The parlor of the clubhouse was well filled when Robert Ashley exposed the trophy, which had been placed on the table in the centre of the room and covered with a flag.

First Mr. Ashley made a short speech, in which he explained his object in offering such an award. In substance it was for the purpose of arousing greater interest in cross-country races and thus to develop in American athletes that stamina and endurance essential in the modern man of business.

“American runners are better known for flashing brilliancy than for dogged determination,” he said. “In the great race of life, endurance wins far more often than brilliancy, which is not infrequently allied with weakness. But the runner must have a strong heart, else he may become discouraged by the apparent success of some competitor who flashes past him at the start. If he persists doggedly, determinedly, gauging himself properly and making the best of his powers, he may have the satisfaction of passing the brilliant starter, leaving him winded and spent and floundering helplessly in some morass of business or thicket of commerce.”

There was a breathless hush when Ashley had finished. Then a signal was given and the flag lifted.

All leaned forward and stared.

Then followed a murmur of admiration and a burst of applause.

It was a statue, the lifelike and natural representation of a diminutive, lithe-limbed runner, being about eight inches in height and molded from a fine quality of gold. The base on which it stood was also of gold.

But the admiration of the beholders was aroused not merely on account of the material from which the trophy had been made and its evident great value; the figure was splendidly and scientifically molded, being so natural in its every pose, resting on the toes of the right foot, with the left leg thrown forward in a fine stride, the knee bent, the naked left arm swung backward on a line and the right arm forward, the hands closed, the head setting perfectly on a slender yet full neck, the face firm and determined, every line from toe to topknot denoting vigorous and easy action—so natural was it that it must have created a sensation even though formed of lead.

Those present crowded about the table. After a little they began to comment wonderingly, not so much on the costliness of the trophy, as on its value as a work of art. There was no one present who did not realize that it must have cost a great sum of money, and was something that the fortunate winner could display throughout the remainder of his life with the utmost pride.

After they had discussed it for a time, Mr. Ashley spoke:

“Gentlemen,” he said, “it may seem strange to you that I have not up to the present time made known the exact nature of the trophy I intended to offer. I will explain. It is my belief that the cleanest and most commendable sports are those in which the contestants participate without covetousness or hope of reward other than the glory that comes to the victor. In the glorious days of Greece the victor was rewarded with a wreath of laurel. I believed it was possible to bring together for this event the leading long-distance runners of this country, without arousing their greed by advertising the real worth of the trophy, and the result has justified my judgment. Only those who have already entered or to-day announce their intention to enter and make proper application will be accepted. Already the leading amateurs of the United States, with one or two exceptions, are entered. There is no longer a chance that greed will bring others into the contest. May the victor prove worthy of the trophy, and may it inspire him to his best efforts through life.” This final speech was greeted with even more applause than the first had aroused. The astonishing generosity of Mr. Ashley was commented upon quietly by little groups, and it was universally agreed that the winner of the contest might properly lay claim to the title of cross-country champion of America.

Two young men entered and advanced to view the trophy. One of them attracted attention right away. Among those who hastened to speak to him was Herbert Hollingsworth.

“Jove, Merry!” exclaimed Hodge softly; “did you catch that chap’s name?”

“What chap?”

“The one who just came in with the fellow in the blue suit. Hollingsworth is talking to him now.”

“No, I didn’t catch his name.”

“Hollingsworth called him Huntley.”

Instantly Frank gave the fellow more attention. He saw a slender, graceful young man of twenty-four or five, who had rather long legs, and who, in spite of his grace and suppleness, had about him a suggestion of strength and reserve power. His chin denoted pugnacity, his mouth determination and his nose command. His eyes were the only questionable features he possessed. Although they were not shifty and they looked at one squarely, to Frank they somehow suggested a nature not over-scrupulous—one who would sacrifice friendship or anything else for selfish gain and glory.

Proctor now discovered the newcomer and made some haste to shake hands with him, after which, taking his arm, he led him over to Frank.

“I think you will be pleased to meet Mr. Merriwell, Mr. Huntley,” said the president of the club. “Mr. Merriwell, this gentleman will be one of your dangerous rivals for the golden trophy. He is the champion long-distance man of the Bison A. A., Buffalo.”

“I am in truth glad to know you, Mr. Huntley,” nodded Merry, as he shook the hand of the man from Buffalo.

“The pleasure is mutual,” assured Huntley. “Even before coming to America I heard a great deal of you. Your career attracted the attention of Oxford and Cambridge men. I believe you are the only all-round athlete who has also excelled in competing with the champions who have made a specialty of many different sports. Usually an all-round man is in truth a jack of all trades and master of none. So you have entered for the magnificent Ashley trophy?”

“Not yet; but I have announced my intention of entering.”

“Before the trophy was displayed?”

Something in this question gave Merry a slight flush of annoyance, but he concealed it perfectly.

“As Proctor can affirm, my intention was announced before the trophy was shown. Your friend, Hollingsworth, who seems to have great confidence in you, bantered me into it.”

A slight cloud fell on Huntley’s face.

“Mr. Hollingsworth is a mere acquaintance,” he hastened to explain. “I was not aware that he had so much confidence in me.”

Back of this Frank seemed to read the speaker’s thoughts, and he was satisfied that Huntley was inwardly cursing Hollingsworth.

“I was led to believe him a friend and to think he had great confidence in you through some talk he made.”

“Well, whatever Mr. Hollingsworth’s opinion of me, I am certain he would rejoice to see me defeated by one or more of the youngsters he has developed here. It would be a feather in his cap to bring out a champion, you know.”

“It would, indeed; and I should be pleased to see a member of this club secure the trophy.”

“What, and you in the race?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, then, were you to find yourself matched against an Ashport man toward the finish, with it settled that one of you two must come in first, you would give the other fellow the race?”

“I have not said so, nor would I do anything of the sort.”

“I thought not!” said Huntley, with the slightest curl to his lips.

“Whenever I enter any contest I do so with the full determination to win, if such a thing lies within my power. Were I confident an Ashport man would win I would not enter at all.”

“Your generosity is really surprising!” cried the Buffalo man laughingly. “Under any circumstances, I’ll guarantee you’ll enter and do your best to secure the runner of gold. In spite of your past reputation, however, I think you will find it no simple matter to obtain the trophy.”

“Were it a simple matter,” said Frank, “it would not be worth trying for.”

“That is handsomely said, Mr. Merriwell; but I hardly fancy you could be deterred from trying under any conditions.”

Having said this, Huntley again expressed his satisfaction over the meeting with Frank and bowed himself away.

“You touched him, Frank,” said Hodge. “He didn’t like it when you mentioned his friendship for Hollingsworth and the confidence the latter had in him.”

“No, he didn’t like it at all,” agreed Frank. “The fact that it did touch him increases my suspicions.”

“Naturally.”

“There is something going on beneath the surface.”

“I think it.”

“What is it?”

“I’d like to know.”

“So would I,” confessed Merry.

“We may find out.”

Bart now took a fancy to watch Huntley closely, and he was rewarded, after a time, by seeing a slight signal pass between the representative of the Bison A. A. and the Ashport trainer.

Five or ten minutes later Huntley sauntered out of the clubhouse. He stood a few moments on the veranda, surveying the track. Finally he crossed the track and walked out onto the field, seemingly highly interested in looking over the fine grounds of the club.

Still watching, Hodge observed that Hollingsworth left the club by the door opposite the track, and passed round to the bathhouse, where he met the trackmaster, with whom he conversed for a few moments. Finally the trainer and the trackmaster started along the oval track, the former indicating by his gestures that he was criticising something that did not suit his fancy.

By this time Huntley was far down at the lower end of the field. He crossed the track down there and disappeared amid some trees.

At the western side of the baseball diamond and just inside the track were seats for spectators and a small covered grand stand for ladies.

Hollingsworth and the trackmaster paused just before reaching the stand. The trainer appeared to be pointing out something near that point which caused him dissatisfaction.

Hodge caught a glimpse of a man amid the trees, beyond the track, far down at the southwestern extremity of the field. The man was sauntering northward.

“Behind the grand stand!” decided Bart. “That’s where they are going to meet!”

He was palpitating with eagerness, but for the time he seemed baffled and unable to make a move.

Finally Hollingsworth and the trackmaster parted, the latter turning back, while the Englishman sauntered on slowly, his head down. Twice he looked round toward the clubhouse, as if fancying he might be watched. Finally he disappeared behind the stand.

In a twinkling Hodge was outside the house and trotting away briskly along the track. He was taking chances. If seen, he hoped he might be thought a runner seeking to sweat off a few pounds or an enthusiast who had been spurred to try the track through seeing others at it.

As he ran, he watched for the men amid the trees, and also kept his eyes open for Hollingsworth. In case the latter reappeared beyond the stand, Hodge felt that it would be useless to make any further attempt to follow him.

At first Bart hugged the outside of the track. When he approached th............