It was all the result of a violent discussion in Stoughton's room. Hudson held that four miles an hour was an easy walking gait; Stoughton and Gray said it wasn't.

"I tell you," said the latter, "when you are doing better than three and a half, you are hitting it up pretty well, and you couldn't keep it up for any length of time. Don't you remember, Dick, we timed ourselves when we walked out from Boston the other night? It took us fifty minutes from the corner of Charles and Cambridge Streets, and that is just about three miles."

"Yes, and we went at a pretty good pace too," added Stoughton.

"That was probably after a supper at Billy Parks'," Hudson explained; "under those circumstances you undoubtedly covered a great many more miles than the crow flies between here and Boston."

"No, witty youth, it wasn't anything of the kind. We don't follow in your footsteps," retorted Dick to this innuendo. "No, sir, you couldn't walk four miles an hour all day to save your neck."

"I'm betting I could," Hudson replied, "I have done it often out shooting."

"I dare say you thought so; have you ever tried it over a measured stretch?"

"No, but I can guess at about what rate I am walking, and four miles an hour is a good easy swing. I'll bet you a V that I can do twenty-four miles in six hours."

"I'll take that," answered Stoughton, promptly.

"So will I, if you offer the same," said Gray.

"Yes, I'll bet with you, too," said Hudson.

Just at that moment Ned Burleigh came in, going through the form of giving the door a thump as he opened it, and telling himself to come in.

"What are you abandoned sports betting about now?" he asked, as he covered the whole front of the fireplace as usual.

"Steve thinks he can walk twenty-four miles in six hours," answered Stoughton, "and we each have five dollars worth of opinion that he can't. What do you think about it?"

"I don't know; he is a pretty fast young man. Is it to be on a cinder track, or over an ordinary road? That would make a great difference."

"Have you any fond hope," asked Hudson, "that I am going to make a Roman holiday of myself on Holmes' Field for the edification of you children and the whole University? I am quite aware that that is just what you would like; you would be out there with a brass band. No, my friend, I ask for no advantages. I am quite willing to take my chances over any ordinary country road, and in ordinary clothes."

"Extraordinary English knickerbockers, you mean," corrected Ned.

"You can take the road from here to Framingham," suggested Stoughton. "That is a perfectly straight one and you can't miss it. It is a little short of twenty-four miles, but we will allow you the slight difference."

"Yes, I know that road," said Hudson. "I drove over it when I was at school at Southborough. Strike the Worcester turnpike, don't you, after crossing the river at Watertown, and then keep on through Newton, Wellesley, Natick, and all those places? All right, I'll take that road."

Ned Burleigh reflected a moment. "I think," he admitted, with a shake of his head, "that it can certainly be done by any man with strength and sand; but Steve Hudson can't do it."

"I'll tell you what, old fatty-cakes," declared Hudson, indignantly, "I'll bet you ten dollars on the event."

"No, I won't go you ten, because I don't believe in betting so much on a certainty. Besides, you are hard up now, and you would undoubtedly borrow from me the money with which to pay me your bet. I can't afford to have you do that, sweet me child, but I will contribute a five like the others, towards this purse."

It was arranged that Hudson should choose his day, and give notice of it to the others in the morning. Then the tones of the ancient bell, tolled by the ancient Jones, came from the ancient belfry of Harvard Hall, and Hudson and Gray went over to a recitation in University Hall.

When they had gone Burleigh delivered himself of a great whoop of ecstasy. "He can do it easily, I know," he said. "We shall lose our money, but, Great CÆsar, it will be worth the admission. We must get all the others to bet with him, too, so that he won't back out. Let's go and get ready for it at once."

"What do you mean?" queried Stoughton, "what are you going to do?"

"Can't you guess, Mack, you Eyetalian? Come on, I'll tell you," and they went out over the Square towards a printer's.

Three or four days after this Hudson appeared at breakfast in his walking breeches and big Scotch stockings and announced he was going to start. He would leave Harvard Square at half-past ten o'clock and arrive at the town hall in Framingham at half-past four on that afternoon.

Stoughton and Gray said that they might be at the finish to receive him, if they found nothing better to do, otherwise he could time himself at the finish. Both of these men had ten o'clock lectures, so they could not see him start. Holworthy and Randolph had promised to make up a four for a morning pull on the river. Rattleton, of course, had not yet come to breakfast. Burleigh also had a ten o'clock that he felt he really ought not to cut (it did not strike Steve at the time that this was no reason to Ned for not cutting); so he regretted exceedingly that he would have to let Steve start off uncheered and time himself. He would endeavor to be at the finish, however, to carry Hudson home.

Promptly at half-past ten Steve left Harvard Square, with a swinging stride, and struck up Garden Street by the Washington elm and thence to Brattle Street. He was in fine form and spirits and had chosen his day well. It was one of our glorious, manful November days that have had much to do, I firmly believe, with the progress of this nation; days when a man can do anything; when the sparkling, drinkable Northwester floods your lungs, and swells your chest into a balloon that seems to lift you clear of the ground. On such a day the twenty-four miles ahead of him seemed nothing to Hudson, and he sprang along overflowing with spirits.

The historic University town, with all its associations, seemed to him more beautiful and interesting than ever. Washington, he thought, might have taken command of an army under the old tree four or five times a day in such weather. No wonder Longfellow could keep the Muse at his fireside in that fascinating Craigie house. As he neared the end of Brattle Street, he went by peaceful Elmwood, where a poet, ambassador, scholar, and patriot was then ending his days; and buoyant, youthful Steve was struck by that perfect waiting-place for the great gentleman whose work was done. He wondered whether any of his friends would ever stir and honor the nation, and whether the great man had been anything like them when he was a fool undergrad. The traditions of the Hasty Pudding said that he had been a good deal like other boys.

Hudson reached Watertown well ahead of time. To his annoyance he saw that the street through which he had to pass was crowded, principally with small boys. "Something or other must have happened," he thought. "A dog-fight, or a runaway, or a man carried into a drug store. If the attraction is still on, I am all right; if not, I shall have to run the gauntlet."

He soon discovered that the latter apprehension was the true one, and that he was in for just that species of entertainment. A great cheer went up as he approached, and a body of embryo leading citizens ran forward to meet him. They closed in all around and escorted him along the main street between two lines of shouting people.

"Hey, mister, give us some!" "Go on, you'll do it; good boy, Wingsey." "When're yer goin' to fork 'em out?" "Rats, dat ain't him, dat fancy guy is one o' de Ha'vards, sure." "Will yer look at de jay?" "Get on to de legs!" "What's he got 'em wrapped up in, shawls?" "Naw, carpets." "Say, mister, yer pants is got caught inside yer socks." "I guess them is English, yer know." "Ain't yer going to give us no gum?" "A—ah, let 'm alone, he ain't nothin' but one o' them stoodent jays. He ain't no winged wonder, a—ah!"

The above was what Steve enjoyed in his progress through Watertown. He finally shook off his pursuers on the edge of the village, and breathed freely again, as he "crossed the river and mounted the steep." The beauty of the Charles begins at this point, and he sat down for a minute to look at it and rest. On his left was the first dam, the end of navigation for the college craft; on his right the river wound away from its high banks to the brown meadows beyond. While he sat there a four-oared crew shot under the bridge and rested on their oars in the quiet pool at his feet, just in front of the falls. He knew the man who was steering and called to him. "Hullo, Hudson," came the recognition, "what are you doing up here?"

"Off on a tramp. Glorious day for exercise, isn't it?"

"Yes, you have no idea how I enjoy this rowing," answered the coxswain.

"Have you seen Holworthy and Randolph up around this part of the river?"

"No, they were coming in this boat, but backed out because they had something else on hand, I believe."

"Oh, did they? Well, good-by, I have got to hurry along. I am walking against time."

Steve strode on through Newton, and Newton Centre, and Newton Lower Falls, and all the other Newtons, and to his horror he found in each town the same gathering, and went through the same ovation that he had received in Watertown. Had he gone to work and picked out a public holiday? No, he was sure it was not that, and the fact that it was Saturday, and the schools had therefore turned their swarms loose on the suffering country, would not account for all of the crowd in every village. Perhaps there was an extra election going on in that county. What puzzled him most, however, was that all the urchins seemed to expect something of him besides mere amusement, and a pitiable example of dress.

He passed close by Joe Lee's at Auburndale; several children ran across the lawn of the famous hostel, and after "sizing him up," went back with expressions of disappointment. The worst trial of all, however, was the battery at Wellesley. He had to go by the Female College, or Ladies' Seminary, and there was a large group of the students of that institution, by the roadside. Steve had never before been afflicted with bashfulness, and did not acknowledge that he was troubled in that way now, but he felt peculiarly alone, and would have given much for another man or just a few less girls. By the terms of his bet he could not run any of the distance; but a giggle almost made him throw up the stakes and break the pace. By a great effort, however, he brazened it out, and even smiled cheerfully. He made a penitent inward resolution never to lean out of the window again when a girl went through the Yard.

When more than half way, he stopped to speak with a farmer leaning over the fence by the road. The uncrossed Yankee of the rural districts still clings to a prejudice of his fathers, a prejudice, long since dropped in our more progressive communities, that a man has a right to wear what he chooses and do what he chooses provided he neither shocks nor interferes with any one else. This old farmer looked at Steve with wonder and interest, but did not think it necessary, as had the good citizens of the factory towns, to heap scorn and derision on "de dood." He bowed to the wayfarer, as he would to any well-behaved stranger.

"Good afternoon," said Hudson, grateful for this drop of human kindness. "Can you tell me, sir, how far it is to Framingham?"

"Wa-al, abaout nigh on to ten mile or more, they call it. There's a train goes pretty soon; ye won't find it so fur in the cars."

"Oh, I'm going to walk it," explained Steve, with a smile.

"Thet's a powerful long walk, young man. How fur ye come already?"

"From Cambridge."

"Gosh! Well your legs is young and pretty long, but ye must want suthin to do' pretty bad. Be ye broke or anythin'? Want any victuals?"

"No, thanks, I am walking for fun, trying to do it on time, you see."

"Mebbe you're advertisin' suthin'? Oh, I want to know! Be you the winged wonder o' Westchester, or some sech place I hear tell on jest now?"

A light began to glimmer in Hudson's mind. He had been asked several times if he was the "winged wonder," but had paid no attention to the question, supposing that it was merely a form of the great public wit. Now it was asked him in perfect good faith, and the name of his own home was added to the alliteration. He began to connect his persecution with Holworthy and Randolph's failure to row.

"No," he answered his friendly interrogator, "not intentionally, but I am beginning now to suspect that I am occupying some such position. I am much obliged to you for your information. I must move along now."

"Good day, sir; guess ye'll want a heap o' corn-plasters when ye git to Framin'am."

"Not with these stockings," laughed Hudson, glad of an opportunity to justify his clothes, "they're thick and soft, great things to walk in."

"They be, eh? Well, I kinder thought they wasn't just for looks. I don't want none to-day, though, good day."

"Good-by," and Steve went on, feeling sure that the old man still suspected him at least of peddling footgear.

Just before the end of his tramp he sat down for a rest on an inviting fence rail. He had plenty of time to spare, but the grassy bank might have kept him too long and made him stiff. Oh, how pleasant that three-cornered rail did feel! A piece of paper blew across the road and whirled up in his face. It was a hand-bill of some sort; he remembered now having seen several of them along the way, but had picked up none. He caught this one and turned it over. This was what he read:

HE IS COMING!

Wait for Him! Watch for Him!

The Winged Wonder of Westchester!

Peerless Pedestrian Prodigy!

He is matched to walk twenty-four miles to-day for an enormous purse. He holds world records for pedestrianism. He will wear one of our custom-made London suitings, unexcelled for natty outdoor wear and stylish appearance. They are all the rage in England, and therefore sure to be popular here.

He will also distribute, gratis, tops and marbles to the boys and chewing-gum to the ladies. Watch for him, everybody; he will be here soon, and will follow this road.

Come out, Girls! Come out, Boys!

Now is Your Chance.

Wait, Watch for the Winged Wonder of Westchester!

The glimmer dawned to a great light. He jumped down and hurried along the remaining mile or two as fast as his weary legs would go. There was no crowd awaiting him on the out-skirts of Framingham, and for a few minutes he hoped that he was going to at least finish in peace. Vain hope! As he approached the public square he saw it crowded with people and heard the strains of a brass band. On turning the corner he was received with a great shout. Then he saw a sight that explained it all, and caused him to exclaim, "The three-year-old idiots!"

In front of the town-hall was drawn up a barge with four plumed horses. In it were a band of music and a full delegation of Steve's devoted friends. Ned Burleigh was up on the box haranguing the populace.

"What sort of a fool circus are you children trying to make of yourselves," asked Hudson, as he came up.

"A grand one, old man, and you have been the elephant, the shining star of the whole show," replied Burleigh. "You will find beer in the ambulance."

"You have won the money handsomely, Steve," acknowledged Stoughton, "and we all accept with pleasure your kind invitation to dinner."