“Never did.  Never did,” responded several, shaking their heads soberly.

“Just think of it,” began Mott again.  “Here’s a freshman who is so anxious to get into our good graces that he’s not only willing to do what we tell him but he even comes and asks us what it is we want him to do.  That beats anything old Winthrop has ever seen yet.”

Will’s face flushed, but he was silent, though Hawley began to laugh again.  “Now, then, freshman,” said Mott, pointing his finger at Will, “we want you to get down on the floor and wrestle with temptation.”

“There’s nothing here that tempts me very much,” replied Will coolly, and Hawley promptly laughed aloud.

“You do as I tell you!  Get down on the floor and wrestle with temptation,” demanded Mott sharply.

“I don’t mind doing it if it will please you any,” responded Will as he slipped from his seat on the table to the floor.

“That’s the way.  Now then, papa’s joy and mamma’s pet, show us how it is that you do the trick.”

Stretched upon the floor, Will Phelps went through his struggle with an imaginary foe.  He twisted and writhed and struggled, shrieks of laughter greeting his efforts from the assembled sophomores, and even Hawley joined in, so ridiculous was the appearance which Will presented.

“That’s very good, very good indeed!” remarked Mott when several minutes had elapsed.  “You’d better get up now and take a seat beside your friend.”

Will quickly did as he was bidden, laughing slightly as he glanced at Hawley, whose imperturbable good nature was not in anywise ruffled.

“Hawley, you’re a great football player, I understand,” said Mott.

“I’m a big player, can’t say that I’m great.  Some fellows might think so, but it depends on whether they’ve seen much or know much, I fancy.”

“That’s right.  You’re as modest as Mary’s little lamb.  I hear you’re a great sprinter,” he added, turning abruptly to Will Phelps.

“Oh, I can run a little.  If you’ll give me the chance now I’ll show you how I can leave the sophs behind,” said Will with a laugh, for he was now feeling somewhat the effects of Hawley’s manner of meeting his tormentors, and as he glanced down at Peter John it required no deep insight to perceive which was the better way.

The boys in the room laughed good-naturedly and one of them said, “That’s enough, Mott.  They don’t need any more.”

“Hold on, I’m not done yet,” replied Mott.  “Tell me what’s the name of the little school from which you came,” he demanded of Will.

“The Sterling High School.”

“And you ran there?”

“A little.”

“Get any medals?”

“A few.”

“Nice ones!  Got any here?”

On his fob Will wore the gold medal he had won the preceding June, but he laughed and made no reply to Mott’s question, fearful of incurring further ridicule if he should display the trophy.