“Hollingsworth is not a fool, and he knows there will be other good cross-country men in the race. No doubt he sympathizes with Huntley, but Huntley must be unusual in order to lead this man to believe he will win.”
At this moment one of the gentlemen called attention to a carriage that was approaching the clubhouse. Immediately Proctor announced that Mr. Ashley was one of the two gentlemen in the carriage.
“He is bringing the trophy!” cried the president of the club, in great eagerness. “He stated he would show it here this afternoon. Come down, gentlemen—come down and see it!”
They descended from the observatory and went down to the parlor, where they found Mr. Ashley had already arrived, the carriage being outside the door.
The gentleman who accompanied Mr. Ashley carried in his hand a leather bag, which seemed quite heavy.
“That bag contains the trophy, I think,” said Frank to Bart, as Proctor hastened to speak to Ashley.
The founder of the club was a man of slender, wiry build, an Englishman of the higher grade, who had not acquired that ponderous solemnity most Americans expect to see in Britishers of middle age and of his standing. In many respects he was more like an American than a typical Englishman. His hair and mustache contained a liberal sprinkling of gray. He was plainly dressed in brown.
Mr. Ashley had been expected, and there was a large gathering of members in the parlor. He greeted them in a pleasant manner, yet without elaborate politeness.
“Put the bag on the table in the centre of the room, Mr. Graham,” he said, and his companion did as directed.
Herbert Hollingsworth entered and hurried to Mr. Ashley.