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Page 42
"He said you had it in you to make one of the best runners in college,
and he's going to keep an eye on you for the team too."
"Did he say that?"
"That's what he did."
"The two-twenty hasn't been run yet. I believe I'll go in for that."
"That's the way to talk."
"Let me see when it comes," said Will, turning to his program as he
spoke.
"Fifteen minutes yet," said Hawley. "Come into the dressing room,
Phelps, and I'll give you a good rubbing down."
Will at once accompanied his friend to the dressing room, and when the
call for the two hundred and twenty yards' dash was made, he took his
place on the line with the other competitors. There were only four, the
same four that had run in the final heat of the hundred yards, the
defeated contestants all having dropped out save one.
When the pistol was fired and the racers had started, Will was at once
aware that again the victory was not to be his. The lack of training
and practice, and perhaps also the depression which his previous defeat
had produced in his mind contributed to his failure; but whatever the
cause, though he exerted himself to the utmost, he found that he was
unable to overtake either Mott or Ogden, who steadily held their places
before him. It was true when the race was finished that he was less than
a yard behind Mott, who was himself only about a foot in the rear of the
fleet-footed Ogden, and that the fourth runner was so far behind Will
that he was receiving the hootings and jibes of the sophomores, but
still the very best that Phelps was able to do was to cross the line as
third. It was true that again he had won a point for the honor of his
class, but it was first place he had longed to gain, and his
disappointment was correspondingly keen.
It was Hawley who again received him in his arms, and once more the
young giant endeavored to console his defeated classmate, for as such
Will looked upon himself, in spite of the fact that he had come in
third, and therefore had scored a point in each race. But as Hawley
perceived that his friend was in no mood to listen, he wisely refrained
from speaking, and both stood near the track watching the contestants in
the various events that were not yet run off. Too proud to acknowledge
his disappointment in his defeat by departing from the field, and yet
too sore in his mind to arouse much enthusiasm, he waited till the games
were ended and it was known that the sophomores had won by a score of
sixty-four and a half to forty-eight and a half. Then he quietly sought
the dressing room, and as soon as he had donned his garments went at
once to his own room.
It was a relief to find that not even Foster was there, and as he seated
himself in his easy-chair and gazed out at the brilliantly clad hills
with the purple haze that rested over them all, for a time a feeling of
utter and complete depression swept over him. Was this the fulfillment
of the dreams he had cherished of the happiness of his college life?
Already warned by Splinter that his work in Greek was so poor that he
was in danger of being dropped from the class, the keen disappointment
of his father apparent though his words had been few, the grief in his
home and the peril to himself were all now visible to the heart-sick
young freshman. And now to lose in the two track events had added a
weight that to Will seemed to be almost crushing. He had pictured to
himself how he would lightly turn away his poor work in the classroom by
explaining that he could not hope to win in everything, and that
athletics had always been his strong point anyway. But now even that was
taken away and his failure was almost equally apparent in both.
He could see Peter John coming up the walk, receiving the
congratulations of the classmates he met and giving his "pump-handle"
handshake to those who were willing to receive it. It was maddening and
almost more than Will thought he could bear. It was a mistake that he
had ever come to college anyway, he bitterly assured himself. He was not
well prepared in spite of the fact that he had worked hard for a part of
his final year in the preparatory school. Greek? He detested the
subject. Even his father came in for a share of blame, for if he had
not insisted upon his taking it Will never would have entered Splinter's
room. He might have taken German under "Dutchy," or English under
Professor Jones, as many of his classmates were doing, and every one
declared that the work there was a "snap."
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