THE GAME WITH ST.

JOHN'S

At the age of seventeen, Randolph Skflton, by

virtue of his bringing up, had an almost morbid

regard for life and limb. He arrived at St. Tim

othy's School with a large medicine chest, bottles
of "tonics," salves, and ointments, and various
cosmetics —for his mother had always delighted
in his complexion. When he had unpacked and
arranged all these things, the little alcove that was
to be his domicile for the next nine months looked
like a chemist's closet.
He was a big, well-built, roseate boy, and one
would never have suspected the delicacy of his
organism as he and his mother conceived it. Ex
cept for a year at a small private school in New
York, where he lived, he had always been under
a tutor, for Mrs. Skilton had felt that he was not
strong enough to cope with the roughness and
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