Winning His "W" Part 17

"Everybody expected them to. They all know you're a good runner, Phelps, but they say a freshman never wins. Such a thing hasn't been known for years. You see, a freshman is all new to it here, and I don't care how good he is, he can't do himself justice. You ought to hear what Wagner, the captain of the college track team, had to say about you."

"What did he say?" inquired Will eagerly.

"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 compet.i.tors. 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 soph.o.m.ores, 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 cla.s.s, 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 cla.s.smate, 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 soph.o.m.ores 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 cla.s.s, 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 cla.s.sroom 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 cla.s.smates 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 a.s.sured 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 cla.s.smates were doing, and every one declared that the work there was a "snap."

It was not long before Will Phelps was in a state of mind wherein he was convinced that he was being badly treated and had more to contend against than any other man in his cla.s.s. His naturally impulsive disposition seldom found any middle ground on which he was permitted to stand. His father had one time laughingly declared that the comparative degree had been entirely left out of Will's make-up and that things were usually of the superlative. "Worst," "best," "poorest," "finest" were adjectives most commonly to be found in his vocabulary, and between the two extremes a great gulf appeared to be fixed. He had also declared that he looked for Will to occupy no middle ground. He would either be a p.r.o.nouncedly successful man or an equally p.r.o.nounced failure, a very good man or a man who would be a villain. And Will had laughingly accepted the verdict, being well a.s.sured that he knew, if it must be one of the two, which it would of necessity be. All things had gone well with him from the time of his earliest recollections. His home had been one of comfort and even of elegance, any reasonable desire had never been denied, he had always been a leading spirit among the pupils of the high school, and that he was too, a young fellow who was graceful in his appearance, well dressed, and confident of his own position, doubtless Will Phelps was aware, although he did not give expression to the fact in such terms.

And now the "superlative degree" had certainly displayed itself, Will thought in his wretchedness, only it had manifested itself in the extreme which he never had before believed to be possible with him. He listened to the shouts and laughter of the students pa.s.sing along the street below and every fresh outburst only served to deepen his own feeling of depression. Not any of the enthusiasm was for him.

He was roused from his bitter reflection by the opening of the door into his room, but he did not look up, as he was convinced that it was only his room-mate, and Foster understood him so well that he would not talk when he saw that he was in no mood for conversation.

"h.e.l.lo, Phelps! What's wrong?"

Will hastily sat erect and looked up. His visitor was Wagner, the captain of the track team, the one senior of all others for whom Will cherished a feeling of respect that was almost unbounded. He had never met the great man before, but he had looked up to him with awe when Wagner had been pointed out to him by admiring students, and he was aware that the captain's reputation was as great in the college for his manliness as it was for his success in athletics. Unpretentious, straightforward, without a sign of "cant" or "gush" about him, the influence of the young leader had been a mighty force for good in the life of Winthrop College. And now as Will glanced into the face of the tall, powerful young fellow and realized that it was indeed himself whom his visitor was addressing, his feeling of depression instantly gave place to surprise and in the unexpected honor he found it difficult to express himself.

"Nothing much. I wasn't just looking for any--for you," he stammered.

"Won't you take this chair, Mr. Wagner?" Will pushed the easy-chair toward his visitor as he spoke and again urged him to be seated.

"That's all right, Phelps. Keep your seat. I'll just sit here," replied Wagner, seating himself upon the edge of Will's desk. "How do you feel after the games?" he inquired.

"I'm a bit sore outside and worse still inside."

"What's the trouble?"

"I came in only third."

"Only third? Where did you expect to come in?"

"Why--why, I was hoping I'd get first in the hundred," Will managed to reply.

"You're a modest youth," laughed Wagner, surveying his long legs and laughing in such a manner that Will was compelled to join.

"Well, the fellows rather thought I'd win and that's what makes me feel worse about it."

"They're only freshmen; they don't know any better," laughed Wagner.

"Don't let that bother you for a minute. I think you did well myself, and besides, the freshmen very seldom win in the sprints. I don't know that I ever saw one since I've been in college."

"Did you win the hurdles when you were a freshman?"

"Oh, I just happened to. 'Twas an accident of some kind, I fancy. Yes, I think the soph who was ahead of me tripped and fell, so I crawled in first."

"That will do for you to tell."

"Perhaps I did win. But that's neither here nor there. It isn't what I came for. I didn't want to talk about myself but about you."

Will looked up eagerly but did not speak, though his question was to be seen in the expression of his face.

"My advice to you is to go to work and try for the track team in the spring."

"Do you think I can make it?" said Will breathlessly.

"I don't say that," laughed Wagner. "That's something to be decided later. All I said was that you'd better 'try' for it. You've nothing to lose if you fail and something to win if you succeed."

"But if I should try and then not make it."

"Yes, that's a possibility, of course. No man can ever tell about that.

But I shouldn't let it break my heart if I didn't make the team the first year. Very few do that. All I say is go ahead and try. No man can ever tell what's in him till he tests himself, can he?"

"No, I suppose not."

"Now don't have any nonsense about it, Phelps, and don't misunderstand me. I believe in every man doing his best and then just resting there and not crying over what he can't ever have. If a man does his best and then doesn't have the whole world bowing and sc.r.a.ping before him because he isn't very high up, that isn't any reason why he should kick. Take what you've got, use it, test it, and then if you find you're not a star but only a candle, why, just shine as a candle and don't go sputtering around because you can't twinkle like a star. At least that's the way I look at it."

"Perhaps a fellow's father and mother don't look at it that way."

"Are you having trouble with Splinter?" demanded the senior sharply.

"A little. Yes, a good deal. I detest the fellow!" said Will bitterly.

"No wonder you lost the hundred," responded Wagner with a smile. "Do you know, Phelps, I had the same experience you're having with him when I was a freshman."

"What did you do?"

"Do? There's only one thing to do and that is to do his work. But I advise you to go down to his house and see him and talk it over."

"He won't want to see me."