speeding across the campus in the direction of the main dormitory
entrance. Without waiting for the elevator he leaped the steps, three
at a time, running up to the third floor, and thence down the corridor
to No. 63---his "home," and that of his chum, Ted Wainwright.

Out of breath, he hurled himself into the room. Ted was crouched over
the study table, algebra in front of him, cramming for an examination.

"There you are! Hip, hurrah!" Jack cried excitedly, thrusting the
folded newspaper under Ted's eyes and pointing to the bold typed
appeal for recruits, all the while keeping up a running fire of
chatter.

Ted was in the midst of a tantalizing equation. He was accustomed,
however, to such invasions on the part of his chum, the two having
lived together now for nearly three school years---ever since they
had come to Brighton.

Both boys were completing their junior year in the select little
school for which the town of Winchester was famous. They lived
at remote corners of the state and had met during the first week
of their freshman year. They had found themselves together that
first night when the "freshies" were lined up before the gymnasium
to withstand the attack of the "sophs" in the annual fall cane rush.
Together they had fought in that melee, and after it was all over,
anointed each other with liniment and bandaged each other's battle
scars.

Jack was a spirited lad, ready always for a fight or a frolic, impetuous
and temperamental; Ted had inherited his father's quiet tastes and