"What's the use of having friends?" Alice laughed. "What are you going to do this afternoon?"

"I think I'll lock my closet first. Then I suppose I'll play tennis some more," she added in a sober tone.

A quick frown came over the pretty face at her shoulder. "I wish things did n't mean so much to you, Phil," Alice said slowly. "You work too hard. Why don't you play with us once in awhile and let us show you how much we want you and love you? None of the crowd but you chase rainbows all the time."

"I guess they are rainbows!" she sighed. "They are n't for the school," was the prompt rejoiner. "You 're doing more for the Manor than any other junior."

"Don't be silly, Allie! We all try, of course, but that 's about as far as I ever seem able to get. All my rainbows end nowhere."

"Wish a few of mine were half so lovely! The trouble with you, Phil, is that you never recognize your pots of gold. But that's what makes you you. I'm not going to tell you what you are; you would n't believe me if I did. But sometime you 'll find out and then you'll be the only one in all the Manor who is the least bit surprised. Now I'll take that closet key and you go wear yourself out."

"You're not going to have my party dress," declared Phyllis, her blue eyes dancing with merriment over the characteristic ending of the lecture. "I think I'll make you put on tennis-shoes and give me some practice. I need it," she added.

"Mabel won't practise this afternoon; there's a senior meeting for Founder's Day." "That 's all the more reason I should. I want to win the tournament. I've a better chance there than in anything I 've tried to do-even though I do say it myself."

Alice glanced at her an instant. Phyllis

appeared even more determined than usual, and her friend felt a quick heart-stab. Even though too indolent to play, she knew tennis and, even better, knew Mabel Trafford's brilliancy. Poor, lovable, earnest old Phil was courting one more of her characteristic disappointments. "Why 's your heart set on winning this old tournament?" Alice asked. "Be satisfied with having reached the finals. Mabel's a senior and has had lots more experience."

"I know that. But I represent our class, and no junior has won the cup for years and years. Think how pleased the girls would be if we could win. Don't think that I'm cup-hunting!" she cried suddenly. "I don't care anything about the old cup except for the class. But I've never done anything for the juniors and I 'd like to succeed just once."

"You go and play tennis," laughed Alice, giving her a little push. "Some of these days you 'll wake up to several things, dear. And where did you say that key was?"

Phyllis waved her hand as she hurried on to her room to change into tennis clothes, but Alice stayed in the main hall, a frown gathering on her forehead. Yet there was nothing she could do. There would be another defeat at the end of one more rainbow, but hard-working, loyal, unselfish Phyllis would look on it as another failure to uphold the honor of her class. Alice liked Mabel Trafford, but she felt as if she could bandage a sprained ankle for her without breaking her own heart.

Nor was she alone in her distress. In Eleanor's room that very afternoon the other leaders of the junior class were chattering like birds in a cage at the zoo. "It just breaks my heart to think of poor Phil coming out second best again on Saturday," owned Helen Weeks. "I don't care how much she laughs and says it does n't matter, I know it hurts to keep on doing what she calls failing."

"Wish I could fail in her way about 'steen times every day!" sighed Alice. "She has more pluck than any girl I ever knew, and she's the most unselfish girl in the world. This tennis thing 's going to be pretty bad; she has n't a chance to beat Mabel."

"Wish she would!" snapped Eleanor. "Mabel 's so sure of herself."

"Let's invite her to a spread," suggested little Mary Bullock, sitting up; "maybe she'd eat something which would give her ptomaines or something."

"Yes, and if that happened, it would be just like Phyllis to default to her," declared Alice, impatiently. "There's only one thing to do, and that 's to comfort her the best we can Saturday evening."

"We can elect her class president next year," said Eleanor.

"Who thought of doing anything else?" demanded Alice. "She 'll get all the honors "She 'll get all the honors there are, and she 'll try to refuse most of them, because she 'll say they 're offered just because her family is one of the Manor traditions. That's the whole trouble, I think she's trying to live up to her mother and grandmother all the time and forgetting that she 's just herself."

"Maybe Mabel will make her Head Girl," suggested Eleanor. "Mrs. Webster was."

Alice shook her golden head. "That 's going to you," she said. "You deserve it, too; you 've been on all the teams and committees."

"I don't want it; it 's too much trouble."

"I can see you, or any one else, refusing to take that flag," giggled Helen. "Don't be silly, Eleanor! Phil would be the last to want you to miss that. There's no sense in your trying to be so modest."

Eleanor's bobbed head shook decisively. "Is n't a matter of modesty," she said; "I'd be perfectly impossible. I'm too lazy and easy-going."

"We have n't got to decide it, anyway," said Alice. "Mabel will give that flag to the girl she thinks deserves it most."

"I don't have to worry about the lightning hitting me," giggled Helen.

"Not as long as you 're late to breakfast every morning, you don't," comforted her room-mate. "What were we talking about when Eleanor began that discourse on her popularity? If no one remembers, I vote some one makes some tea."

That ended further discussion of serious affairs. None doubted Eleanor's sincerity, but neither did any one doubt that the school's

highest honor would go to her. And, had she been there, none would have been louder than Phyllis in according Eleanor her full due.

But Phyllis was busy on the courts. Two

house again, a first-year girl clinging to either arm. As they entered, Mabel Trafford came running to meet them.

"You 've been practising, Phil," she charged. "You knew I had to go to senior

first-year girls had offered themselves as willing victims for her practice, and throughout the long afternoon they lobbed and smashed so that she might strengthen her defensive game. Her only chance against Mabel Trafford was in wearing down her brilliancy through steadiness. And that was exactly the game which suited Phyllis best.

She was tired as she came up to the main

meeting and you 've been taking an unfair advantage of me."

"I need all that sort of advantage I can get," Phyllis retorted with a tired smile. "I'm going to beat you, if I can."

"I'm going to take precious good care that you don't, my dear. We seniors need that cup. We want to make a sweep of everything this year, and that 's the only thing we have n't won. Oh, by the way, here's your list of junior ushers." She offered the paper carelessly, but her eyes were dancing.

"My list! what do you mean?"

"What I say. You have to notify the other five, you know." She leaned forward suddenly and kissed the flushed cheek. "You are a dear!" she exclaimed.

"But Mabel," Phyllis faltered, "this says I'm chairman."

"Having written it myself, I guessed as much."

"But you 've put me first, instead of Eleanor."

"How careless of me! You run along and tell the others; they 'll want to know. You were the only girl sure of an election, you know. The others are anxious."

"But-but-" There was a rush from the stairs. The next second, and Eleanor had snatched the precious list from her fingers. The next, and a dozen girls were trying to kiss Phyllis at the same time. There was no

question as to the popularity of the senior's choice. Only Phil was aghast. She could n't believe a mistake had not been made.

"Now what do you think about rainbows?" cried Alice.

"I think this one 's got all twisted up in itself," stammered Phil. "Eleanor, I 'm-" But Eleanor was the one who was hugging her tightest.

That evening was all confusion for Phyllis. She could n't make herself believe it had really happened. She had dared hope she might get sixth place on the list. She felt she had done almost enough to win that. But the chairmanship was too much! Why, it always went to the most popular girl in the junior class! There was surely some mistake somewhere.

But Saturday afternoon, as she stepped out on the court to practise with Mabel before their match began, even the seniors tried to dispel that idea. They cheered her almost as loudly as they applauded Mabel, and the first-year girls along the side-lines clutched each other and whispered their hope that she might do the unexpected. had never been too busy to help any one of them, and they loved her for her friendly way, her kindly thoughtfulness, and, above all, for her loyalty to the Manor.

She

But the first four games seemed to foretell the outcome. Mabel had never played in better form, and when she did not rush to the net to kill the too soft returns, her drives screamed to the lines for well-earned place

ments.

"I'm glad Phil got that chairmanship," Eleanor confided to Alice; "it 'll make what's going to happen easier."

She

"But she did so want to win this! does n't seem to count the things her personality wins for her. I can't understand her at all."

"I'm beginning to. She thinks only of the class and the Manor. She does n't care a bit about the tennis cup; she wants the juniors to win the tournament."

"We're not going to," sighed Alice. "There goes another game."

The sixth was dropped almost as quickly. Even Mabel's room-mate had not expected such easy victory. Phyllis appeared unable to do anything but play her opponent's game for her. But as the two changed courts, Alice saw there was no disappointment on her friend's face, only that calm, dogged expression she had worn while driving every second team to the full of its

power. "This next set 's going to be different," she declared.

"Hope so," agreed Eleanor; "that one was awful."

Not for a second did Mabel Trafford consider softening her game. She knew Phil, and she knew she would want to take her defeat four-square. She even increased the speed of her drives in the first game. But the pace was hard to keep up, and more and more of her shots were returned, while the score crept to three-love. And now, too, the ball seemed to go first to one side and then to the other, and constant running began to tell. She had not worked for this match as had Phyllis, and it began to dawn on her that she was not only being made to race, but that these tactics were telling on

As Phil made ready to serve, Mabel smiled understandingly. She was not to be so easily outgeneraled. Two could play that game. With a safe lead, she could well afford to drop two games in order to get her breath. So she let some easy returns go as placements, and was not in the least disturbed when the score reached 3-2. But her contented expression changed a trifle when she again speeded up her game. Phil had her eye on the lines now, and pulled the score to three-all, then to 4-3, and the firstyear girls were beside themselves.

Mabel, disturbed by the thought that only her classmates were for her, and worried by this attack which seemed scarcely more than a defense, made the grave mistake of abandoning a winning game for the net. It was the one thing Phyllis had hoped for. Her deep lobs sent Mabel scurrying back, and the gets were promptly killed. Before Mabel knew what had happened, the score was oneall.

Now

She had not expected to lose a single set. But she lost a second while wondering how the first had been snatched from her. not only the first-year girls, but the juniors, were beside themselves. Phil's friends saw the thing they had not dared hope for coming true. Alice and Eleanor clung to each other, almost afraid to cheer. "Can she keep it up?" breathed the former.

"Of course she can. She 's trained and she's wearing Mabel out. She'll win in straight sets now, and we 'll have the cup."

But the strain was telling on Phyllis, too. Each stroke had to be planned as well as executed; and as the fourth set got under way, she found she could no longer tease Mabel

to the net. For six games, victory went with service; then Mabel broke through. With the score 4-3, she called on the full strength of her reserve and ran out the set.

If ever intermission before decisive set was welcomed, it was by these two girls. Both were tired, and the nervous strain had told even more than the physical exertion. Phyllis had never played such tennis; Mabel was bewildered as well as anxious.

"Keep her moving, Phil dear," whispered Alice. "You 're going to win!"

But Phyllis had no breath to waste on answers. Vaguely she appreciated that the crowd about her were keyed high with excitement. Two thirds of the Manor wanted her to win. Never before had a junior had such a following. She felt the weight of the responsibility they put upon her weary shoulders. If she failed them now, it would be the worst of all her long series of failures. She must win that cup for the juniors. How, she did not know; but win she must.

Mabel came on the court, her face still red, but her lips tight. "All ready, Phil?" she called, then tossed the ball high for her first service.

It came hard and with a deceptive topspin. In some way Phyllis returned it. The battle was on again. But now, with the end in sight, neither stopped to count the cost in strength or breath. Yet Mabel was not to be denied. Phil could not control her first strokes. The service came too hard, and she dropped the first game.

Phyllis, too, put all she had into her first service, but Mabel's returns came low and hard, pulling her out of position and stealing the advantage which should have been hers. Yet she never faltered, never let a cross-court shot go by without doing her best for a get, and, in some way, she kept the ball in play and her opponent rushing from side to side. She knew Mabel was tired; she knew that she was, too. It would be more a question of courage than of tennis.

Slowly, carefully, painfully, her breath coming in sharper and sharper gasps, she worked the score to three-all. The girls on the lines were too thrilled to cheer. There was no applause, only the even, regular cry of Miss Sloan as she called out the score.

Now Mabel was making no effort to reach the net. She could not afford the strength. She wished she had worked as Phyllis had. It would have told now, would have given her the strength she needed to break through. And break through she must.

She won her service, then rallied all her strength for the crucial game. It was now or never, and she discarded her cross-court chops and sent her first return sizzling down the side-line. Twice more she won on the same stroke. Then Phyllis managed to serve to her back-hand and to kill the return. Again Phil tried the same tactics, but as she ran to the net, Mabel sent the ball whizzing down the side-line again. It was a perfect placement and Mabel had broken through at last.

But

She

The seniors were clapping wildly as Mabel went back to serve. With the score 5-3, the cup was as good as safe, and the traditions of the school were to remain unbroken. Phyllis Webster was not defeated. heard low cries of sympathy and encouragement, but her teeth set tight and she gripped her racket with all her strength in order to steady her nerve for what was to come. Mabel had broken through; what Mabel had done, she could do when her class called to her.

She had played the net but little. It seemed now to be her one chance. She followed her first return up like a swallow on the wing, and the unexpectedness of her move made Mabel send up an easy kill. But when she tried it a second time, a lob sent her flying back, and it was Mabel who smashed out the placement. Then came a service ace. She did her best, but could not reach the humming ball. A net was what made it thirty-all. A long, trying rally, and another net, brought the score to deuce. Then, because she was over-anxious, Phil drove out of court.

There was not a sound as she waited for the next serve. If she lost this point, it was set, match, and cup. She had done the unbelievable; would she now do the thing she had always done-fail in the last ditch? She drew a quick, sharp breath. This time she would win through!

The ball came with every ounce of Mabel's failing strength behind it. Phil saw her chance and she swung. Mabel had been too tired to move. The return went into the corner as Phyllis raced for the net.

But Mabel was on the ball in time. She made the get in perfect style, and the ball came back in a perfect lob. Phil turned and raced for the back court, head turned to watch the dropping ball. She could make it. Her feet flashed and her white skirt snapped as she raced. And the ball came down.