a brother here that everybody knows about, you wish sometimes you could amount to something yourself."
"What's the matter?" asked Rupert. "You're head editor of the 'Mirror' and vice-president of the Pen and Ink, and generally a great gun. What more do you want?"
"Oh, it is n't that sort of thing that counts," replied Harry. "It's athletics. I'd give anything to be the sort of all-round fellow my brother Clark was—the sort you are."
"Ho! brains beat muscle any day."
"There's one thing," Harry continued, "that I am glad of, and that is that it's you who are the big all-round athlete. You'll be president of the athletic association and captain of the crew, and everything else. And I'm mighty glad of it!"
"Thanks!" Rupert laughed. "Only I'm afraid your congratulations are premature."
"Oh, no! You're the only real athlete in the whole sixth form. There are two or three pretty good in the fifth,—like Sam Hall
