Let it be understood, then, that Frycollin was a thorough coward.
And now it was midnight, and the pale crescent of the moon began to sink in the west behind the trees in the park.

The rays streaming fitfully through the branches made the shadows darker than ever.
Frycollin looked around him anxiously.

"Brrr!" he said, "There are those fellows there all the time.

Positively they are getting nearer! Master Uncle!" he shouted.
It was thus he called the president of the Weldon Institute, and thus did the president desire to be called.
At the moment the dispute of the rivals had reached its maximum, and as they hurled their epithets at each other they walked faster and faster, and drew farther and farther away from the Schuyllkill bridge.

They had reached the center of a wide clump of trees, whose summits were just tipped by the parting rays of the moon.