blue jersey apiece, with a big white Y on it.

"The students of Yale gave me that," he said to the younger
Bradley, "in which to play football, and a great man gave me
the other. His name is Walter Camp; and if you rip or soil
that jersey, I'll send you back to England in irons; so be
careful."

Stedman gazed at his companions in their different costumes,
doubtfully. "It reminds me," he said, "of private
theatricals. Of the time our church choir played `Pinafore.'"

"Yes," assented Albert; "but I don't think we look quite gay
enough. I tell you what we need,--medals. You never saw a
diplomat without a lot of decorations and medals."

"Well, I can fix that," Stedman said. "I've got a trunkful.
I used to be the fastest bicycle-rider in Connecticut, and
I've got all my prizes with me."

Albert said doubtfully that that wasn't exactly the sort of
medal he meant.

"Perhaps not," returned Stedman, as he began fumbling in his
trunk; "but the King won't know the difference. He couldn't
tell a cross of the Legion of Honor from a medal for the tug
of war."

So the bicycle medals, of which Stedman seemed to have an
innumerable quantity, were strung in profusion over Albert's