptre and throne whereon the son of Kretheus sate of old and dealt justice to his chivalry, these without wrath between us yield to me, lest some new evil arise up therefrom.' Thus he spake, and mildly also did Pelias make reply: 'I will be even as thou wilt, but now the sere of life alone remaineth to me, whereas the flower of thy youth is but just burgeoning; thou art able to take away the sin that maketh the powers beneath the earth wroth with us: for Phrixos biddeth us lay his ghost, and that we go to the house of Aietes, and bring thence the thick-fleeced hide of the ram, whereby of old he was delivered from the deep and from the impious weapons of his stepmother. This message cometh to me in the voice of a strange dream: also I have sent to ask of the oracle at Kastalia whether it be worth the quest, and the oracle chargeth me straightway to send a ship on the sacred mission. This deed do thou offer me to do, and I swear to give thee up the sway and kingly rule. Let Zeus the ancestral god of thee and me be witness of my oath and stablish it surely in thine eyes.' So they made this covenant and parted; but Jason straightway bade heralds to make known everywhere that a sailing was toward. And quickly came three sons of Zeus, men unwearied in battle, whose mothers were Alkmene and Leto of the glancing eyes[12], and two tall-crested men of valour, children of the Earth-shaker, whose honour was perfect as their might, from Pylos and from farthest Tainaros: hereby was the excellence of their fame established--even Euphemos' fame, and thine, wide-ruling Periklymenos. And at Apollo's bidding came the minstrel father of song, Orpheus of fair renown. And Hermes of the golden staff sent two sons to the toilsome task, Echion and Eurytos in the joy of their youth; swiftly they came, even from their dwelling at the foot of Pangaios: and willingly and with glad heart their father Boreas, king of winds, harnessed Zetes and Kalaïs, men both with bright wings shooting from their backs. For Hera kindled within those sons of gods the all-persuading sweet desire for the ship Argo, that none should be left behind and stay by his mother's side in savourless and riskless life, but each, even were death the price, achieve in company with his peers a magic potency of his valour. Now when that goodly crew were come to Iolkos, Jason mustered them with thanks to each, and the seer Mopsos prophesied by omens and by sacred lots, and with good will sped the host on board. And when they had hung the anchors over the prow, then their chief taking in his hands a golden goblet stood up upon the stern and called on Zeus whose spear is the lightning, and on the rush of waves and winds and the nights and paths of the deep, to speed them quickly over, and for days of cheer and friendly fortune of return. And from the clouds a favourable voice of thunder pealed in answer; and there came bright lightning flashes bursting through. Then the heroes took heart in obedience to the heavenly signs; and the seer bade them strike into the water with their oars, while he spake to them of happy hopes; and in their rapid hands the rowing sped untiringly. And with breezes of the South they came wafted to the mouth of the Axine sea; there they founded a shrine and sacred close of Poseidon, god of seas, where was a red herd of Thracian bulls, and a new-built altar of stone with hollow top[13]. Then as they set forth toward an exceeding peril they prayed the lord of ships that they might shun the terrible shock of the clashing rocks: for they were twain that had life, and plunged along more swiftly than the legions of the bellowing winds; but that travel of the seed of gods made end of them at last[14]. After that they came to the Phasis; there they fought with dark-faced Kolchians even in the presence of Aietes. And there the queen of keenest darts, the Cyprus-born, first brought to men from Olympus the frenzied bird, the speckled wry-neck[15], binding it to a four-spoked wheel without deliverance, and taught the son of Aison to be wise in prayers and charms, that he might make Medea take no thought to honour her parents, and longing for Hellas might drive her by persuasion's lash, her heart afire with love. Then speedily she showed him the accomplishment of the tasks her father set, and mixing drugs with oil gave him for his anointment antidotes of cruel pain, and they vowed to be joined together in sweet wedlock. But when Aietes had set in the midst a plough of adamant, and oxen that from tawny jaws breathed flame of blazing fire, and with bronze hoofs smote the earth in alternate steps, and had led them and yoked them single-handed, he marked out in a line straight furrows, and for a fathom's length clave the back of the loamy earth; then he spake thus: 'This work let your king, whosoever he be that hath command of the ship, accomplish me, and then let him bear away with him the imperishable coverlet, the fleece glittering with tufts of gold.' He said, and Jason flung off from him his saffron mantle, and putting his trust in God betook himself to the work; and the fire made him not to shrink, for that he had had heed to the bidding of the stranger maiden skilled in all pharmacy. So he drew to him the plough and made fast by force the bulls' necks in the harness, and plunged the wounding goad into the bulk of their huge sides, and with manful strain fulfilled the measure of his work. And a cry without speech came from Aietes in his agony, at the marvel of the power he beheld. Then to the strong man his comrades stretched forth their hands, and crowned him with green wreaths, and greeted him with gracious words. And thereupon the wondrous son[16] of Helios told him in what place the knife of Phrixos had stretched the shining fell; yet he trusted that this labour at least should never be accomplished by him. For it lay in a thick wood and grasped by a terrible dragon's jaws, and he in length and thickness was larger than their ship of fifty oars, which the iron's blows had welded. Long were it for me to go by the beaten track, for the time is nigh out, and I know a certain short path, and many others look to me for skill. The glaring speckled dragon, O Arkesilas, he slew by subtlety, and by her own aid he stole away Medea, the murderess of Pelias. And they went down into the deep of Ocean and into the Red Sea, and to the Lemnian race of husbandslaying wives; there also they had games and wrestled for a prize of vesture, and lay with the women of the land. And then it was that in a stranger womb, by night or day, the fateful seed was sown of the bright fortune of thy race. For there began the generations of Euphemos, which should be thenceforth without end. And in time mingling among the homes of Lakedaimonian men they made their dwelling in the isle that once was Kalliste[17]: and thence the son of Leto gave thy race the Libyan plain to till it and to do honour therein to your gods, and to rule the divine city of golden-throned Kyrene with devising of the counsels of truth. Now hearken to a wise saying even as the wisdom of Oedipus. If one with sharp axe lop the boughs of a great oak and mar the glorious form, even in the perishing of the fruit thereof it yet giveth token of that it was; whether at the last it come even to the winter fire, or whether with upright pillars in a master's house it stand, to serve drear service within alien walls, and the place thereof knoweth it no more[18]. But thou art a physician most timely, and the god of healing maketh thy light burn brightly. A gentle hand must thou set to a festering wound. It is a small thing even for a slight man to shake a city, but to set it firm again in its place this is hard struggle indeed, unless with sudden aid God guide the ruler's hand. For thee are prepared the thanks which these deeds win. Be strong to serve with all thy might Kyrene's goodly destiny. And of Homer's words take this to ponder in thy heart: _Of a good messenger_, he saith, _cometh great honour to every deed._ Even to the Muse is right messengership a gain. Now good cause have Kyrene and the glorious house of Battos to know the righteous mind of Demophilos. For he was a boy with boys, yet in counsels an old man of a hundred years: and the evil tongue he robbeth of its loud voice, and hath learnt to abhor the insolent, neither will he make strife against the good, nor tarry when he hath a deed in hand. For a brief span hath opportunity for men, but of him it is known surely when it cometh, and he waiteth thereon a servant but no slave. Now this they say is of all griefs the sorest, that one knowing good should of necessity abide without lot therein. Yea thus doth Atlas struggle now against the burden of the firmament, far from his native land and his possessions. Yet the Titans were set free by immortal Zeus. As time runneth on the breeze abateth and there are shiftings of the sails. And he hath hope that when he shall have endured to the end his grievous plague he shall see once more his home, and at Apollo's fountain[19] joining in the feast give his soul to rejoice in her youth, and amid citizens who love his art, playing on his carven lute, shall enter upon peace, hurting and hurt of none. Then shall he tell how fair a fountain of immortal verse he made to flow for Arkesilas, when of late he was the guest of Thebes. [Footnote 1: Libya. Epaphos was son of Zeus by Io.] [Footnote 2: This incident happened during the wanderings of the Argonauts on their return with the Golden Fleece from Kolchis to Iolkos.] [Footnote 3: Thera.] [Footnote 4: Euphemos.] [Footnote 5: At Tainaros there was a cave supposed to be a mouth of Hades.] [Footnote 6: Of Libya.] [Footnote 7: The purport of this is: If Euphemos had taken the clod safely home to Tainaros in Lakonia, then his great-grandsons with emigrants from other Peloponnesian powers would have planted a colony in Libya. But since the clod had fallen into the sea and would be washed up on the shore of the island of Thera, it was necessary that Euphemos' descendants should first colonize Thera, and then, but not till the seventeenth generation, proceed, under Battos, to found the colony of Kyrene in Libya.] [Footnote 8: Battos.] [Footnote 9: The priestess.] [Footnote 10: The epithet [Greek: polias] is impossible to explain satisfactorily. It has been suggested to me by Professor S.H. Butcher, that [Greek: chamaigenaes] may have been equivalent to [Greek: gaegenaes] and that Pelias may thus mean, half ironically, to imply that Jason's stature, garb and mien, as well as his mysteriously sudden appearance, argue him a son of one of the ancient giants who had been seen of old among men.] [Footnote 11: The Kentaur Cheiron.] [Footnote 12: I. e. one son of Zeus and Alkmene, Herakles, and two sons of Zeus and Leto, Kastor and Polydeukes.] [Footnote 13: For the blood of the victims.] [Footnote 14: The Symplegades having failed to crush the ship Argo between them were themselves destroyed by the shock of their encounter with each other. Probably a tradition of icebergs survived in this story.] [Footnote 15: Used as a love-charm.] [Footnote 16: Aietes.] [Footnote 17: Thera.] [Footnote 18: In this parable the oak is the state, the boughs its best men, the fire and the alien house destruction and servitude.] [Footnote 19: The fountain Kyra in the heart of the city Kyrene.] V. FOR ARKESILAS OF KYRENE, WINNER IN THE CHARIOT-RACE. * * * * * This ode celebrates the same victory as the foregoing. It would seem that the chariot had been consecrated to Apollo and left in the temple at Delphi, but the horses were brought home to Kyrene and led in procession through the sacred street of Apollo, with their charioteer Karrhotos, brother of Arkesilas' wife. * * * * * Wide-reaching is the power of wealth, whensoever a mortal man hath received it at the hands of Fate with pure virtue mingled, and bringeth it to his home, a follower that winneth him many friends. Arkesilas, thou favourite of the gods, thou verily seekest after it with good report from the first steps of thy glorious life, with aid of Kastor of the golden car, who after the wintry storm hath shed bright calm about thy happy hearth[1]. Now the wise bear better the power that is given of God. And thou walkest in righteousness amid thy prosperity which is now great; first, for that thou art king of mighty cities, thy inborn virtue hath brought this majestic honour to thy soul, and again thou art now blessed in that from the famous Pythian games thou hast won glory by thy steeds, and hast received this triumphal song of men, Apollo's joy. Therefore forget not, while at Kyrene round Aphrodite's pleasant garden thy praise is sung, to set God above every other as the cause thereof: also love thou Karrhotos[2] chiefest of thy friends; who hath not brought with him Excuse the daughter of late-considering Afterthought back to the house of the just-ruling sons of Battos; but beside the waters of Kastalia a welcomed guest he crowned thy hair with the crown of the conquering car, for the reins were safe[3] in his hands throughout the twelve swift turns along the sacred course. Of the strong harness brake he no whit: but there is hung up[4] all that cunning work of the artificers that he brought with him when he passed over the Krisaian hill to the plain within the valley of the god: therefore now the chamber of cypress-wood possesseth it, hard by the statue which the bow-bearing Kretans dedicated in the Parnassian shrine, the natural image in one block[5]. Therefore with eager heart it behoveth thee to go forth to meet him who hath done thee this good service. Thee also, son[6] of Alexibios, the Charites of lovely hair make glorious. Blessed art thou for that after much toil thou hast a monument of noble words. Among forty charioteers who fell[7] thou didst with soul undaunted bring thy car unhurt, and hast now come back from the glorious games unto the plain of Libya and the city of thy sires. Without lot in trouble hath there been never any yet, neither shall be: yet still the ancient bliss of Battos followeth the race, albeit with various fortune; a bulwark is it to the city, and to strangers a most welcome light. From Battos even deep-voiced lions[8] fled in fear when he uttered before them a voice from overseas: for the captain and founder Apollo gave the beasts over to dire terror, that he might not be false to his oracles which he had delivered to the ruler of Kyrene. Apollo it is who imparteth unto men and women cures for sore maladies, and hath bestowed on them the lute, and giveth the Muse to whomsoever he will, bringing into their hearts fair order of peace; and inhabiteth the secret place of his oracles; whereby at Lakedaimon and at Argos and at sacred Pylos he made to dwell the valiant sons of Herakles and Aigimios[9]. From Sparta they say came my own dear famous race[10]: thence sprang the sons of Aigeus who came to Thera, my ancestors, not without help of God; but a certain destiny brought thither a feast of much sacrifice[11], and thence receiving, O Apollo, thy Karneia we honour at the banquet the fair-built city of Kyrene, which the spear-loving strangers haunt[12], the Trojan seed of Antenor. For with Helen they came thither after they had seen their native city smoking in the fires of war. And now to that chivalrous race do the men whom Aristoteles[13] brought, opening with swift ships a track through the deep sea, give greeting piously, and draw nigh to them with sacrifice and gifts. He also planted greater groves of gods, and made a paved road[14] cut straight over the plain, to be smitten with horsehoofs in processions that beseech Apollo's guardianship for men; and there at the end of the market-place he lieth apart in death. Blessed was he while he dwelt among men, and since his death the people worship him as their hero. And apart from him before their palace lie other sacred kings that have their lot with Hades; and even now perchance they hear, with such heed as remaineth to the dead, of this great deed sprinkled with kindly dew of outpoured song triumphal, whence have they bliss in common with their son Arkesilas unto whom it falleth due. Him it behoveth by the song of the young men to celebrate Phoibos of the golden sword, seeing that from Pytho he hath won a recompense of his cost in this glad strain of glorious victory. Of him the wise speak well: I but repeat their words saying that he cherisheth understanding above his years, that in eloquent speech and boldness he is as the wide-winged eagle among birds, and his strength in combat like a tower. And he hath wings to soar with the Muses, as his mother before him, and now hath he proved him a cunning charioteer: and by all ways that lead to honour at home hath he adventured. As now the favour of God perfecteth his might, so for the time to come, blest children of Kronos, grant him to keep it in counsel and in deed, that never at any time the wintry blast of the late autumn winds[15] sweep him away. Surely the mighty mind of Zeus guideth the destiny of the men he loveth. I pray that to the seed of Battos he may at Olympia grant a like renown. [Footnote 1: Kastor was not only a patron of charioteers, but also, with his twin-brother Polydeukes, a protector of mariners and giver of fair weather.] [Footnote 2: The charioteer.] [Footnote 3: I. e. well-handled and un-broken in the sharp turns round the goal.] [Footnote 4: I. e. in Apollo's temple at Delphi.] [Footnote 5: This would seem to have been a piece of wood growing naturally in the form of a man.] [Footnote 6: Karrhotos.] [Footnote 7: This seems great havoc among the starters. Probably besides the forty who fell there were others who were not actually upset but yet did not win. No doubt the race must have been run in heats, but these must still have been crowded enough to make the crush at the turns exceedingly dangerous.] [Footnote 8: Pausanias says that Battos, the founder of Kyrene, was dumb when he went to Africa, but that on suddenly meeting a lion the fright gave him utterance. According to Pindar the lions seem to have been still more alarmed, being startled by Battos' foreign accent.] [Footnote 9: The Dorians.] [Footnote 10: There were Aigidai at Sparta and Spartan colonies, of which Kyrene was one, and also at Thebes: to the latter branch of the family Pindar belonged.] [Footnote 11: The Karneia, a Dorian feast of which we hear often in history.] [Footnote 12: These Trojan refugees were supposed to have anciently settled on the site where Kyrene was afterwards built. Battos (or Aristoteles) and his new settlers honoured the dead Trojans as tutelar heroes of the spot.] [Footnote 13: Battos.] [Footnote 14: The sacred street of Apollo, along which the procession moved which sang this ode. The pavement, and the tombs cut in the rock on each side are still to be seen, or at least were in 1817, when the Italian traveller Della Cella visited the place. Böckh quotes from his Viaggio da Tripoli di Barberia alle frontiere occedentali dell' Egitto, p. 139: 'Oggi ho passeggiato in una delle strade (di Cirene) che serba ancora Papparenza di essere stata fra le più cospicue. Non solo è tutta intagliata nel vivo sasso, ma a due lati è fiancheggiata da lunga fila di tombe quadrate di dieci circa piedi di altezza, anch' esse tutte d'un pezzo scavate nella roccia.'] [Footnote 15: I. e., probably, calamity in old age.] VI. FOR XENOKRATES OF AKRAGAS, WINNER IN THE CHARIOT-RACE. * * * * * This victory was won B.C. 494, when Pindar was twenty-eight years old, and the ode was probably written to be sung at Delphi immediately on the event. Thus, next to the tenth Pythian, written eight years before, this is the earliest of Pindar's poems that remains to us. Xenokrates was a son of Ainesidamos and brother of Theron. The second Isthmian is also in his honour. * * * * * Hearken! for once more we plough the field[1] of Aphrodite of the glancing eyes, or of the Graces call it if you will, in this our pilgrimage to the everlasting centre-stone of deep-murmuring[2] earth. For there for the blissful Emmenidai, and for Akragas by the riverside, and chiefliest for Xenokrates, is builded a ready treasure of song within the valley of Apollo rich in golden gifts. That treasure of his shall neither wind nor wintry rain-storm coming from strange lands, as a fierce host born of the thunderous cloud, carry into the hiding places of the sea, to be beaten by the all-sweeping drift: But in clear light its front shall give tidings of a victory won in Krisa's dells, glorious in the speech of men to thy father Thrasyboulos, and to all his kin with him. Thou verily in that thou settest him ever at thy right hand cherishest the charge which once upon the mountains they say the son[3] of Philyra gave to him of exceeding might, even to the son of Peleas, when he had lost his sire: first that of all gods he most reverence Kronos' son, the deep-voiced lord of lightnings and of thunders, and then that he never rob of like honour a parent's spell of life. Also of old time had mighty Antilochos this mind within him, who died for his father's sake, when he abode the murderous onset of Memnon, the leader of the Ethiop hosts. For Nestor's chariot was stayed by a horse that was stricken of the arrows of Paris, and Memnon made at him with his mighty spear. Then the heart of the old man of Messene was troubled, and he cried unto his son; nor wasted he his words in vain; in his place stood up the godlike man and bought his father's flight by his own death. So by the young men of that ancient time he was deemed to have wrought a mighty deed, and in succouring of parents to be supreme. These things are of the past; but of men that now are Thrasyboulos hath come nearest to our fathers' gauge. And following his uncle also he hath made glory to appear for him; and with wisdom doth he handle wealth, neither gathereth the fruit of an unrighteous or overweening youth, but rather of knowledge amid the secret places of the Pierides. And to thee, Earthshaker, who didst devise ventures of steeds, with right glad heart he draweth nigh. Sweet is his spirit toward the company of his guests, yea sweeter than the honeycomb, the toil of bees. [Footnote 1: The field of poesy.] [Footnote 2: An epithet appropriate to volcanic soils.] [Footnote 3: Cheiron.] VII. FOR MEGAKLES OF ATHENS, WINNER IN THE FOUR-HORSE CHARIOT-RACE. * * * * * Megakles won this victory B.C. 490, the year of the battle of Marathon. He was a member of the great house of the Alkmaionidai, to which Kleisthenes and Perikles belonged. Megakles was a frequent name in the family: this Megakles was probably the nephew, possibly the son, of Kleisthenes. * * * * * Fairest of preludes is the great name of Athens to whosoever will lay foundation of songs for the mighty race of Alkmaionidai and for their steeds. What country, what house among all lands shall I name more glorious throughout Hellas? For unto all cities is the fame familiar of the citizens of Erechtheus, who at divine Pytho have wrought thee, O Apollo, a glorious house[1]. And I hereto am led by victories, at Isthmos five, and one pre-eminent, won at Olympia at the feast of Zeus, and two at Kirrha, which thou, O Megakles, and thy sire have won. Now at this new good fortune I rejoice; yet somewhat also I grieve, even to behold how envy requiteth noble deeds[2]. Yet thus ever, they say, must fair hap abiding with a man engender bad with good. [Footnote 1: The Alkmainodai had lately been spending large sums on the rebuilding of Apollo's temple at Delphi.] [Footnote 2: Megakles was twice ostracized.] VIII. FOR ARISTOMENES OF AIGINA, WINNER IN THE WRESTLING-MATCH. * * * * * The precise date of this ode is uncertain, but there is strong internal evidence of its having been written soon after the battle of Salamis, after which, as is well known, the [Greek: aristeia] or first honours for valour, were awarded to Aigina. The insolence of the barbarian despot seems to be symbolized by that of the giants Typhon and Porphyrion. The ode was apparently to be sung on the winner's return to Aigina. No less than eleven of the extant odes were written for winners from that island. * * * * * O kindly Peace, daughter of Righteousness, thou that makest cities great, and boldest the supreme keys of counsels and of wars, welcome thou this honour to Aristomenes, won in the Pythian games. Thou knowest how alike to give and take gentleness in due season: thou also, if any have moved thy heart unto relentless wrath, dost terribly confront the enemy's might, and sinkest Insolence in the sea. Thus did Porphyrion provoke thee unaware. Now precious is the gain that one beareth away from the house of a willing giver. But violence shall ruin a man at the last, boast he never so loudly. He of Kilikia, Typhon of the hundred heads, escaped not this, neither yet the king of giants[1]: but by the thunderbolt they fell and by the bow of Apollo, who with kind intent hath welcomed Xenarches home from Kirrha, crowned with Parnassian wreaths and Dorian song. Not far from the Graces' ken falleth the lot of this righteous island-commonwealth, that hath attained unto the glorious deeds of the sons of Aiakos[2]: from the beginning is her fame perfect, for she is sung of as the nurse of heroes foremost in many games and in violent fights: and in her mortal men also is she pre-eminent. But my time faileth me to offer her all I might tell at length by lute and softer voice of man, so that satiety vex not. So let that which lieth in my path, my debt to thee, O boy, the youngest of thy country's glories, run on apace, winged by my art. For in wrestlings thou art following the footsteps of thy uncles, and shamest neither Theognetos at Olympia, nor the victory that at Isthmos was won by Kleitomachos' stalwart limbs. And in that thou makest great the clan of the Midylidai thou attainest unto the very praise which on a time the son of Oikleus spake in a riddle, when he saw at seven-gated Thebes the sons of the Seven standing to their spears, what time from Argos came the second race on their new enterprise[3]. Thus spake he while they fought: 'By nature, son, the noble temper of thy sires shineth forth in thee. I see clearly the speckled dragon that Alkmaion weareth on his bright shield, foremost at the Kadmean gates. And he who in the former fight fared ill, hero Adrastos, is now endowed with tidings of a better omen. Yet in his own house his fortune shall be contrariwise: for he alone of all the Danaan host, after that he shall have gathered up the bones of his dead son, shall by favour of the gods come back with unharmed folk to the wide streets of Abas[4].' On this wise spake Amphiaraos. Yea and with joy I too myself throw garlands on Alkmaion's grave, and shower it withal with songs, for that being my neighbour and guardian of my possessions[5] he met me as I went up to the earth's centre-stone, renowned in song, and showed forth the gift of prophecy which belongeth unto his house[6]. But thou, far-darter, ruler of the glorious temple whereto all men go up, amid the glens of Pytho didst there grant this the greatest of joys: and at home before didst thou bring to him at the season of thy feast the keen-sought prize of the pentathlon. My king, with willing heart I make avowal that through thee is harmony before mine eyes in all that I sing of every conqueror. By the side of our sweet-voiced song of triumph hath Righteousness taken her stand, and I pray, O Xenarches[7], that the favour of God be unfailing toward the fortune of thee and thine. For if one hath good things to his lot without long toil, to many he seemeth therefore to be wise among fools and to be crowning his life by right devising of the means. But these things lie not with men: it is God that ordereth them, who setteth up one and putteth down another, so that he is bound beneath the hands of the adversary. Now at Megara also hast thou won a prize, and in secluded Marathon, and in the games of Hera in thine own land, three times, Aristomenes, hast thou overcome. And now on the bodies of four others[8] hast thou hurled thyself with fierce intent, to whom the Pythian feast might not award, as unto thee, the glad return, nor the sweet smile that welcometh thee to thy mother's side; nay but by secret ways they shrink from meeting their enemies, stricken down by their evil hap. Now he that hath lately won glory in the time of his sweet youth is lifted on the wings of his strong hope and soaring valour, for his thoughts are above riches. In a little moment groweth up the delight of men; yea and in like sort falleth it to the ground, when a doom adverse hath shaken it. Things of a day--what are we, and what not? Man is a dream of shadows. Nevertheless when a glory from God hath shined on them, a clear light abideth upon men, and serene life. Aigina[9], mother dear, this city in her march among the free, with Zeus and lordly Aiakos, with Peleus and valiant Telamon and with Achilles, guard thou well. [Footnote 1: Porphyrion.] [Footnote 2: Aiakos and his descendants, especially Aias, were the chief national heroes of Aigina.] [Footnote 3: It seems doubtful what this legend exactly was. Either Amphiaraos, during the attack of the first Seven against Thebes, saw by prophetic vision the future battle of the second Seven, the Epigonoi, among whom were his own son Alkmaion, and Adrastos, the sole survivor of the first Seven; or else these are the words of his oracle after his death, spoken when the battle of the Epigonoi had begun but was not yet ended.] [Footnote 4: Abas was an ancient king of Argos.] [Footnote 5: Probably there was a shrine of Alkmaion near Pindar's house at Thebes, so that he considered his household to be under the hero's protection: perhaps he had deposited money in the shrine, for temples were often used as treasuries.] [Footnote 6: Probably in some vision seen by Pindar on his journey to Delphi.] [Footnote 7: Father of Aristomenes.] [Footnote 8: His competitors in four ties of the wrestling-match.] [Footnote 9: The nymph, protectress of the island.] IX. FOR TELESIKRATES OF KYRENE, WINNER OF THE FOOT-RACE IN FULL ARMOUR. * * * * * The Hellenic heavy-armed soldier was often called upon to advance at a run, as for instance in the charge at Marathon. With a view no doubt to such occasions this race in full armour had been instituted at Pytho in 498, and in 478 it was won by Telesikrates. The ode was probably sung in a procession at Thebes, before Telesikrates had gone back to Kyrene, but the legends related are mainly connected with Kyrene. Probably the commentators are right in supposing that Telesikrates was to take home with him a bride from the mother-country, a fact which makes the legends told specially appropriate. * * * * * I have desire to proclaim with aid of the deep-vested Graces a victory at Pytho of Telesikrates bearing the shield of bronze, and to speak aloud his name, for his fair fortune and the glory wherewith he hath crowned Kyrene, city of charioteers. Kyrene[1] once from Pelion's wind-echoing dells Leto's son, the flowing-haired, caught up and in a golden car bore away the huntress-maiden to the place where he made her queen of a land rich in flocks, yea richest of all lands in the fruits of the field, that her home might be the third part[2] of the mainland of earth, a stock that should bear lovely bloom. And silver-foot Aphrodite awaited the Delian stranger issuing from his car divine, and lightly laid on him her hand: then over their sweet bridal-bed she cast the loveliness of maiden shame, and in a common wedlock joined the god and the daughter of wide-ruling Hypseus, who then was king of the haughty Lapithai, a hero whose father's father was the Ocean-god--for amid the famous mountain-dells of Pindos the Naiad Kreüsa bare him after she had delight in the bed of Peneus, Kreüsa, daughter of Earth. Now the child he reared was Kyrene of the lovely arms: She was not one who loved the pacings to and fro before the loom, neither the delights of feastings with her fellows within the house, but with bronze javelins and a sword she fought against and slew wild beasts of prey; yea and much peace and sure she gave thereby to her father's herds, but for sleep, the sharer of her bed, short spent she it and sweet, descending on her eyelids as the dawn drew near. Once as she struggled alone, without spear, with a terrible lion, he of the wide quiver, far-darting Apollo, found her: and straightway he called Cheiron from his hall and spake to him aloud: 'Son of Philyra, come forth from thy holy cave, and behold and wonder at the spirit of this woman, and her great might, what strife she wageth here with soul undaunted, a girl with heart too high for toil to quell; for her mind shaketh not in the storm of fear. What man begat her? From what tribe was she torn to dwell in the secret places of the shadowing hills? She hath assayed a struggle unachievable. Is it lawful openly to put forth my hand to her, or rather on a bridal-bed pluck the sweet flower?' To him the Centaur bold with a frank smile on his mild brow made answer straightway of his wisdom: 'Secret are wise Lovecraft's keys unto love's sanctities, O Phoibos, and among gods and men alike all deem this shame, to have pleasure of marriage at the first openly. Now even thee, who mayest have no part in lies, thy soft desire hath led to dissemble in this thy speech. The maiden's lineage dost thou, O king, enquire of me--thou who knowest the certain end of all things, and all ways? How many leaves the earth sendeth forth in spring, how many grains of sand in sea and river are rolled by waves and the winds' stress, what shall come to pass, and whence it shall be, thou discernest perfectly. But if even against wisdom I must match myself, I will speak on. To wed this damsel camest thou unto this glen, and thou art destined to bear her beyond the sea to a chosen garden of Zeus, where thou shalt make her a city's queen, when thou hast gathered together an island-people to a hill in the plain's midst. And now shall queenly Libya of broad meadow-lands well-pleased receive for thee within a golden house thy glorious bride, and there make gift to her of a portion in the land, to be an inhabiter thereof with herself, neither shall it be lacking in tribute of plants bearing fruit after all kinds, neither a stranger to the beasts of chase. There shall she bring forth a son, whom glorious Hermes taking up from his mother's arms shall bear to the fair-throned Hours and to Earth: and they shall set the babe upon their knees, and nectar and ambrosia they shall distil upon his lips, and shall make him as an immortal, a Zeus or a holy Apollo, to men beloved of him a very present help, a tutelar of flocks, and to some Agreus and Nomios; but to others Aristaios shall be his name.' By these words he made him ready for the bridal's sweet fulfilment. And swift the act and short the ways of gods who are eager to an end. That same day made accomplishment of the matter, and in a golden chamber of Libya they lay together; where now she haunteth a city excellent in beauty and glorious in the games. And now at sacred Pytho hath the son of Karneadas wedded that city to the fair flower of good luck: for by his victory there he hath proclaimed Kyrene's name, even her's who shall receive him with glad welcome home, to the country of fair women bringing precious honour out of Delphi. Great merits stir to many words: yet to be brief and skilful on long themes is a good hearing for bards: for fitness of times is in everything alike of chief import. That Iolaos had respect thereto[3] seven-gated Thebes knoweth well, for when he had stricken down the head of Eurystheus beneath the edge of the sword, she buried the slayer beneath the earth in the tomb of Amphitryon the charioteer, where his father's father was laid, a guest of the Spartoi, who had left his home to dwell among the streets of the sons of Kadmos who drave white horses. To him and to Zeus at once did wise Alkmene bear the strength of twin sons prevailing in battle. Dull is that man who lendeth not his voice to Herakles, nor hath in remembrance continually the waters of Dirke that nurtured him and Iphikles. To them will I raise a song of triumph for that I have received good at their hands, after that I had prayed to them that the pure light of the voiceful Graces might not forsake me. For at Aigma and on the hill of Nisos twice ere now I say that I have sung Kyrene's praise, and by my act have shunned the reproach of helpless dumbness. Wherefore if any of the citizens be our friend, yea even if he be against us, let him not seek to hide the thing that hath been well done in the common cause, and so despise the word of the old god of the sea[4]. He biddeth one give praise with the whole heart to noble deeds, yea even to an enemy, so be it that justice be on his side. Full many times at the yearly feast of Pallas have the maidens seen thee winner, and silently they prayed each for herself that such an one as thou, O Telesikrates, might be her beloved husband or her son; and thus also was it at the games of Olympia and of ample-bosomed Earth[5], and at all in thine own land. Me anywise to slake my thirst for song the ancient glory of thy forefathers summoneth to pay its due and rouse it yet again--to tell how that for love of a Libyan woman there went up suitors to the city of Irasa to woo Antaios' lovely-haired daughter of great renown; whom many chiefs of men, her kinsmen, sought to wed, and many strangers also; for the beauty of her was marvellous, and they were fain to cull the fruit whereto her gold-crowned youth had bloomed. But her father gained for his daughter a marriage more glorious still. Now he had heard how sometime Danaos at Argos devised for his forty and eight maiden daughters, ere mid-day was upon them, a wedding of utmost speed--for he straightway set the whole company at the race-course end, and bade determine by a foot-race which maiden each hero should have, of all the suitors that had come. Even on this wise gave the Libyan a bridegroom to his daughter, and joined the twain. At the line he set the damsel, having arrayed her splendidly, to be the goal and prize, and proclaimed in the midst that he should lead her thence to be his bride who, dashing to the front, should first touch the robes she wore. Thereon Alexidamos, when that he had sped through the swift course, took by her hand the noble maiden, and led her through the troops of Nomad horsemen. Many the leaves and wreaths they showered on him; yea and of former days many plumes of victories had he won. [Footnote 1: A Thessalian maiden, from whom, according to this legend, the colony of Kyrene in Africa took its name.] [Footnote 2: I. e. Libya, the continent which we now call Africa.] [Footnote 3: I. e. by seizing the moment left to him before it should be too late to act. Thebes and Kyrene were connected by the fact that members of the Aigid family lived at both places.] [Footnote 4: Nereus. Powers of divination and wisdom generally are often attributed to sea-deities.] [Footnote 5: I. e. at Delphi or Pytho. As being the supposed centre of the Earth it was the place of the worship of the Earth-goddess.] X. FOR HIPPOKLEAS OF THESSALY, WINNER IN THE TWO-STADION FOOT-RACE OF BOYS. * * * * * The only reason we know for the digression about Perseus which occupies great part of this ode seems to be that Thorax, who engaged Pindar to write it for Hippokleas, and perhaps Hippokleas himself, belonged to the family of the Aleuadai, who were descended through Herakles from Perseus. This ode is the earliest entire poem of Pindar's which survives. He wrote it when he was twenty years old. The simplicity of the style and manner of composition are significant of this. But there can scarcely be said to be traces here of Pindar's early tendency in dealing with mythological allusions to 'sow not with the hand but with the whole sack,' which Korinna advised him to correct, and which is conspicuous in a fragment remaining to us of one of his Hymns. * * * * * Happy is Lakedaimon, blessed is Thessaly: in both there reigneth a race sprung from one sire, from Herakles bravest in the fight. What vaunt is this unseasonable? Nay, now, but Pytho calleth me, and Pelinnaion[1], and the sons of Aleuas who would fain lead forth the loud voices of a choir of men in honour of Hippokleas. For now hath he tasted the joy of games, and to the host of the dwellers round about hath the valley beneath Parnassos proclaimed him best among the boys who ran the double race[2]. O Apollo, sweet is the end when men attain thereto, and the beginning availed more when it is speeded of a god. Surely of thy devising were his deeds: and this his inborn valour hath trodden in the footsteps of his father twice victor at Olympia in panoply of war-affronting arms[3]: moreover the games in the deep meadow beneath Kirrha's cliff gave victory to the fleet feet of Phrikias[4]. May good luck follow them, so that even in after days the splendour of their wealth shall bloom. Of the pleasant things of Hellas they have no scanty portion to their lot; may they happen on no envious repentings of the gods. A god's heart, it may be, is painless ever; but happy and a theme of poet's song is that man who for his valiance of hands or feet the chiefest prizes hath by strength and courage won, and in his life-time seen his young son by good hap attaining to the Pythian crown. Never indeed shall he climb the brazen heaven, but whatsoever splendours we of mortal race may reach, through such he hath free course even to the utmost harbourage. But neither by taking ship, neither by any travel on foot, to the Hyperborean folk shalt thou find the wondrous way. Yet of old the chieftain Perseus entered into their houses and feasted among them, when that he had lighted on them as they were sacrificing ample hecatombs of asses to their god. For ever in their feasts and hymns hath Apollo especial joy, and laugheth to see the braying ramp of the strange beasts. Nor is the Muse a stranger to their lives, but everywhere are stirring to and fro dances of maidens and shrill noise of pipes: and binding golden bay-leaves in their hair they make them merry cheer. Nor pestilence nor wasting eld approach that hallowed race: they toil not neither do they fight, and dwell unharmed of cruel Nemesis. In the eagerness of his valiant heart went of old the son of Danaë, for that Athene led him on his way, unto the company of that blessed folk. Also he slew the Gorgon and bare home her head with serpent tresses decked, to the island folk a stony death. I ween there is no marvel impossible if gods have wrought thereto. Let go the oar, and quickly drive into the earth an anchor from the prow, to save us from the rocky reef, for the glory of my song of praise flitteth like a honey-bee from tale to tale. I have hope that when the folk of Ephyra pour forth my sweet strains by Peneus' side, yet more glorious shall I make their Hippokleas for his crowns and by my songs among his fellows and his elders, and I will make him possess the minds of the young maidens. For various longings stir secretly the minds of various men; yet each if he attain to the thing he striveth for will hold his eager desire for the time present to him, but what a year shall bring forth, none shall foreknow by any sign. My trust is in the kindly courtesy of my host Thorax, of him who to speed my fortune hath yoked this four-horse car of the Pierides, as friend for friend, and willing guide for guide. As gold to him that trieth it by a touch-stone, so is a true soul known. His noble brethren also will we praise, for that they exalt and make great the Thessalians' commonwealth. For in the hands of good men lieth the good piloting of the cities wherein their fathers ruled. [Footnote 1: Hippokleas' birth-place.] [Footnote 2: Down the stadion (220 yards) and back.] [Footnote 3: I. e. in the race run in full armour, like that at Pytho which Telesikrates, of Kyrene won, celebrated in the fore-going ode.] [Footnote 4: Probably a horse with which Hippokleas' father won a race at Pytho.] XI. FOR THRASYDAIOS OF THEBES, WINNER IN THE BOYS' SHORT FOOT-RACE. * * * * * The date of this victory was B.C. 478, nearly two years after the battle of Plataea, and the deliverance of Thebes from Persian influence and the sway of a tyrannous oligarchy. But beyond this we have nothing certain to which we can refer the allusions to Theban affairs, public and private, which we have reason to think present in the ode. * * * * * Daughters of Kadmos, thou Semele whose goings are with the queens of Olympus, and thou Ino Leukothea who housest with the Nereids of the sea, come ye up with the mother[1] of a mighty son, even of Herakles, unto the temple of M[)e]lia[2] and into the holy place of the golden tripods, which beyond all others Loxias hath honoured, and named it the shrine Ismenian, a truthful seat of seers; where now, O children of Harmonia, he calleth the whole heroic sisterhood of the soil to assemble themselves together, that of holy Themis and of Pytho and the Earth-navel of just judgments ye may sing at early evening, doing honour to seven-gated Thebes, and to the games at Kirrha, wherein Thrasydaios hath made his father's house glorious by casting thereon a third wreath for his victory in the rich cornlands[3] of Pylades, who was the host of Lakonian Orestes. Orestes, on the murder of his father, Arsinoë his nurse saved from the violent hands of Klytaimnestra and out of the ruinous treason, what time the daughter of Dardanid Priam, Kassandra, was by the glittering bronze in company with Agamemnon's soul sped to the shadowy shore of Acheron by the woman who had no pity. Did then the slaughter of Iphigenia far from her own land on Euripos' shore so sting her mother to the arousal of a wrath of grievous act? Or had nocturnal loves misguided her, in thraldom to a paramour's embrace? a sin in new-wed brides most hateful, and that cannot be hidden for the talk of stranger tongues: for the citizens repeat the shame. For prosperity must sustain an envy equalling itself: but concerning the man of low place the rumour is obscure. Thus died the hero himself[4], the son of Atreus, when after long time he came unto famous Amyklai, and drew down with him to death the maiden prophetess[5], after that he consumed with fire the Trojans' habitations of softness. And thus Orestes, in the tenderness of his youth, came and was the guest of the old man Strophios, who dwelt at the foot of Parnassos: but with long-tarrying sword he slew his mother, and left Aigisthos' body in its blood. Verily, my friends, by triple roads of interchanging ways I have wound about, though heretofore I had kept on a straight track. Or hath some wind blown me out of my course, as when it bloweth a boat upon the sea? But thine it is, my Muse, since thou for reward didst promise the loan thereof, to raise thy voice for silver now on this tale, now on that, so that for this time at least it is on behalf either of Thrasydaios or of his sire who conquered at Pytho: for of both are the joy and glory burning lights. Of old for victories in the chariot-race they had bright glory at Olympia in the famous games for the swiftness of their steeds: and now have they gone down among the naked runners in the stadion, and have put to rebuke the host of the Hellenes by their speed. God grant me to desire things honourable, seeking things possible in my life's prime. The middle course I find to prosper most enduringly in the commonwealth, and a state of tyranny I condemn. On well-doing for the common good[6] I bestow my pains: so are the envious baffled, if one hath excelled in such acts to the uttermost, and bearing it modestly hath shunned the perilous reproach of insolence: so also at the end shall he find black death more gracious unto him, to his dear children leaving the best of possessions, even the glory of an honourable name. This it is that beareth abroad the name of Iolaos in song, and the names of the mighty Kastor and of thee, king Polydeukes, ye sons of gods, who one day in Therapnai and the next in Olympus have your dwelling-place. [Footnote 1: Alkmene.] [Footnote 2: Mother of Ismenios and Teucros, by Apollo.] [Footnote 3: In Phokis.] [Footnote 4: Agamemnon. It is a strange variety of the tale that he is spoken of as having been murdered at Amyklai and not at Argos or Mykenai. So above Orestes is called Lakonian.] [Footnote 5: Kassandra.] [Footnote 6: (Not for a party.)] XII. FOR MIDAS OF AKRAGAS, WINNER IN THE FLUTE-PLAYING MATCH. * * * * * This is an early ode: the victory was won either in 494 or 450. It was to be sung, it would seem, at Akragas, and very probably in a procession to the shrine of the tutelar divinity of the city, with an address to whom it seemingly begins, though it is difficult to say what degree of personification is intended. * * * * * I pray thee, lover of splendour, most beautiful among the cities of men, haunt of Persephone, thou who by the banks of Akragas' stream that nourisheth thy flocks, inhabitest a citadel builded pleasantly--O queen, graciously and with goodwill of gods and men welcome this crown that is come forth from Pytho for Midas' fair renown; and him too welcome therewithal who hath overcome all Hellas in the art which once on a time Pallas Athene devised, when she made music of the fierce Gorgon's death-lament. That heard she pouring from the maiden heads and heads of serpents unapproachable amidst the anguish of their pains, when Perseus had stricken the third sister, and to the isle Seriphos and its folk bare thence their doom. Yea also he struck with blindness the wondrous brood of Phorkos[1], and to Polydektes' bridal brought a grievous gift, and grievous eternally he made for that man his mother's slavery and ravished bed: for this he won the fair-faced Medusa's head, he who was the son of Danaë, and sprung, they say, from a living stream of gold. But the Maiden[2], when that she had delivered her well-beloved from these toils, contrived the manifold music of the flute, that with such instrument she might repeat the shrill lament that reached her from Euryale's[3] ravening jaws. A goddess was the deviser thereof, but having created it for a possession of mortal men, she named that air she played the many-headed[4] air, that speaketh gloriously of folk-stirring games, as it issueth through the thin-beat bronze and the reeds which grow by the Graces' city of goodly dancing-ground in the precinct of Kephisos' nymph, the dancers' faithful witnesses. But if there be any bliss among mortal men, without labour it is not made manifest: it may be that God will accomplish it even to-day, yet the thing ordained is not avoidable: yea, there shall be a time that shall lay hold on a man unaware, and shall give him one thing beyond his hope, but another it shall bestow not yet. [Footnote 1: The three Grey Sisters, whose one common eye Perseus stole, [Greek: daenaiai korai treis kyknomorphoi koinon omm' ektaemenai monodontes, has outh' haelios prosderketai aktisin, outh' hae nukteros maenae pote.] Aesch. Prom. 813. This must mean some kind of twilight, not total darkness, or they could hardly have missed their eye.] [Footnote 2: Athene.] [Footnote 3: One of the Gorgons.] [Footnote 4: A certain [Greek: nomos aulaetikos] was known by this name.] THE NEMEAN ODES. I. FOR CHROMIOS OF AITNA, WINNER IN THE CHARIOT-RACE. * * * * * This Chromios was a son of Agesidamos and brother-in-law of Hieron, and the same man for whom the ninth Nemean was written. He had become a citizen of Hieron's new city of Aitna, and won this victory B.C. 473. This ode seems to have been sung before his house in Ortygia, a peninsula on which part of Syracuse was built, and in which was the fountain Arethusa. The legend of Arethusa and Alpheos explains the epithets of Ortygia with which the ode opens. The greater part of the ode is occupied with the story of Herakles, perhaps because Chromios was of the Hyllean tribe and thus traced his descent to Herakles. * * * * * O resting-place august of Alpheos, Ortygia, scion of famous Syracuse, thou that art a couch of Artemis and a sister of Delos[1], from thee goeth forth a song of sweet words, to set forth the great glory of whirlwind-footed steeds in honour of Aitnaian Zeus. For now the car of Chromios, and Nemea, stir me to yoke to his victorious deeds the melody of a triumphal song. And thus by that man's heaven-sped might I lay my foundations in the praise of gods. In good fortune men speak well of one altogether: and of great games the Muse is fain to tell. Sow then some seed of splendid words in honour of this isle, which Zeus, the lord of Olympus, gave unto Persephone, and bowed his hair toward her in sign that this teeming Sicily he would exalt to be the best land in the fruitful earth, with gorgeous crown of citadels. And the son of Kronos gave unto her a people that wooeth mailed war, a people of the horse and of the spear, and knowing well the touch of Olympia's golden olive-leaves. Thus shoot I arrows many, and without falsehood I have hit the mark. And now at the doors of the hall of a hospitable man I stand to sing a goodly song, where is prepared for me a friendly feast, and not unwonted in that house are frequent stranger-guests: thus hath he found good friends to pour a quenching flood on the mouldering fire of reproach. Each hath his several art: but in straight paths it behoveth him to walk, and to strive hard wherein his nature setteth him. Thus worketh strength in act, and mind in counsels, when one is born to foresee what shall come after. In thy nature, son of Agesidamos, are uses both for this and that. I love not to keep hidden in my house great wealth, but to have joy of that I have, and to have repute of liberality to my friends: for the hopes of much-labouring men seem to me even as mine. Now I to Herakles cleave right willingly, among high deeds of valour rousing an ancient tale; how that when from his mother's womb the son of Zeus escaping the birth-pang came quickly into the glorious light with his twin-brother, not unobserved of Hera did he put on the saffron swaddling bands; but the queen of gods in the kindling of her anger sent presently the two snakes, and they when the doors were opened went right on into the wide bedchamber, hasting to entwine the children, that they should be a prey to their fierce teeth. But the boy lifted up his head upright and was first to essay the fight, seizing with inevitable grasp of both his hands the two serpents by the necks, and time, as he strangled them, forced the breath out of their monstrous forms. But a shock unendurable startled the women about Alkmene's bed, yea and herself too started to her feet from the couch half-robed, and would fain have beaten back the fierce beasts' violence. And quickly ran thronging thither with bronze arms the captains of the sons of Kadmos; and brandishing in his hand his sword bare of its sheath came Amphitryon smitten with sharp pain; for everyone alike is grieved by the ills of his own house, but the heart is soon quit of sorrow that careth but for another's care. And he stood in amazement, and gladness mingled with his fear; for he saw the marvellous courage and might of his son, since the immortals had turned to the contrary the saying of the messengers unto him. Then he called a man that lived nigh to him, a chosen prophet of the most high Zeus, Teiresias the true seer: and he set forth to him and to all his company with what manner of fortune should the child have his lot cast, how many lawless monsters on the dry land, how many on the sea he should destroy. Others moreover, of men the hatefullest, who walked in guile and insolence, he prophesied that he should deliver over unto death: saying that when on Phlegra's plain the gods should meet the giants in battle, beneath the rush of his arrows their bright hair should be soiled with earth; but he in peace himself should obtain a reward of rest from his great toils throughout all time continually within the house of bliss, and after that he had received fair Hebe to be his bride, and made his marriage-feast, should remain beside Zeus, the son of Kronos, well-pleased with his dwelling-place divine. [Footnote 1: I. e. so honoured by Artemis as to rank with her native Delos.] II. FOR TIMODEMOS OF ATHENS, WINNER IN THE PANKRATION. * * * * The date of this ode is unknown. It would seem to have been sung at Athens on the winner's return home. He belonged to the clan of the Timodemidai of Salamis, but to the deme of Acharnai. As to the nature of the Pankration see Dict. Ant. It was a combination of wrestling and boxing, probably with wide license of rules. The best extant illustration of it in sculpture is the famous group of the Pankratiasts (commonly called the Luttatori) in the Tribune of the Uffizi at Florence. * * * * * From the self-same beginning whence the Homerid bards draw out the linkèd story of their song, even a prelude calling upon Zeus--so also Nemeaian Zeus it is in whose far-famous grove this man hath attained unto laying his first foundation of victory in the sacred games. And yet again must the son of Timonoös, if in the way of his fathers' guiding him straight this age hath given him to be a glory of great Athens--yet again and often must he pluck the noble flower of Isthmian games, and in the Pythian conquer. Like is it that not far from the mountain-brood of Pleiads[1] shall be the rising of Orion. Well able verily is Salamis to rear a man of battles: so at Troy was Hektor aware of Aias; and so now, O Timodemos, art thou glorified by thy stubborn prowess in the pankration. Acharnai of old was famous for its men, and as touching games the Timodemidai rank there pre-eminent. Beneath Parnassos' lordly height they won four victories in the games; moreover in the valleys of noble Pelops they have obtained eight crowns at the hands of the men of Corinth, and seven at Nemea; and at home more than may be numbered, at the games of Zeus: To whose glory, O citizens, sing for Timodemos a song of triumph, and bring him in honour home, and chant our prelude tunefully. [Footnote 1: The Pleiads were daughters of Atlas. One victory betokens another to come, as the rising of a constellation betokens the rising of its neighbour.] III. FOR ARISTOKLEIDES OF AIGINA, WINNER IN THE PANKRATION. * * * * * The date of the victory is unknown: the ode seems to have been written long afterwards, probably for some anniversary celebration of the event. * * * * * O divine Muse, our mother, I pray thee come unto this Dorian isle Aigina stranger-thronged, for the sacred festival of the Nemean games[1]: for by the waters of Asopos[2] young men await thee, skilled to sing sweet songs of triumph, and desiring to hear thy call. For various recompense are various acts athirst; but victory in the games above all loveth song, of crowns and valiant deeds the fittest follower. Thereof grant us large store for our skill, and to the king of heaven with its thronging clouds do thou who art his daughter begin a noble lay; and I will marry the same to the voices of singers and to the lyre. A pleasant labour shall be mine in glorifying this land where of old the Myrmidons dwelt, whose ancient meeting-place Aristokleides through thy favour hath not sullied with reproach by any softness in the forceful strife of the pankration; but a healing remedy of wearying blows he hath won at least in this fair victory in the deep-lying plain of Nemea. Now if this son of Aristophanes, being fair of form and achieving deeds as fair, hath thus attained unto the height of manly excellence, no further is it possible for him to sail untraversed sea beyond the pillars of Herakles, which the hero-god set to be wide-famed witnesses of the end of voyaging: for he had overcome enormous wild-beasts on the seas, and tracked the streams through marshes to where he came to the goal that turned him to go back homeward, and there did he mark out the ends of the earth. But to what headland of a strange shore, O my soul, art thou carrying aside the course of my ship? To Aiakos and to his race I charge thee bring the Muse. Herein is perfect justice, to speak the praise of good men: neither are desires for things alien the best for men to cherish: search first at home: a fitting glory for thy sweet song hast thou gotten there in deeds of ancient valour. Glad was King Peleus when he cut him his gigantic spear, he who took Iolkos by his single arm without help of any host, he who held firm in the struggle Thetis the daughter of the sea. Also the city of Laomedon did mighty Telamon sack, when he fought with Iolaos by his side, and again to the war of the Amazons with brazen bows he followed him; neither at any time did man-subduing terror abate the vigour of his soul. By inborn worth doth one prevail mightily; but whoso hath but precepts is a vain man and is fain now for this thing and now again for that, but a sure step planteth he not at any time, but handleth countless enterprises with a purpose that achieveth naught. Now Achilles of the yellow hair, while he dwelt in the house of Philyra[3], being yet a child made mighty deeds his play; and brandishing many a time his little javelin in his hands, swift as the wind he dealt death to wild lions in the fight, and boars he slew also and dragged their heaving bodies to the Centaur, son of Kronos, a six years' child when he began, and thenceforward continually. And Artemis marvelled at him, and brave Athene, when he slew deer without dogs or device of nets; for by fleetness of foot he overcame them. This story also of the men of old have I heard: how within his cavern of stone did deep-counselled Cheiron rear Jason, and next Asklepios, whom he taught to apportion healing drugs with gentle hand: after this it was that he saw the espousals of Nereus' daughter of the shining wrists, and fondling nursed her son, strongest of men, rearing his soul in a life of harmony; until by blowing of sea winds wafted to Troy he should await the war-cry of the Lykians and of the Phrygians and of the Dardanians, cried to the clashing of spears; and joining in battle with the lancer Ethiops hand to hand should fix this purpose in his soul, that their chieftain Memnon, Helenos' fiery cousin, should go back again to his home no more. Thenceforward burneth ever a far-shining light for the house of Aiakos; for thine O Zeus is their blood, even as thine also are the games whereat my song is aimed, by the voice of the young men of the land proclaiming aloud her joy. For victorious Aristokleides hath well earned a cheer, in that he hath brought new renown to this island, and to the Theoroi[4] of the Pythian god, by striving for glory in the games. By trial is the issue manifest, wherein may one be more excellent than his fellows, whether among boys a boy, or among men a man, or in the third age among elders, according to the nature of our mortal race. Four virtues doth a long life bring, and biddeth one fit his thought to the things about him[5]. From such virtues this man is not far. Friend, fare thee well: I send to thee this honey mingled with white milk, and the dew of the mixing hangeth round about it, to be a drink of minstrelsy distilled in breathings of Aiolian flutes; albeit it come full late. Swift is the eagle among the birds of the air, who seizeth presently with his feet his speckled prey[6], seeking it from afar off; but in low places dwell[7] the chattering daws. To thee at least, by the will of throned Kleio, for sake of thy zeal in the games, from Nemea and from Epidauros and from Megara hath a great light shined. [Footnote 1: I. e. commemorating the Nemean games and the victories obtained by citizens of Aigina there.] [Footnote 2: There seems to have been a stream of this name in Aigina, as well as in Boeotia.] [Footnote 3: Cheiron's mother.] [Footnote 4: Sent from Aigina to Apollo's temple at Delphi.] [Footnote 5: This is very obscure: Böckh said that the longer he considered it the more obscure it became to him. Donaldson 'is inclined to think that Pindar is speaking with reference to the Pythagorean division of virtue into four species, and that he assigns one virtue to each of the four ages of human life (on the same principle as that which Shakespeare has followed in his description of the seven ages) namely temperance as the virtue of youth, courage of early manhood, justice of mature age, and prudence of old age.'] [Footnote 6: Snakes.] [Footnote 7: Or 'on vile things feed.'] IV. FOR TIMASARCHOS OF AIGINA, WINNER IN THE BOYS' WRESTLING-MATCH. * * * * * The date of this ode is unknown: we can only infer, from the way in which Athens is spoken of, that it was written before the war between that state and Aigina. It seems to have been sung on the winner's return home, very likely in a procession through the streets. * * * * * Best of physicians for a man's accomplished toil is festive joy: and the touch of songs, wise daughters of the Muses, hath power of comforting. Less doth warm water avail to bathe limbs for soothing than words of praise married to the music of the lyre. For speech is longer-lived than act, whensoever by favour of the Graces the tongue hath drawn it forth out of the depth of the heart. Be it the prelude of my hymn to dedicate it to Zeus the son of Kronos, and to Nemea, and to the wrestling of Timasarchos; and may it have welcome in the Aiakids' stronghold of goodly towers, the common light of all, which aideth the stranger with justice[1]. Now if thy sire Timokritos were still cheered by the quickening sun, full oft with music manifold of the lute would he have bent him unto this my theme, and sounded a hymn for the fair triumphs that have brought thee a chain of wreaths, even from the games of the Kleonaians[2] now, and erewhile from the bright and famous Athens, and at seven-gated Thebes: for beside Amphitryon's splendid sepulchre the sons of Kadmos nothing loth sprinkled the winner with flowers for Aigina's sake. For thither as a friend to friends he came, though to a city not his own, and abode in the fortunate hall of Herakles. With Herakles on a time did mighty Telamon destroy the city of Troy, and the Meropes, and the man of war, the great and terrible Alkyoneus, yet not until by hurling of stones he had subdued twelve four-horse chariots, and horse-taming heroes twice so many thereupon. Unversed in battles must he be who understandeth not this tale, for whoso will do aught is like to suffer also. But to tell the tale at length custom forbiddeth me, and the constraining hours: and a love-spell draweth me to put forth my hand to the feast of the new moon. Albeit the deep brine of the sea hold thee even to thy waist, nevertheless bear bravely up against conspirings; assuredly shall we shine forth above our enemies as we sail home in open day; while another man of envious eye turneth about in darkness an empty purpose that falleth to the ground. For me I know certainly that whatsoever excellence Fate that is our lord hath given me, time creeping onward will bring to its ordained fulfilment. Weave then this woof too presently, sweet my lute, a strain with Lydian harmony that shall be dear to Oinone[3], and to Cyprus, where Teukros, son of Telamon, holdeth rule in a new land. But Aias hath the Salamis of his father: and in the Euxine Sea Achilles hath a shining isle, and at Phthia hath Thetis power, and Neoptolemos in wide Epeiros, where cattle-pasturing headlands, from Dodona onwards, slope forward to the Ionian Sea. And beside the foot of Pelion did Peleus set his face against Iolkos, and deliver it over to be a servant to the Haimones, after that he had proved the guileful counsels of Hippolyte, Akastos' wife. For by (stealing) his sword of cunning workmanship the son[4] of Pelias prepared death for him in an ambush; but Cheiron delivered him out of his hand; and thus he fulfilled the destiny ordained him of Zeus, and having escaped the violence of the fire and the dauntless lion's claws exceeding keen, and the bitings of teeth most terrible[5], he espoused one of the Nereids high-enthroned, and beheld the circle of fair seats whereon were sitting the kings of heaven and of the sea, as they revealed unto him their gifts, and the kingdom that should be unto him and unto his seed. Nightward[6] beyond Gadeira none may pass. Turn back again to the mainland of Europe the tackle of our ship; for it were impossible for me to go through unto the end all the tale of the sons of Aiakos. For the Theandrid clan came I a ready herald of games that make men's limbs wax strong, to Olympia and to Isthmos, and to Nemea according to my promise, where having put themselves to the proof they are returning homeward, not without wreaths whose fruitage is renown; and there report hath told us, O Timasarchos, that thy clan's name is preeminent in songs of victory. Or if further for thy mother's brother Kallikles thou biddest me set up a pillar whiter than Parian stone, lo as the refining of gold showeth forth all his splendours, so doth a song that singeth a man's rare deeds make him as the peer of kings. Let Kallikles in his dwelling beside Acheron find in my tongue a minstrel of his praise, for that at the games[7] of the deep-voiced wielder of the trident his brows were green with parsley of Corinth; of him, boy, did Euphänes, thy aged grandsire, rejoice erewhile to sing. Each hath his own age-fellow; and what each hath seen for himself that may he hope to set forth best of all. How for Melesias'[8] praise must such an one grapple in the strife, bending the words beneath his grasp, yielding not his ground as he wrestleth in speech, of gentle temper toward the good, but to the froward a stern adversary. [Footnote 1: Aigina. See Ol viii. 21; Pyth. viii. 22.] [Footnote 2: Kleonai was very near Nemea, and the Kleonaians were for a long time managers of the Nemean games.] [Footnote 3: Seemingly the same personage as Aigina.] [Footnote 4: Akastos.] [Footnote 5: Thetis, resisting her wooer Peleus, changed herself into fire and wild beasts. See Dict. Myth.] [Footnote 6: Westward.] [Footnote 7: The Isthmian games.] [Footnote 8: Timasarchos' trainer in wrestling. He is here praised in terms borrowed from the wrestling-school.] V. FOR PYTHEAS OF AIGINA, WINNER IN THE BOYS' PANKRATION. * * * * * The date of this ode is uncertain. The winner's brother Phylakidas, gained the two victories, also in the pankration, which are celebrated in the fourth and fifth Isthmians. * * * * * No statuary I, that I should fashion images to rest idly on their pedestals, nay but by every trading-ship and plying boat forth from Aigina fare, sweet song of mine, and bear abroad the news, how that Lampon's son, the strong-limbed Pytheas, hath won at Nemea the pankratiast's crown, while on his cheeks he showeth not as yet the vine-bloom's mother, mellowing midsummer. So to the warrior heroes sprung from Kronos and Zeus and from the golden nymphs, even to the Aiakidai, hath he done honour, and to the mother-city, a friendly field to strangers. That she should have issue of goodly men and should be famous in her ships, this prayed they of old, standing beside the altar of their grandsire, Zeus Hellenios, and together stretched forth their hands toward heaven, even the glorious sons of Endais[1] and the royal strength of Phokos, the goddess-born, whom on the sea-beach Psamatheia[2] bare. Of their deed portentous and unjustly dared I am loth to tell, and how they left that famous isle, and of the fate that drove the valiant heroes from Oinone. I will make pause: not for every perfect truth is it best that it discover its face: silence is oft man's wisest thought. But if the praise of good hap or of strength of hand or of steel-clad war be my resolve, let one mark me a line for a long leap hence: in my knees I have a nimble spring: even beyond the sea the eagles wing their way. With goodwill too for the Aiakidai in Pelion sang the Muses' choir most fair, and in the midst Apollo playing with golden quill upon his seven-toned lyre led them in ever-changing strains. They first of all from Zeus beginning sang of holy Thetis and of Peleus, and how that Kretheus' dainty daughter Hippolyte would fain have caught him by her wile, and persuaded his friend the king of the Magnetes her husband by counsels of deceit, for she forged a lying tale thereto devised, how that he essayed to go in unto her in Akastos' bridal bed. But the truth was wholly contrary thereto, for often and with all her soul she had besought him with beguiling speech; but her bold words vexed his spirit; and forthwith he refused the bride, fearing the wrath of the Father who guardeth host and guest. And he, the cloud-compelling Zeus in heaven, the immortal's king, was aware thereof, and he promised him that with all speed he would find him a sea-bride from among the Nereids of golden distaffs, having persuaded thereto Poseidon, their kinsman by his marriage, who from Aigai to the famous Dorian Isthmus cometh oftentimes, where happy troops with the reed-flute's noise welcome the god, and in bold strength of limb men strive. The fate that is born with a man is arbiter of all his acts. Thou, Euthymenes[3], at Aigina falling into the goddess victory's arms didst win thee hymns of subtle strain: yea and now too to thee, O Pytheas, who art his kinsman of the same stock and followest in his footsteps, doth thy mother's brother honour. Nemea is favourable unto him, and the month[4] of his country that Apollo loveth: the youth that came to strive with him he overcame, both at home and by Nisos' hill of pleasant glades[5]. I have joy that the whole state striveth for glory. Know that through Menander's[6] aid thou hast attained unto sweet recompense of toils. And meet it is that from Athens a fashioner of athletes come. But if thou comest to Themistios[7], to sing of him, away with chill reserve, shout aloud, hoist to the top-yard of the mast the sail, and tell how in the boxing and the pankration at Epidauros he won a double prize of valour, and to the portals of Aiakos bare fresh wreaths of flowers, led by the Graces of the yellow hair. [Footnote 1: Wife of Aiakos and mother of Peleus and Telamon. They killed Phokos.] [Footnote 2: A sea-nymph, mother of Phokos by Aiakos.] [Footnote 3: Maternal uncle of Pytheas.] [Footnote 4: The month called in Aigina Delphinios (April-May) when the Nemean games took place.] [Footnote 5: At Megara] [Footnote 6: Pytheas' trainer, an Athenian.] [Footnote 7: Maternal grandfather of Pytheas.] VI. FOR ALKIMIDAS OF AIGINA, WINNER IN THE BOYS' WRESTLING-MATCH. * * * * * The date of this ode is unknown, but from the mention of the trainer Melesias it has been inferred that it was among Pindar's later works. It would seem to have been sung at Aigina, perhaps at some feast of the Bassid clan given in honour of the victory. * * * * * One race there is of men and one of gods, but from one mother[1] draw we both our breath, yet is the strength of us diverse altogether, for the race of man is as nought, but the brazen heaven abideth, a habitation steadfast unto everlasting. Yet withal have we somewhat in us like unto the immortals' bodily shape or mighty mind, albeit we know not what course hath Destiny marked out for us to run, neither in the daytime, neither in the night. And now doth Alkimidas give proof that it is with his kindred as with fruitful fields: for they in turn now yield to man his yearly bread upon the plains, and now again they pause, and gather back their strength[2]. From the pleasant meeting-places of Nemea hath the athlete boy come back, who following the ordinance[3] of Zeus hath now approved him no baffled hunter in his wrestling-quest, and hath guided his feet by the foot-prints of Praxidamas, his father father, of whose blood he sprang. For Praxidamas also by his Olympian victory first won olive-wreath from Alpheos for the Aiakidai, and five times been crowned at Isthmos, and at Nemea thrice, he took away thereby the obscurity of Sokleides, who was the eldest of the sons of Agesimachos[4]. For these three-warriors attained unto the topmost height of prowess, of all who essayed the games, and by grace of God to no other house hath the boxing-match given keeping of so many crowns in this inmost place of all Hellas. I deem that though my speech be of high sound I yet shall hit the mark, as it were an archer shooting from a bow. Come, Muse, direct thou upon this house a gale of glorious song: for after that men are vanished away, the minstrel's story taketh up their noble acts, whereof is no lack to the Bassid clan; old in story is the race and they carry cargo of home-made renown, able to deliver into the Muses' husbandmen rich matter of song in honour of their lofty deeds. For at sacred Pytho in like wise did a scion of the same stock overcome, with the thong of the boxer bound about his hand, even Kallias in whom were well-pleased the children of Leto of the golden distaff, and beside Kastaly in the evening his name burnt bright, when the glad sounds of the Graces rose. Also the Bridge[5] of the untiring sea did honour unto Kreontidas at the triennial sacrifice of bulls by the neighbour states in the holy place of Poseidon; and once did the herb[6] of the lion shadow his brows for a victory won beneath the shadeless primal hills of Phlious. Wide avenues of glory are there on every side for chroniclers to draw nigh to do honour unto this isle: for supreme occasion have the children of Aiakos given them by the showing forth of mighty feats. Over land and beyond the sea is their name flown forth from afar: even unto the Ethiopians it sprang forth, for that Memnon came not home: for bitter was the battle that Achilles made against him, having descended from his chariot upon the earth, what time by his fierce spear's point he slew the son of the bright Morn. And herein found they of old time a way wherein to drive their car: and I too follow with my burden of song: and all men's minds, they say, are stirred the most by whatsoever wave at the instant rolleth nearest to the mainsheet of the ship. On willing shoulders bear I this double load, and am come a messenger to proclaim this honour won in the games that men call holy to be the five-and-twentieth that the noble house of Alkimidas hath shown forth: yet were two wreaths in the Olympian games beside the precinct of Kronion denied to thee, boy, and to Polytimidas, by the fall of the lot[7]. Peer of the dolphin hurrying through the brine--such would I call Melesias[8] by whom thy hands and strength were guided, as a chariot by the charioteer. [Footnote 1: Earth.] [Footnote 2: The ancients understood little of the rotation of crops, and often let their fields lie fallow alternate years.] [Footnote 3: Of the celebrity of alternate generations.] [Footnote 4: The order of descent was: Agesimachos, Sokleides, Praxidamas, Theon, Alkimidas. Of these the first, third, and fifth, were distinguished athletes, the others not.] [Footnote 5: The Isthmos.] [Footnote 6: The parsley which grew near the lair of the Nemean lion.] [Footnote 7: This can hardly mean, as some commentators take it, the drawing of any particular tie; for if better men than any given competitor were entered for the match, his defeat would be inevitable whether they were encountered sooner or later.] [Footnote 8: Alkimidas' trainer.] VII. FOR SOGENES OF AIGINA, WINNER IN THE BOYS' PENTATHLON. * * * * * This victory was probably won B.C. 462. The ode would seem to be full of allusions, which however we cannot with any certainty explain. It is partly occupied with the celebration of Achilles' son Neoptolemos, and Pindar seems anxious to repel the charge of having on some occasion depreciated that hero. * * * * * O Eileithuia that sittest beside the deep-counselling Moirai, child of the mighty Hera, thou who bringest babes to the birth, hearken unto us! Without thee looked we never on the light or on the darkness of the night, nor came ever unto her who is thy sister, even Hebe of the comely limbs. But we receive our breath not all for a like life; each to his several lot is kept apart by the yoke of fate. Now by thy grace hath Sogenes the son of Thearion been foremost in prowess, and his glory is sung aloud among the winners of the five-game prize. For he is a dweller in a city that loveth song, even this city of the spear-clashing sons of Aiakos, and exceeding fain are they to cherish a spirit apt for the strife of the games. If a man have good hap in his attempt, he throweth into the Muses' stream sweet cause of song: for even deeds of might for lack of song fall into deep darkness, and in but one way have we knowledge of a mirror for fair deeds, if by the grace of Mnemosyne of the shining fillet they attain unto a recompense of toils by the sound of voice and verse. Wise shipmates know that the wind which tarrieth shall come on the third day, nor throw away their goods through greed of more[1]: the rich and the poor alike fare on their way to death. Now I have suspicion that the fame of Odysseus is become greater than his toils, through the sweet lays that Homer sang; for over the feigning of his winged craft something of majesty abideth, and the excellence of his skill persuadeth us to his fables unaware. Blind hearts have the general folk of men; for could they have discovered the truth, never would stalwart Aias in anger for the arms have struck through his midriff the sharp sword--even he who after Achilles was best in battle of all men whom, to win back his bride for fair-haired Menelaos, the fair breeze of straight-blowing Zephyros wafted in swift ships toward Ilos' town. But to all men equally cometh the wave of death, and falleth on the fameless and the famed: howbeit honour ariseth for them whose fair story God increaseth to befriend them even when dead, whoso have journeyed to the mighty centre-stone of wide-bosomed earth. There now beneath the floor of Pytho lieth Neoptolemos, dying there when he had sacked the city of Priam where the Danaoi toiled with him. He sailing thence missed Skyros, and they wandered till they came to Ephyra, and in Molossia he was king for a little while: howbeit his race held this state[2] continually. Then was he gone to the god's home[3], carrying an offering of the chief spoils from Troy: and there in quarrel concerning meats a man smote him with a knife. Thereat were the Delphian entertainers of strangers grieved exceedingly: nevertheless he but paid a debt to destiny: for it was needful that in that most ancient grove someone of the lords the sons of Aiakos should abide within thenceforward, beside the goodly walls of the god's house, and that when with plenteous sacrifice the processions do honour to the heroes, he should keep watch that fair right be done. Three words shall be enough: when he presideth over the games there is no lie found in his testimony thereof. O thou Aigina, of thy children that are of Zeus I have good courage to proclaim that as of inheritance they claim the path to glory, through splendour of their valorous deeds: howbeit in every work a rest is sweet, yea even of honey cometh surfeit and of the lovely flowers of Love. Now each of us is in his nature diverse, and several are the lots of life we draw, one this and one another: but that one man receive perfect bliss, this is impossible to men. I cannot find to tell of any to whom Fate hath given this award abidingly. To thee, Thearion[4], she giveth fair measure of bliss, first daring in goodly deeds, and then understanding and sound mind. Thy friend am I, and I will keep far from the man I love the secret slander, and bring nigh unto him praise and true glory, as it were streams of water: for meet is such recompense for the good. If there be near me now a man of the Achaians who dwelleth far up the Ionian sea, he shall not upbraid me: I have faith in my proxeny[5]: and among the folk of my own land I look forth with clear gaze, having done naught immoderate, and having put away all violence from before my feet. So let the life that remaineth unto me run cheerly on. He who knoweth shall say if indeed I come with slanderous speech upon my lips to strike a jarring note. To thee, Sogenes of the house of the sons of Euxenos, I swear that without overstepping the bound I have sent forth the swift speech of my tongue as it were a bronze-headed javelin, such as saveth from the wrestling the strong neck sweatless yet, or ever the limbs be plunged in the sun's fire[6]. If toil there were, delight more abundant followeth after. Let be; if somewhat over far I soared when I cried aloud, yet am I not froward, that I should deny his glory unto one that conquereth. The weaving of wreaths is an easy thing: tarry a little: behold the Muse fasteneth together gold and white ivory, and a lily flower withal, that she hath plucked from beneath the deep sea's dew[7]. Of Zeus be mindful when thou tellest of Nemea, and guide the multitudinous voices of our song with a quiet mind: meet is it that with gentle voice we celebrate in this land the king of gods: for they tell how he begat Aiakos of a mortal mother, to be for his own fortunate land a ruler of cities, and for thee, Herakles, a loving friend and brother. And if man receiveth aught from man, then may we say that neighbour is to neighbour a joy worth all else, if he loveth him with steadfast soul: now if even a god will consent hereto, then in such bond with thee, O conqueror of the giants[8], is Sogenes fain to dwell happily in the well-built sacred street of his ancestors, cherishing a mind of tenderness toward his sire: for as when four horses are yoked together in a car, so hath he his house in the midst of thy holy places, and goeth in unto them both on the right hand and on the left[9]. O blessed spirit, thine is it to win hereto the husband of Hera, and the grey-eyed maid[10]; and thou art able to give to mortals strength ever and again against baffling perplexities. Make thou to cleave to them[11] a life of steadfast strength, and wind the bliss thereof amid both youth and a serene old age, and may their children's children possess continually the honours that they now have, and greater in the time to come. Never shall my heart confess that I have outraged Neoptolemos with irreclaimable words. But thrice and four times to tell over the same tale is emptiness in the end thereof, even as he of the proverb that babbleth among children how that Korinthos was the son of Zeus[12]. [Footnote 1: Retaining the reading [Greek: hupo kerdei balon]. I conjecture it to mean, 'do not in their eagerness for trade choose an unfavourable and dangerous time for their voyage, but wait for the [Greek: kairos], the right opportunity.'] [Footnote 2: The kingdom of Epeiros. Pyrrhos, the invader of Italy, called himself a descendant of Neoptolemos (who was also called Pyrrhos).] [Footnote 3: Delphi.] [Footnote 4: Father of Sogenes.] [Footnote 5: Pindar would seem to have been [Greek: proxenos] at Thebes for some state of Epeiros, to which fact he appeals as a proof that he stood well with the Epirot descendants of Neoptolemos.] [Footnote 6: The Pentathlon was composed of five contests, namely, the jump, throwing the disk, throwing the javelin, the foot-race, and wrestling. The prize was for the best man in three contests out of the five. These came in the order in which they are enumerated above; thus if the best javelin-thrower had already won two of the other matches he would not be challenged to wrestle, as the prize of the Pentathlon would be already his. Very probably this had been the case with Sogenes, so that it would naturally occur to Pindar thus allusively to expand his not unfrequent comparison of his own art of poetry to that of a javelin-thrower or archer. On the Pentathlon may be consulted an article by Professor Percy Gardner in the _Journal of Hellenic Studies_ for October, 1880; and also Smith's _Dictionary of Antiquities_ (revised edition).] [Footnote 7: Coral.] [Footnote 8: Herakles.] [Footnote 9: Thearion's house seems to have had a shrine, or at least some sacred ground, of Herakles at each side of it, so that he might regard that hero as his neighbour.] [Footnote 10: Athene.] [Footnote 11: Thearion and Sogenes.] [Footnote 12: A proverbial equivalent for vain and wearisome repetition.] VIII. FOR DEINIS OF AIGINA, WINNER IN THE SHORT FOOT-RACE. * * * * * The date of this ode is unknown. It was probably sung before the shrine of Aiakos at Aigina. * * * * * Spirit of beautiful youth, thou herald of Aphrodite's loves ambrosial, who on the eyes of girl or boy alighting, with tenderly constraining hands dost handle one, but other otherwise--it is enough if one not swerving from the true aim, in his every act prevail to attain to the fulfilment of his worthier loves. Such loves were they that waited on the bridal-bed of Zeus and Aigina, and were dispensers unto them of the Cyprian's[1] gifts: and thence sprang there a son[2] to be king of Oinone[3], in might of hand and in counsel excellent, and many a time did many pray that they might look on him: for the chosen among the heroes that dwelt around him were fain of their own will to submit them unto his sovereignty, both whoso in rocky Athens were leaders of the host, and at Sparta the children of Pelops. So Aiakos' holy knees clasp I a suppliant for a city well-beloved and for these citizens, and I bear a Lydian crown wrought cunningly with the sound of song, a glory out of Nemea for two races run, of Deinis and of his father Meges. Behold, the happiness that is planted with the favour of God is most abiding among men; even such as once in the isle of Cyprus loaded Kinyras with riches. With poised feet I stand, and take breath for a little ere I speak. For much and in many ways hath been said ere now; and the contriving of new things and putting them to the touchstone to be tried is perilous altogether. In words find the envious their dainties: envy fasteneth ever on the good, and careth not to strive against the base. Yea thus did envy slay the son of Telamon, thrusting him through with his own sword. Verily if one be of stout heart but without gift of speech, such an one is a prey unto forgetfulness in a bitter strife, and to the shiftiness of lies is proffered the prize of the greatest. For in the secret giving of their votes the Danaoi courted Odysseus, and thus did Aias, robbed of the golden arms, wrestle in the grip of a bloody death. Yet diverse verily were the strokes wherewith those twain had cloven the warm flesh of the foe, what time they bare up the war against the hedge of spears, whether about Achilles newly slain, or in whatsoever labours else of those wide-ruining days. Thus was there even of old the treacherous speech of hate, that walketh with the subtleties of tales, intent on guile, slander that breedeth ill: so doth it violence on the thing that shineth, and uplifteth the rottenness of dim men's fame. Never in me be this mind, O our father Zeus, but to the paths of simplicity let me cleave throughout my life, that being dead I may set upon my children a name that shall be of no ill report. For gold some pray, and some for limitless lands: mine be it amid my townsfolk's love to shroud my limbs in earth, still honouring where honour is due, and sowing rebuke on the evildoers. Thus groweth virtue greater, uplifted of the wise and just, as when a tree watered by fresh dew shooteth toward the moist air on high. Manifold are the uses of friends, chiefest truly amid the press of toil, yet doth joy also desire to behold his own assurance.[4] Ah Meges, to bring back thy spirit to earth is to me impossible, and of empty hopes the end is naught. Yet for thy house and the clan of Chariadai I can upraise a lofty column of song in honour of these two pairs of fortunate feet[5]. I have joy to utter praise meet for the act, for by such charms of song doth a man make even labour a painless thing. Yet surely was there a Komos-song even of old time, yea before strife began between Adrastos and the sons of Kadmos[6]. [Footnote 1: Aphrodite.] [Footnote 2: Aiakos.] [Footnote 3: Aigina.] [Footnote 4: Through celebration in song, which a friendly poet can give.] [Footnote 5: Of Meges and Deinis.] [Footnote 6: The invention of encomiastic hymns was attributed by legend to the time of the expedition of Adrastos and the other six against Thebes.] IX. FOR CHROMIOS OF AITNA, WINNER IN THE CHARIOT-RACE. * * * * * This ode is placed by usage among the Nemeans, but the victory was not won at Nemea, but at Sikyon, in the local games called Pythian. Its date is unknown: it must have been after the founding of Aitna, B.C. 476. Probably the ode was sung in a procession at Aitna, some length of time after the victory. The Chromios is the Chromios of the first Nemean, Hieron's brother-in-law. * * * * * From Apollo at Sikyon will we lead our triumph forth, ye Muses, unto the new-made city of Aitna, where doors are opened wide to greet the invading guests, even to the fortunate house of Chromios. Come claim for him a song of sweetness: for he goeth up into the chariot of his victory, and biddeth us sing aloud to the mother[1] and her twin children who keep watch over high Pytho in fellowship. Now there is a saying among men, that one hide not in silence on the ground a good deed done: and meet for such brave tales is divine song. Therefore will we arouse the pealing lyre and rouse the flute, in honour of the very crown of all contests of steeds, which Adrastos in honour of Phoibos ordained beside Asopos' stream. Whereof when I make mention with voiceful honour I will celebrate withal the Hero[2], who then being king in that place did by the founding of a new feast and struggles of the strength of men and of carven cars make his city known abroad and glorious. For he was flying before Amphiaraos of bold counsels, and before a dangerous civil strife, from Argos and his father's house: for no longer were the sons of Talaos lords therein, for a sedition had thrust them forth. The stronger man endeth the contention that hath been before. But when they had given to the son of Oikleus for his wife, as one should give surety of an oath, Eriphyle, the slayer of her husband, they became the greatest of the fair-haired Danaoi. So thereafter led they on a time against seven-gated Thebes a host of men, but not by a road of signs propitious: nor would the son of Kronos speed them on their mad journey from their homes, but by the quivering lightnings he darted forth he bade them hold from their road[3]. But unto a revealed calamity hasted that company to go forth with bronze shields and the gear of steeds; and on the banks of Ismenos, stayed from their sweet return, they fed the white smoke with their bodies. For seven pyres devoured the young men's limbs, but for Amphiaraos Zeus by almighty thunderbolt clave the deep-breasted earth, and buried him with his steeds, or ever the warrior's soul should be shamed by the smiting of him in the back by Periklymenos' spear. For when the terror cometh of heaven, then flee even the sons of gods. If it be possible, O son of Kronos, this trial of valour against Phenician spears[4] for life or death I would fain defer unto the utmost: and I beg of thee to grant unto the sons of the men of Aitna for long time a portion in good laws, and to make their people to dwell among glories that the citizens have won. Men are there here that love steeds and that have souls above desire of wealth. Hard of credence is the word I have spoken; for the spirit of honour which bringeth glory is stolen secretly by lust of gain. Hadst thou been shield-bearer to Chromios among foot and horse and in fightings of ships, thou hadst judged concerning his jeopardy in the fierce fray, for in war did that divine honour stir his warrior-soul to ward off havoc of Enyalios. Few are there who may prevail by strength or valour to contrive a turning of the cloud of imminent death against the ranks of the enemy. Howbeit they tell how Hektor's glory flowered beside Skamander's streams, and thus on the steep cliffs of Heloros' banks[5], where men call the ford the Fountain of Ares, hath this light shined for Agesidamos' son in the beginning of his praise. And other deeds on other days will I declare, many done amid the dust on the dry land, and yet others on the neighbouring sea. Now out of toils which in youth have been done with righteousness there ripeneth toward old age a day of calm. Let Chromios know that he hath from the gods a lot of wondrous bliss. For if one together with much wealth have won him glorious renown, it is impossible that a mortal's feet touch any further mountain-top. The banquet loveth peace, and by a gentle song a victory flourisheth afresh, and beside the bowl the singer's voice waxeth brave. Let one mix it now, that sweet proclaimer of the triumphal song, and in silver goblets hand the grapes' potent child, even the goblets which for Chromios his mares erst won, and sent to him from sacred Sikyon, entwined with well-earned crowns of Leto's son. Now claim I, father Zeus, to have well sung this excellent deed by aid of the Charites, and beyond many to do honour to this victory by my words, for the javelin that I throw falleth nearest to the Muses' mark. [Footnote 1: Leto.] [Footnote 2: Adrastos.] [Footnote 3: Lightning and thunder were often an encouraging sign (there is an instance in the fourth Pythian), but this would depend on the manner of them.] [Footnote 4: War with the Carthaginians, who were still threatening the Hellenic colonists in Sicily, in spite of their recent defeat.] [Footnote 5: About B.C. 492 a battle was fought on the Heloros between the Syracusans and the army of Hippokrates, tyrant of Gela.] X. FOR THEAIOS OF ARGOS, WINNER IN THE WRESTLING-MATCH. * * * * * This ode, like the last, is improperly called Nemean. It commemorates a victory won at the feast of the Hekatombaia at Argos. The date is unknown. * * * * * The city of Danaos and of his fifty bright-throned daughters, Argos the home of Hera, meet abode of gods, sing Graces! for by excellencies innumerable it is made glorious in the deeds of valiant men. Long is the tale of Perseus[1], that telleth of the Gorgon Medusa: many are the cities in Egypt founded by the hands of Epaphos[2]: neither went Hypermnestra's choice astray when she kept sheathed her solitary sword[3]. Also their Diomedes did the grey-eyed goddess make incorruptible and a god: and at Thebes, the earth blasted by the bolts of Zeus received within her the prophet[4], the son of Oikleus, the storm-cloud of war. Moreover in women of beautiful hair doth the land excel. Thereto in days of old Zeus testified, when he followed after Alkmene and after Danaë. And in the father of Adrastos and in Lynkeus did Argos mingle ripe wisdom with upright justice: and she reared the warrior Amphitryon. Now he came to the height of honour in his descendants, for in bronze armour he slew the Teleboai, and in his likeness the king of the immortals entered his hall, bearing the seed of fearless Herakles, whose bride in Olympos is Hebe, who by the side of her mother, the queen of marriage, walketh of all divinities most fair. My tongue would fail to tell in full the honours wherein the sacred Argive land hath part: also the distaste[5] of men is ill to meet. Yet wake the well-strung lyre, and take thought of wrestlings; a strife for the bronze shield stirreth the folk to sacrifice of oxen unto Hera and to the issue of games, wherein the son of Oulias, Theaios, having overcome twice, hath obtained forgetfulness of the toils he lightly bore. Also on a time at Pytho he was first of the Hellenic host, and won crowns at Isthmos and at Nemea, led thither by fair hap, and gave work for the Muses' plough by thrice winning at the Gates[6] of the Sea and thrice on the famous plains in the pastures of Adrastos' home[7]. Of that he longeth for, O Father Zeus, his mouth is silent, with thee are the issues of deeds: but with a spirit strong to labour and of a good courage he prayeth thy grace. Both Theaios, and whosoever struggleth in the perfect consummation of all games, know this, even the supremacy of the ordinance of Herakles that is holden at Pisa[8]: yet sweet preluding strains are those that twice have welcomed his triumph at the festival of the Athenians: and in earthenware baked in the fire, within the closure of figured urns, there came among the goodly folk of Hera[9] the prize of the olive fruit[10]. On the renowned race of thy mother's sires there waiteth glory of games by favour of the Graces and the sons of Tyndareus together. Were I kinsman of Thrasyklos and Antias I would claim at Argos not to hide mine eyes. For with how many victories hath this horse-breeding city of Proitos flourished! even in the Corinthian corner and from the men of Kleonai[11] four times, and from Sikyon they came laden with silver, even goblets for wine, and out of Pellene clad in soft woof of wool[12]. But to tell over the multitude of their prizes of bronze is a thing impossible--to count them longer leisure were needed--which Kleitor and Tegea and the Achaians' high-set cities and the Lykaion set for a prize by the race-course of Zeus for the conquerors by strength of hands or feet. And since Kastor and his brother Polydeukes came to be the guests of Pamphaes[13], no marvel is it that to be good athletes should be inborn in the race. For they[14] it is who being guardians of the wide plains of Sparta with Hermes and Herakles mete out fair hap in games, and to righteous men they have great regard. Faithful is the race of gods. Now, changing climes alternately, they dwell one day with their dear father Zeus, and the next in the secret places under the earth, within the valleys of Therapnai, fulfilling equal fate: because on this wise chose Polydeukes to live his life rather than to be altogether god and abide continually in heaven, when that Kastor had fallen in the fight. Him did Idas, wroth for his oxen, smite with a bronze spearhead, when from his watch upon Taÿgetos Lynkeus had seen them sitting within a hollow oak; for he of all men walking the earth had keenest eyes. So with swift feet they were straightway come to the place, and compassed speedily a dreadful deed[15]. But terrible also was the vengeance which by the devising of Zeus those sons[16] of Aphareus suffered: for on the instant came Leto's son[17] in chase of them: and they stood up against him hard by the sepulchre of their father. Thence wrenched they a carved headstone that was set to glorify the dead, and they hurled it at the breast of Polydeukes. But they crushed him not, neither made him give back, but rushing onward with fierce spear he drave the bronze head into Lynkeus' side. And against Idas Zeus hurled a thunderbolt of consuming fire. So were those brothers in one flame[18] burnt unbefriended: for a strife with the stronger is grievous for men to mix in. Then quickly came back the son of Tyndareus[19] to his great brother, and found him not quite dead, but the death-gasp rattled in his throat. Then Polydeukes wept hot tears, and groaned, and lifted up his voice, and cried: 'Father Kronion--ah! what shall make an end of woes? Bid me, me also, O king, to die with him. The glory is departed from a man bereaved of friends. Few are they who in a time of trouble are faithful in companionship of toil.' Thus said he, and Zeus came, and stood before his face, and spake these words: 'Thou art my son: but thy brother afterward was by mortal seed begotten in thy mother of the hero that was her husband. But nevertheless, behold I give thee choice of these two lots: if, shunning death and hateful old age, thou desirest for thyself to dwell in Olympus with Athene and with Ares of the shadowing spear, this lot is thine to take: but if in thy brother's cause thou art so hot, and art resolved in all to have equal share with him, then half thy time thou shalt be alive beneath the earth, and half in the golden house of heaven.' Thus spake his father, and Polydeukes doubted not which counsel he should choose. So Zeus unsealed the eye, and presently the tongue also, of Kastor of the brazen mail. [Footnote 1: Son of the Argive Danaë.] [Footnote 2: Son of the Argive Io.] [Footnote 3: Or perhaps: 'Neither were Hypermnestra's story misplaced here, how she, &c.'] [Footnote 4: Amphiaraos.] [Footnote 5: Disgust at hearing anything profusely praised.] [Footnote 6: At Corinth, in the Isthmian games.] [Footnote 7: Nemea.] [Footnote 8: The Olympic games.] [Footnote 9: The Argives.] [Footnote 10: The Athenian prize seems to have been an olive-bough in a vase of burnt clay.] [Footnote 11: Near Nemea.] [Footnote 12: I. e. with prizes of cloaks.] [Footnote 13: An ancestor of Theaios. Probably he had given Theoxenia. See Ol. III.] [Footnote 14: Kastor and Polydeukes.] [Footnote 15: They slew Kastor.] [Footnote 16: Idas and Lynkeus.] [Footnote 17: Polydeukes.] [Footnote 18: Either of the thunderbolt, or of a funeral-pile.] [Footnote 19: Both brothers were nominally sons of Tyndareus, but really only Kastor was: Polydeukes was a son of Zeus.] XI. FOR ARISTAGORAS OF TENEDOS, ON HIS ELECTION TO THE PRESIDENCY OF THE SENATE. * * * * * This ode again was written neither for a Nemean nor for any other athletic victory, but for the [Greek: eisitaeria] or initiatory ceremonies at the election of a new [Greek: prytanis] of Tenedos. The Prytanis would seem to have been a kind of President of the Senate. The date is unknown. * * * * * Daughter of Rhea, who hast in thy keeping the city halls[1], O Hestia! sister of highest Zeus and of Hera sharer of his throne, with good-will welcome Aristagoras to thy sanctuary, with good-will also his fellows[2] who draw nigh to thy glorious sceptre, for they in paying honour unto thee keep Tenedos in her place erect, by drink-offerings glorifying thee many times before the other gods, and many times by the savour of burnt sacrifice; and the sound of their lutes is loud, and of their songs: and at their tables never-failing are celebrated the rites of Zeus, the stranger's friend. So with fair fame and unvexed heart may Aristagoras fulfil his twelve-month term. Blessed among men I count his father Arkesilas, and himself for his splendid body and his heritage of a dauntless heart. But if any man shall possess wealth, and withal surpass his fellows in comely form, and in games have shown his strength to be the best, let such an one remember that his raiment is upon mortal limbs, and that the earth shall be his vesture at the end. Yet in good words of his fellow-citizens is it meet that his praise be told, and that we make his name comely with notes of honey-sounding song. Now among the neighbouring peoples sixteen illustrious victories have crowned Aristagoras and his famous clan in the wrestling-match and in the pankration of weighty honour. But hopes too diffident of his parents kept back the might of their son from essaying the Pythian or Olympian strife: yet verily by the God of Truth I am persuaded that both at Castaly and at the tree-clad hill of Kronos, had he gone thither, he should have turned back home with more honour than any of his rivals who had striven with him, when that he had kept the fifth year's feast[3] ordained of Herakles with dance and song, and with the shining shoots had bound his hair. But thus among mortals is one cast down from weal by empty boasts, while another through overmuch mistrusting of his strength is robbed of his due honours, for that a spirit of little daring draggeth him backward by the hand. This were an easy thing to divine, that Peisander's[4] stock was from Sparta in the time of old (for from Amyklai he came[5] with Orestes, bringing hither an army of Aiolians in bronze mail): and also that the blood of his mother's brother Melanippos was blended with Ismenos' stream[6]. The virtues of an old descent repeat their vigour uncertainly in the generations of men. Neither doth the black-soiled tilth bring forth fruit continually, neither will the trees be persuaded to bear with every year's return a fragrant flower of equal wealth, but in their turns only. Thus also doth destiny lead on the race of mortals. From Zeus there cometh no clear sign to men: yet nevertheless we enter on high counsels, and meditate many acts: for by untameable hope our bodies are enthralled: but the tides of our affairs are hidden from our fore-knowledge. Meet is it to pursue advantage moderately: fiercest is the madness that springeth from unappeasable desires. [Footnote 1: The sacred fire of the state, over which Hestia watched, was kept in the Prytaneion.] [Footnote 2: The other Senators.] [Footnote 3: The Olympic.] [Footnote 4: Ancestor of Aristagoras and head of his clan.] [Footnote 5: 'In the loins of his father.'] [Footnote 6: I. e. a Theban alliance.] THE ISTHMIAN ODES. I. FOR HERODOTOS OF THEBES. WINNER IN THE CHARIOT-RACE. * * * * * The date of this ode is unknown. We gather from the first strophe that Pindar was engaged at the time to write an ode in honour of the Delian Apollo to be sung at Keos, but that he put this off in order first to write the present ode in honour of a victory won for his own native state of Thebes. * * * * * O mother, Thebe of the golden shield, thy service will I set even above the matter that was in my hand. May rocky Delos, whereto I am vowed, be not therefore wroth with me. Is there aught dearer to the good than noble parents? Give place O Apollonian isle: these twain fair offices, by the grace of God, will I join together in their end, and to Phoibos of the unshorn hair in island Keos with men of her sea-race will I make my choral song, and therewithal this other for the sea-prisoning cliffs of Isthmos. For six crowns hath Isthmos given from her games to the people of Kadmos, a fair glory of triumph for my country, for the land wherein Alkmene bare her dauntless son, before whom trembled aforetime the fierce hounds of Geryon. But I for Herodotos' praise am fain to do honour unto his four-horsed car, and to marry to the strain of Kastoreian or Iolaic song the fame that he hath earned, handling his reins in his own and no helping hand. For these Kastor and Iolaos were of all heroes the mightiest charioteers, the one to Lakedaimon, the other born to Thebes. And at the games they entered oftenest for the strife, and with tripods and caldrons and cups of gold they made fair their houses, attaining unto victorious crowns: clear shineth their prowess in the foot-race, run naked or with the heavy clattering shield; and when they hurled the javelin and the quoit: for then was there no five-fold game[1], but for each several feat there was a prize. Oft did they bind about their hair a crowd of crowns, and showed themselves unto the waters of Dirke or on Eurotas' banks[2], the son of Iphikles a fellow-townsman of the Spartoi's race, the son of Tyndareus inhabiting the upland dwelling-place of Therapna[3] among the Achaians. So hail ye and farewell: I on Poseidon and holy Isthmos, and on the lake-shores of Onchestos will throw the mantle of my song, and will among the glories of this man make glorious also the story of his father Asopodoros' fate, and his new country Orchomenos, which, when he drave ashore on a wrecked ship, harboured him amid his dismal hap[4]. But now once more hath the fortune of his house raised him up to see the fair days of the old time: and he who hath suffered pain beareth forethought within his soul. If a man's desire be wholly after valour, and he give thereto both wealth and toil, meet is it that to such as attain unto it we offer with ungrudging heart high meed of praise. For an easy gift it is for a son of wisdom[5], by a good word spoken in recompense for labour manifold to set on high the public fame. For diverse meeds for diverse works are sweet to men, to the shepherd and to the ploughman, to the fowler and to him whom the sea feedeth--howbeit all those strive but to keep fierce famine from their bellies; but whoso in the games or in war hath won delightful fame, receiveth the highest of rewards in fair words of citizens and of strangers. Us it beseemeth to requite the earth-shaking son of Kronos, who is also neighbour unto us, and to sound his praise as our well-doer, who hath given speed to the horses of our car, and to call upon thy sons[6], Amphitryon, and the inland dwelling[7] of Minyas, and the famous grove of Demeter, even Eleusis, and Euboia with her curving race-course. And thy holy place, Protesilas, add I unto these, built thee at Phylake by Achaian men. But to tell over all that Hermes lord of games hath given to Herodotos by his horses, the short space of my hymn alloweth not. Yea and full oft doth the keeping of silence bring forth a larger joy. Now may Herodotos, up-borne upon the sweet-voiced Muse's shining wings, yet again with wreaths from Pytho and choice wreaths from Alpheos from the Olympian games entwine his hand, and bring honour unto seven-gated Thebes. Now if one at home store hidden wealth, and fall upon other men to mock them, this man considereth not that he shall give up his soul to death having known no good report. [Footnote 1: The Pentathlon. See Introduction to Ol. xiii, and note on Nem. vii, p. 129.] [Footnote 2: Rivers were [Greek: kourotrophoi] (nurturers of youth), and thus young men who had achieved bodily feats were especially bound to return thanks to the streams of their native places.] [Footnote 3: In Lakonia.] [Footnote 4: Asopodoros seems to have been banished from Thebes and kindly received in his banishment by Orchomenos.] [Footnote 5: Here, as elsewhere probably in the special sense of a poet.] [Footnote 6: Herakles and Iolaos.] [Footnote 7: Orchomenos.] II. FOR XENOKRATES OF AKRAGAS, WINNER IN THE CHARIOT-RACE. * * * * * This is the same winner for whom the sixth Pythian ode was written. Its date would seem to be 476, while that of the sixth Pythian was 494. Yet the opening passage of this ode seems to imply that Xenokiates' son Thrasyboulos was still little more than a boy, whereas in 494 he had been old enough to be his father's charioteer, and this would be eighteen years later. But perhaps the passage is only an allusion to Thrasyboulos' boyhood as a time past. And certainly both Xenokrates and his brother Theron seem to be spoken of in this ode as already dead, and we know that Theron did not die till 473. Perhaps therefore Thrasyboulos was celebrating in 472 the anniversary of his deceased father's victory, four years after the victory itself. * * * * * The men of old, Thrasyboulos, who went up into the Muse's car to give welcome with the loud-voiced lyre, lightly for honour of boys shot forth their honey-sounding songs, whensoever in one fair of form was found that sweetest summer-bloom that turneth hearts to think on fair-throned Aphrodite. For then the Muse was not yet covetous nor a hireling, neither were sweet lays tender-voiced sold with silvered faces by Terpsichore of honeyed speech. But now doth she bid heed the word of the Argive man[1] which keepeth nigh to the paths of truth: 'Money, money maketh man,' he said, when robbed of goods at once and friends. Forasmuch as thou art wise it is nothing hidden to thee that I sing, while I do honour to the Isthmian victory won by speed of horses, which to Xenokrates did Poseidon give, and sent to him a wreath of Dorian parsley to bind about his hair, a man of goodly chariot, a light of the people of Akragas. Also at Krisa did far-prevailing Apollo look upon him, and gave him there too glory: and again when he attained unto the crowns of the Erectheidai in shining Athens he found no fault in the chariot-saving hand of the man Nikomachos who drave his horses, the hand wherewith in the instant of need he bare on all the reins[2]. Moreover the heralds of the seasons[3], the Elean truce-bringers of Zeus the son of Kronos, recognized him, having met belike with hospitality from him, and in a voice of dulcet breath they gave him greeting for that he had fallen at the knees of golden Victory in their land which men call the holy place of Olympic Zeus, where the sons[4] of Ainesidamos attained unto honour everlasting. For no stranger is your house, O Thrasyboulos, to pleasant shouts of triumph, neither to sweet-voiced songs. For not uphill neither steep-sloped is the path whereby one bringeth the glories of the Helikonian maidens to dwell with famous men. By a far throw of the quoit may I hurl even so far as did Xenokrates surpass all men in the sweetness of his spirit. In converse with citizens was he august, and upheld horse-racing after the Hellenes' wont: also worshipped he at all festivals of the gods, nor ever did the breeze that breathed around his hospitable board give him cause to draw in his sail, but with the summer-gales he would fare unto Phasis, and in his winter voyage unto the shores of Nile[5]. Let not Thrasyboulos now, because that jealous hopes beset the mind of mortals, be silent concerning his father's prowess, nor from these hymns: for not to lie idle have I devised them. That message give him, Nikesippos, when thou comest unto my honoured friend. [Footnote 1: Aristodemos.] [Footnote 2: I. e. either tightened the near or slackened the off reins to the utmost in turning the goal, or perhaps, gave full rein to his horses between each turn or after the final one.] [Footnote 3: The heralds who proclaimed throughout Hellas the approach of the Olympic games, and an universal solemn truce during their celebration.] [Footnote 4: Theron, the tyrant of Akragas, and Xenokrates.] [Footnote 5: Metaphorically, in the extent of his hospitality.] III. FOR MELISSOS OF THEBES, WINNER IN THE PANKRATION. * * * * * The date of this ode is uncertain, though some on the hypothesis that the battle alluded to is the battle of Plataiai, have dated it 478 or 474. In this battle, whatever it was, the Kleonymid clan to which Melissos belonged had lost four men. The celebrity of the clan in the games seems to have been eclipsed for some time, but Melissos revived it by a chariot-victory at Nemea and this pankration-victory at the Isthmus, won in spite of his small stature which might have seemed to place him at a disadvantage. The ode compares his match against his antagonists with that of Herakles against the African giant Antaios. Very probably this ode was sung at a night meeting of the clan, while the altars of Herakles were blazing. * * * * * If any among men having good fortune and dwelling amid prizes of renown or the power of wealth restraineth in his heart besetting insolence, this man is worthy to have part in his citizens' good words. But from thee, O Zeus, cometh all high excellence to mortals; and longer liveth their bliss who have thee in honour, but with minds perverse it consorteth never steadfastly, flourishing throughout all time. In recompense for glorious deeds it behoveth that we sing the valiant, and amid his triumphal company exalt him with fair honours. Of two prizes is the lot fallen to Melissos, to turn his heart unto sweet mirth, for in the glens of Isthmos hath he won crowns, and again in the hollow vale of the deep-chested lion being winner in the chariot-race he made proclamation that his home was Thebes. Thus shameth he not the prowess of his kinsmen. Ye know the ancient fame of Kleonymos with the chariot: also on the mother's side being akin to the Labdakidai his race hath been conversant with riches, and bestowed them on the labours of the four-horse car. But time with rolling days bringeth changes manifold: only the children of gods are free of wounds. By grace of God I have ways countless everywhere open unto me[1]: for thou hast shown forth to me, O Melissos, in the Isthmian games an ample means to follow in song the excellence of thy race: wherein the Kleonymidai flourish continually, and in favour with God pass onward through the term of mortal life: howbeit changing gales drive all men with ever-changing drift. These men verily are spoken of as having honour at Thebes from the beginning, for that they cherished the inhabitants round about, and had no part in loud insolence; if there be borne about by the winds among men aught of witness to the great honour of quick or dead, unto such have they attained altogether. By the brave deeds of their house they have touched the pillars of Herakles, that are at the end of things. Beyond that follow thou no excellence. Horse-breeders moreover have they been, and found favour with mailed Ares; but in one day the fierce snow-storm of war hath made a happy hearth to be desolate of four men. But now once more after that wintry gloom hath it blossomed, even as in the flowery months the earth blossometh with red roses, according to the counsels of gods. For the Shaker of Earth who inhabiteth Onchestos and the Bridge[2] between seas that lieth before the valley of Corinth, now giveth to the house this hymn of wonder, and leadeth up out of her bed the ancient glory of the famous deeds thereof: for she was fallen on sleep; but she awaketh and her body shineth preeminent, as among stars the Morning-star. For in the land of Athens proclaiming a victory of the car, and at Sikyon at the games of Adrastos did she give like wreaths of song for the sons of Kleonymos that then were. For neither did they refrain to contend with the curved chariot in the great meetings of the people, but they had delight to strive with the whole folk of Hellas in spending their wealth on steeds. Touching the unproven there is silence, and none knoweth them: yea and even from them that strive Fortune hideth herself until they come unto the perfect end; for she giveth of this and of that. The better man hath been ere now overtaken and overthrown by the craft of worse. Verily ye know the bloody deed of Aias, that he wrought beneath the far-spent night, when he smote himself through with his own sword, whereby he upbraideth yet the children of the Hellenes, as many as went forth to Troy. But lo! Homer hath done him honour among men, and by raising up his excellence in the fulness thereof hath through the rod[3] of his divine lays delivered it to bards after him to sing. For the thing that one hath well said goeth forth with a voice unto everlasting: over fruitful earth and beyond the sea hath the light of fair deeds shined, unquenchable for ever. May we find favour with the Muses, that for Melissos too we kindle such beacon-blaze of song, a worthy prize of the pankration for this scion of Telesias' son. He being like unto the roaring lions in courage taketh unto him their spirit to be his own in the struggle: but in sleight he is as the fox that spreadeth out her feet[4] and preventeth the swoop of the eagle: for all means must be essayed by him that would prevail over his foe. For not of the stature of Orion was this man, but his presence is contemptible, yet terrible is he to grapple with in his strength. And verily once to the house of Antaios came a man to wrestle against him, of short stature but of unbending soul, from Kadmean Thebes even unto corn-bearing Libya, that he might cause him to cease from roofing Poseidon's temple with the skulls of strangers--even the son of Alkmene, he who ascended up to Olympus, after that he had searched out the surface of the whole earth and of the crag-walled hoary sea, and had made safe way for the sailing of ships. And now beside the aegis-bearer he dwelleth, possessing happiness most fair, and hath honour from the immortals as their friend, and hath Hebe to wife, and is lord of a golden house, and husband of Hera's child. Unto his honour upon the heights Elektrai we of this city prepare a feast and new-built altar-ring, where we offer burnt sacrifice in honour of the eight mail-clad men that are dead, whom Megara, Kreon's daughter, bore to be sons of Herakles. To them at the going down of the day there ariseth a flame of fire and burneth all night continually, amid a savoury smoke hurling itself against the upper air: and on the second day is the award of the yearly games, a trial of strength. Therein did this our man, his head with myrtle-wreaths made white, show forth a double victory, after another won already among the boys, for that he had regard unto the many counsels of him who was the pilot of his helm[5]. And with Orseas' name I join him in my triumphal song, and shed over them a glory of delight. [Footnote 1: 'Many themes on which I can justly praise the clan.'] [Footnote 2: The Isthmus.] [Footnote 3: The rod or staff carried anciently by poets and reciters of poems.] [Footnote 4: I. e. throwing herself on her back with feet upward. If it is meant that she counterfeits death, then of course the parallel with the pankratiast will only hold good to the extent of the supine posture.] [Footnote 5: His trainer, Orseas.] IV. FOR PHYLAKIDAS OF AIGINA, WINNER IN THE PANKRATION. * * * * * This Phylakidas was a son of Lampon, and a brother of the Pytheas for whom the fifth Nemean was written. This ode must have been written shortly after the battle of Salamis, probably B.C. 478, and was to be sung at Aigina, perhaps at a festival of the goddess Theia who is invoked at the beginning. She, according to Hesiod, was the mother of the Sun, the Moon, and the Morning, and was also called [Greek: Euruphaessa] and [Greek: chruse], from which latter name perhaps came her association with gold and wealth. * * * * * Mother of the Sun, Theia of many names, through thee it is that men prize gold as mighty above all things else: for ships that strive upon the sea and horses that run in chariots, for the honour that is of thee, O queen, are glorified in swiftly circling struggle. And that man also hath won longed-for glory in the strife of games, for whose strong hand or fleet foot abundant wreaths have bound his hair. Through God is the might of men approved. Two things alone there are that cherish life's bloom to its utmost sweetness amidst the fair flowers of wealth--to have good success and to win therefore fair fame. Seek not to be as Zeus; if the portion of these honours fall to thee, thou hast already all. The things of mortals best befit mortality. For thee, Phylakidas, a double glory of valour is at Isthmos stored, and at Nemea both for thee and for Pytheas a pankratiast's crown. Not without the sons of Aiakos will my heart indite of song: and in company of the Graces am I come for sake of Lampon's sons to this commonwealth of equal laws[1]. If then on the clear high road of god-given deeds she hath set her feet, grudge not to mingle in song a seemly draught of glory for her toil. For even the great men of old that were good warriors have profited of the telling of their tale, and are glorified on the lute and in the pipe's strains manifold, through immeasurable time: and to the cunning in words[2] they give matter by the grace of Zeus. Thus by their worship with the blaze of burnt-offerings among Aitolians have the mighty sons[3] of Oineus honour, and at Thebes Iolaos the charioteer, and at Argos Perseus, and by the streams of Eurotas Polydeukes and Kastor's spear: But in Oinone the great souls of Aiakos and his sons, who after much fighting twice sacked the Trojans' town, first when they went with Herakles, and again with the sons of Atreus. Now drive me upward still; say who slew Kyknos, and who Hektor, and the dauntless chief of Ethiop hosts, bronze-mailed Memnon. What man was he who with his spear smote noble Telephos by Kaïkos' banks? Even they whose home my mouth proclaimeth to be Aigina's glorious isle: a tower is she, builded from long ago, to tempt the climb of high-adventuring valour. Many arrows hath my truthful tongue in store wherewith to sound the praises of her sons: and even but now in war might Aias' city, Salamis, bear witness thereto in her deliverance by Aigina's seamen amid the destroying tempest of Zeus, when death came thick as hail on the unnumbered hosts. Yet let no boast be heard. Zeus ordereth this or that, Zeus, lord of all. Now in pleasant song even these honours also of the games welcome the joy for a fair victory. Let any strive his best in such, who hath learnt what Kleonikos' house can do. Undulled is the fame of their long toil, nor ever was their zeal abated by any counting of the cost. Also have I praise for Pytheas, for that he guided aright[4] the course of Phylakidas' blows in the struggle of hands that bring limbs low, an adversary he of cunning soul. Take for him a crown, and bring the fleecy fillet, and speed him on his way with this new winged hymn. [Footnote 1: Aigina.] [Footnote 2: Poets.] [Footnote 3: Meleager and his brothers.] [Footnote 4: Pytheas had given his brother example, and very probably precept also, in the pankration.] V. FOR PHYLAKIDAS OF AIGINA, WINNER IN THE PANKRATION. * * * * * This ode seems to be of earlier date than the last, though placed after it in our order. The occasion is similar. Probably it was sung at a banquet at Lampon's house. * * * * * As one may do amid merry revel of men, so mingle we a second time the bowls of Muses' melody in honour of Lampon's athlete progeny. Our first, O Zeus, was unto thee, when at Nemea we[1] won thy excellent crown, and now is this second unto the lord[2] of Isthmos and unto the fifty daughters of Nereus, for that Phylakidas the youngest son is winner in the games. And be it ours to make ready yet a third for the Saviour[3], the Olympian one, and in honour of Aigina make libation of our honey-speaking song. For if a man rejoice to suffer cost and toil, and achieve god-builded excellence, and therewithal fate plant for him fair renown, already at the farthest bounds of bliss hath such an one cast anchor, for the glory that he hath thereby from God. With such desires prayeth the son[4] of Kleonikos that he may fulfil them ere he meet death or hoary eld. Now I call on high-throned Klotho and her sister Fates to draw nigh unto the praying of the man I love. And upon you also, golden-charioted seed of Aiakos, I say it is clear law to me to shed the dew of my good words, what time I set my foot[5] upon this isle. For innumerable hundred-foot[6] straight roads are cleft for your fair deeds to go forth, beyond the springs of Nile, and through the Hyperboreans' midst: neither is any town so barbarous and strange of speech that it knoweth not the fame of Peleus, that blissful son-in-law of gods, or of Aias son of Telamon, and of Aias' sire; whom unto brazen war an eager ally with Tirynthian men Alkmene's son took with him in his ships to Troy, to the place of heroes' toil, to take vengeance for Laomedon's untruth. There did Herakles take the city of Pergamos, and with help of Telamon slew the nations of the Meropes, and the herdsman whose stature was as a mountain, Alkyoneus whom he found at Phlegrai, and spared not of his hands the terrible twanging bowstring. But when he went to call the son of Aiakos to the voyage he found the whole company at the feast. And as he stood there in his lion's skin, then did Telamon their chief challenge Amphitryon's son of the mighty spear to make initiative libation of nectar, and handed on unto him the wine-cup rough with gold. And Herakles stretched forth to heaven his invincible hands and spake on this wise: 'If ever, O father Zeus, thou hast heard my prayer with willing heart, now, even now, with strong entreaty I pray thee that thou give this man a brave child of Eriboia's womb, that by award of fate my friend may gain a son of body as staunch[7] as this hide that hangeth about me, which was of the beast that I slew at Nemea, first of all my labours; and let his soul be of like sort.' And when he had thus spoken, the god sent forth the king of birds, a mighty eagle, and sweet delight thrilled him within, and he spake aloud as a seer speaketh: 'Behold, the son whom thou askest shall be born unto thee, O Telamon:' also after the bird's name that had appeared unto them he said that the child's name should be the mighty Aias[8], terrible in the strife of warring hosts: so he spake, and sate him down straightway. But for me it were long to tell all those valiant deeds. For for Phylakidas am I come, O Muse, a dispenser of thy triumphal songs, and for Pytheas, and for Euthymenes[9]; therefore in Argive fashion my tale shall be of fewest words. Three victories have they won in the pankration of Isthmos, and others at leafy Nemea, even these noble sons and their mother's brother: how fair a portion of song have they brought to light! yea and they water with the Charites' delicious dew their clan of the Psalychidai, and have raised up the house of Themistios, and dwell here in a city which the gods love well. And Lampon, in that he bestoweth practice on all he doth, holdeth in high honour the word of Hesiod which speaketh thereof[10], and exhorteth thereunto his sons, whereby he bringeth unto his city a general fame: and for his kind entreating of strangers is he loved, to the just mean aspiring, to the just mean holding fast; and his tongue departeth not from his thoughts: and among athlete men he is as the bronze-grinding Naxian whetstone amid stones[11]. Now will I give him to drink of the holy water of Dirke, which golden-robed Mnemosyne's deep-girdled daughters made once to spring out of the earth, beside the well-walled gates of Kadmos. [Footnote 1: I. e. Pytheas. See Nem. v.] [Footnote 2: Poseidon.] [Footnote 3: [Greek: Zeus Sotaer], to whom the third cup at a feast was drunk. He is here invoked also to give a third victory to the family at the Olympic games.] [Footnote 4: Lampon.] [Footnote 5: Figuratively said, as elsewhere.] [Footnote 6: A hundred feet wide, seemingly.] [Footnote 7: Not 'invulnerable.' A magic invulnerability was only attributed to heroes by later legend.] [Footnote 8: From [Greek: aietos] an eagle.] [Footnote 9: Maternal uncle of Pytheas and Phylakidas.] [Footnote 10: [Greek: melete de ergon ophellei]. Opp. 411.] [Footnote 11: I. e. he stimulates their zeal and skill. The Naxian whetstone seems to be emery.] VI. FOR STREPSIADES OF THEBES, WINNER IN THE PANKRATION. * * * * * The date of this ode is not fixed, but it has been supposed that the battle referred to--apparently a defeat--in which the winner's uncle was killed was the battle of Oinophyta, fought B.C. 457. But this, and the notion that the democratic revolution at Thebes is referred to, are only conjectures. * * * * * Wherewithal of the fair deeds done in thy land, O divine Thebe, hath thy soul had most delight? Whether when thou broughtest forth to the light Dionysos of the flowing hair, who sitteth beside Demeter to whom the cymbals clang? or when at midnight in a snow of gold thou didst receive the mightiest of the gods, what time he stood at Amphitryon's doors and beguiled his wife, to the begetting of Herakles? Or when thou hadst honour in the wise counsels of Teiresias, or in Iolaos the cunning charioteer, or the unwearied spears of the Spartoi? or when out of the noise of the strong battle-cry thou sentest Adrastos home to horse-breeding Argos, of his countless company forlorn? or when thou madest the Dorian colony of the men of Lakedaimon stand upright upon its feet[1], and the sons of Aigeus thy progeny took Amyklai, according to the oracles of Pytho? Nay, but the glory of the old time sleepeth, and mortals are unmindful thereof, save such as married to the sounding stream of song attaineth unto the perfect meed that wisdom[2] giveth. New triumph now lead for Strepsiades with melodious hymn: for at Isthmos hath he borne away the pankratiast's prize. Wondrous in strength is he, and to look upon of goodly shape, and his valour is such as shameth not his stature. So shineth he forth by grace of the Muses iris-haired, and to his uncle of like name hath he given to share his crown, for albeit bronze-shielded Ares gave him over unto death, yet remaineth there for the valiant a recompense of renown. For let whoso amid the cloud of war from his beloved country wardeth the bloody shower, and maketh havoc in the enemy's host, know assuredly that for the race of his fellow-citizens he maketh their renown wax mightily, yea when he is dead even as while he was yet alive. So didst thou, son[3] of Diodotos, following the praise of the warrior Meleagros, and of Hektor, and of Amphiaraos, breathe forth the spirit of thy fair-flowering youth amid the company of fighters in the front, where the bravest on slenderest hopes bare up the struggle of war. Then suffered I a pang unspeakable, but now hath the earth-grasper[4] granted unto me a calm after the storm: I will set chaplets on my hair and sing. Now let no jealousy of immortals mar whatever sweet thing through a day's pursuit I follow, as it leadeth on up to old age, and unto the term of life appointed. For all we in like manner die, albeit our lots be diverse. If any lift up his eye to look upon things afar off, yet is he too weak to attain unto the bronze-paved dwelling of the gods. Thus did winged Pegasos throw his lord Bellerophon, when he would fain enter into the heavenly habitations and mix among the company of Zeus. Unrighteous joyance a bitter end awaiteth. But to us, O Loxias of the golden-flowing hair, give also at thy Pythian games a new fair-flowering crown. [Footnote 1: The Theban Aigidai helped the mythical 'return of the Herakleidai.'] [Footnote 2: Wisdom of bards.] [Footnote 3: Strepsiades the uncle.] [Footnote 4: Poseidon.] VII. FOR KLEANDROS OF AIGINA, WINNER IN THE PANKRATION. * * * * * All that we can be certain of as to the date of this ode is that it was written soon after the final expulsion of the Persians. From the first strophe we learn that Kleandros had won a Nemean as well as an Isthmian victory, and perhaps this ode really belongs to the former. It was to be sung, it seems, before the house of Telesarchos the winner's father, at Aigina. * * * * * For Kleandros in his prime let some of you, ye young men, go stand before the shining portal of his father Telesarchos, and rouse a song of triumph, to be a glorious recompense of his toils, for that he hath achieved reward of victory at Isthmos, and hath showed his strength in the games of Nemea. For him I also, albeit heavy at heart[1], am bidden to call upon the golden Muse. Yea since we are come forth from our sore troubles let us not fall into the desolation of crownlessness, neither nurse our griefs; but having ease from our ills that are past mending, we will set some pleasant thing before the people, though it follow hard on pain: inasmuch as some god hath put away from us the Tantalos-stone that hung above our heads, a curse intolerable to Hellas. But now hath the passing of this terror ended my sore disquietude, and ever it is better to look only on the thing hard by. For the guile of time hangeth above the heads of men, and maketh the way of their life crooked, yet if Freedom abide with them, even such things may mortals cure. But it is meet that a man cherish good hope: and meet also that I, whom seven-gated Thebes reared, proffer chiefly unto Aigina the choicest of the Graces' gifts, for that from one sire were two daughters[2] born, youngest of the children of Asopos, and found favour in the eyes of the king Zeus. One by the fair stream of Dirke he set to be the queen of a city of charioteers, and thee the other he bare to the Oinopian isle, and lay with thee, whence to the sire of great thunderings thou didst bear the godlike Aiakos, best of men upon the earth. This man even among divinities became a decider of strife: and his godlike sons and his sons' sons delighting in battle were foremost in valour when they met in the ringing brazen melley: chaste also were they approved, and wise of heart. Thereof was the god's council mindful, what time for the hand of Thetis there was strife between Zeus and glorious Poseidon, each having desire that she should be his fair bride, for love had obtained dominion over them. Yet did not the wisdom of the immortal gods fulfil for them such marriage, when they had heard a certain oracle. For Themis of wise counsels spake in the midst of them of how it was pre-destined that the sea-goddess should bear a royal offspring mightier than his father, whose hand should wield a bolt more terrible than the lightning or the dread trident, if she came ever into the bed of Zeus, or of brethren of Zeus. 'Cease ye herefrom: let her enter a mortal's couch and see her son fall in war, who shall be as Ares in the might of his hands, and as the lightning in the swiftness of his feet. My counsel is that ye give her to be the heaven-sent prize of Peleus son of Aiakos, whom the speech of men showeth to be their most righteous, an offspring of Iolkos' plain. Thus straightway let the message go forth to Cheiron's cave divine, neither let the daughter of Nereus put a second time into your hands the ballot-leaves of strife. So on the evening of the mid-month moon shall she unbind for the hero the fair girdle of her virginity.' Thus spake the goddess her word to the children of Kronos, and they bowed their everlasting brows. Nor failed her words of fruit, for they say that to Thetis' bridals came those twain kings even with the rest. Out of the mouths of the wise hath the young valour of Achilles been declared to them that beheld it not. He it was who stained the vine-clad Mysian plain with the dark blood of Telephos that he shed thereon, and made for the sons of Atreus a safe return across the sea, and delivered Helen, when that he had cut asunder with his spear the sinews of Troy, even the men who kept him back as he plied the work of slaughterous battle on the plain, the strength of Memnon and high-hearted Hektor, and other chiefs of pride. Unto all these did Achilles, champion of the Aiakid race, point the way to the house of Persephone, and thereby did he glorify Aigina and the root whence he was sprung. Neither in death was he of songs forsaken, for at his funeral pyre and beside his tomb stood the Helikonian maiden-choir, and poured thereon a dirge of many melodies. For so the immortals willed, to give charge unto the songs of goddesses over that valorous man even in his death. And now also holdeth such charge good, and the Muses' chariot speedeth to sound the glories of Nikokles the boxer[3]. Honour to him who in the Isthmian vale hath won the Dorian parsley: for he even as Achilles overcame men in battle, turning them to confusion, with hand from which flight was vain. Him shameth not this kinsman of his father's noble brother. Wherefore let some one of the young men his fellows twine for Kleandros a wreath of tender myrtle for his pankratiast victory. For the games whose name is of Alkathoos[4], and the youth of Epidauros[5], have ere now entertained him with good hap. To praise him is given unto the good: for in no hidden corner quenched he his youth, unproven in honourable deeds. [Footnote 1: Because, though the Persians had been defeated, Thebes, Pindar's city, had not shared the glory.] [Footnote 2: Thebe and Aigine.] [Footnote 3: Uncle of the winner.] [Footnote 4: A son of Pelops: he slew the lion of Kithairon.] [Footnote 5: The Epidaurian games were in honour of Asklepios.] FRAGMENTS. Nearly two-thirds of the Fragments cannot be assigned to any distinct class: the rest are divided among (1) [Greek: Epinikia], or Triumphal Odes (such as are the odes remaining to us entire), (2) [Greek: Hymnoi], or Hymns sung by a choir in honour of gods, (3) [Greek: Paianes], or Hymns of a like kind but anciently addressed especially to Apollo and Artemis for their intervention against pestilence, (4) [Greek: Dithyramboi], or choral songs of more general compass, verging sometimes on the drama, (5) [Greek: Prosodia], or Processional Songs, (6) [Greek: Parthenia], or Songs for a Choir of Maidens, (7) [Greek: Hyporchaemata], or Songs with Accompaniment of Dance, (8) [Greek: Enkomia], or Odes sung by a [Greek: komos] in praise of some person but not necessarily on any special occasion, (9) [Greek: Skolia], or Songs to be sung at Banquets, (10) [Greek: Thraenoi], or Dirges. FRAGMENT OF A DITHYRAMB, TO BE SUNG AT ATHENS. Hither! Olympian gods to our choice dance, and make your grace to descend thereon and to glorify it, ye who in sacred Athens visit the city's incensed centre-stone, and her famed market-place of splendid ornament; receive ye violet-entwinëd crowns and drink-offerings of spring-gathered herbs, and look on me who am come from the house of Zeus with my bright song a second time unto the ivy-crownëd god, whom we call Bromios, even the god of clamorous shout. To sing the offspring[1] of the Highest and of Kadmeän mothers am I come. In Argive Nemea the prophet of the god overlooketh not the branch of palm, what time with the opening of the chamber of the Hours, the nectarous plants perceive the fragrant spring[2]. Then, then are strown over the face of the eternal earth the lovely violet-tufts, then are roses twined in hair, then sound to the flute's accompaniment voices of song, then sound our choice hymns unto the honour of bright-filleted Semele ... [Footnote 1: Dionysos, son of Zeus and of Semele, daughter of Kadmos.] [Footnote 2: Bockh has suggested the following ingenious explanation of this passage. In the temple of Zeus at Nemea grew a sacred palm, and a branch of this was given, together with his crown, to a winner in the Nemean games. Pindar had been at those games in the winter, and means that he, like the priest of the temple, could foresee from the tokens of the branch that spring was approaching, and with spring the vernal Dionysia at Athens.] FRAGMENTS OF A PROCESSION-SONG ([Greek: prosodion]), IN HONOUR OF DELOS. Hail! god-reared daughter of the sea, earth-shoot most dear to bright-haired Leto's children, wide earth's immoveable marvel, who of mortals art called Delos, but of the blessed gods in Olympus the dark earth's far-seen star[1]... ... For of old time it[2] drifted before the waves and stress of winds from every side; but when she[3] of Koios set foot thereon, as the swift pains of her travailing drew nigh, then verily from roots deep down in earth there sprang upright four pillars with adamantine base, and on their capitals they held up the rock: there was the goddess delivered, and looked upon her blessed brood........ [Footnote 1: The old mythical name of Delos was Asteria.] [Footnote 2: The island.] [Footnote 3: Leto.] * * * * * FRAGMENT OF A SONG WITH ACCOMPANIMENT OF DANCE ([Greek: huporchaema]), WRITTEN ON OCCASION OF AN ECLIPSE OF THE SUN, PROBABLY THAT OF APRIL 30, B.C. 463. Wherefore, O Light of the Sun, thou that seest all things and givest bounds unto the sight of mine eyes--wherefore O star supreme hast thou in the daytime hidden thyself, and made useless unto men the wings of their strength and the paths that wisdom findeth, and hastest along a way of darkness to bring on us some strange thing? Now in the name of Zeus I pray unto thee, O holy Light, that by thy swift steeds thou turn this marvel in the sight of all men to be for the unimpaired good hap of Thebes. Yet if the sign which thou showest us be of some war, or destruction of harvest, or an exceeding storm of snow, or ruinous civil strife, or emptying of the sea upon the earth, or freezing of the soil, or summer rains pouring in vehement flood, or whether thou wilt drown the earth and make anew another race of men, then will I suffer it amid the common woe of all.... FRAGMENTS. I FRAGMENTS OF DIRGES (thraenoi). .... For them shineth below the strength of the sun while in our world it is night, and the space of crimsonflowered meadows before their city is full of the shade of frankincense-trees, and of fruits of gold. And some in horses, and in bodily feats, and some in dice, and some in harp-playing have delight; and among them thriveth all fair-flowering bliss; and fragrance streameth ever through the lovely land, as they mingle incense of every kind upon the altars of the gods.... II. .... BY happy lot travel all unto an end that giveth them rest from toils. And the body indeed is subject unto the great power of death, but there remaineth yet alive a shadow of life; for this only is from the gods; and while the limbs stir, it sleepeth, but unto sleepers in dreams discovereth oftentimes the judgment that draweth nigh for sorrow or for joy.. III But from whomsoever Persephone accepteth atonement made for an ancient woe, their souls unto the light of the sun above she sendeth back again in the ninth year. And from those souls spring noble kings, and men swift and strong and in wisdom very great: and through the after-time they are called holy heroes among men...... THE END.