For the Honor of the School: A Story of School Life and Interscholastic Sport

And Wayne it was. Slowly, doggedly, he drew from his place back of the St. Eustace man and fought his way inch by inch alongside. The cheering spectators saw the wearer of the blue glance swiftly at the Hillton runner and throw back his head. But the boy beside him refused to be thrown off and down the course they came together, their tired limbs keeping time to the frenzied cheers of the throng.

“St. Eustace wins! Keller’s ahead!”

“Hillton’s race! Gordon leads!”

And then, high above the babel of a hundred voices, sounded a mighty shout from Paddy:

“Come on, ‘Old Virginia!’”

Wayne, racing along stride for stride with the St. Eustace runner, heard the cry and made a final, despairing effort.

And then the crowd was thick about him, Dave and Paddy were holding him up, Don was hugging him ecstatically, and the fellows were laughing and shouting as though crazy; and Wayne, panting and weak, wondered what it all meant.

It only meant that Hillton had won by a yard and that the final score stood: Hillton, 21; St. Eustace, 22; Shrewsburg, 43.

CHAPTER III

IN 15 BRADLEY

It was getting dark in the study of No. 15 Bradley Hall, and Wayne laid his book down on the window seat and fell to looking idly out of the window. The broad expanse of the Hudson River was visible for several miles, and its quiet surface reflected all the tones of gold and crimson with which the western sky was aglow. Far to the left a little dark spot marked the location of the railway station, and the steel rails, stretching to the southward, caught the sunset glint here and there and looked like shafts of fire. The meadow and the campus were still green, and the station road was blotched with the purple shadows of hedge and tree. To the left a tiny steamer was creeping from sight beyond the island and the far-stretching marsh across the water was brightly yellow with autumn grass.

Inside the room the shadows were beginning to gather wherever the glow from the two windows failed to reach. They had already hidden the bookcase near the hall door and Don’s armchair was only a formless hulk in the gloom. The door to the bedroom was ajar and through it the shadows were silently creeping, for that room was on the back of the building and its one window gave but scant light at sunset time. The study was a comfortable-looking den. There was a big green-topped table in the center, flanked by easy-chairs, and holding a student lamp, an ornamental inkstand, a number of books, and a miscellaneous litter of paper, pens, golf balls, gloves, and caps. A lounge, rather humpy from long and hard usage, disputed a corner of the apartment with a low bookcase whose top afforded a repository for photographs and a couple of hideous vases which for years past had “gone with the room.” There was a fireplace on one side which to-day held no fire. The mantel was decorated with more photographs and three pewter mugs, Wayne’s trophies of the cinder track. Some tennis racquets, three broken and repaired golf sticks, and a riding whip were crossed in a bewildering fashion above a picture of an English rowing regatta, and on either side hung framed “shingles” of the Senior Debating Society and the Hillton Academy Golf Club. Other pictures adorned the walls here and there; two businesslike straight-backed chairs were placed where they could not fail to be fallen over in the dark; and a bright-colored but somewhat threadbare carpet was on the floor. There were two windows, for No. 15 was a corner study, and in each was a comfortable seat generously furnished with pillows. At this moment both seats were occupied. In one lounged Wayne; in the other Don was still trying to study by the fading light. His left foot was perched carefully on a cushion, for the injured ankle was not yet fully strong, although nearly a week had elapsed since the cross-country run and his accident. Finally Don, too, laid aside his book.

“Want to light up, Wayne?”

“No, let’s be lazy; it’s so jolly in the twilight. I like to watch sunsets, don’t you? They’re sort of mysterious and – and sad.”

“Hello!” laughed Don. “You must be a bit homesick.”

“No, not exactly, though the sunset did look a bit like some we have down home. I wish you could see a Virginia sunset, Don.”

“Aren’t they a good deal like any other sunset?”

“No, I don’t think so. From our house at home the sun always sets across a little valley and back of a hill with a lot of dark trees on it. And there’s always a heap of blue wood smoke in the air and the woods are kind of hazy, you know. Wish I was there,” he added, with a tinge of melancholy in his voice.

“Cheer up,” said Don. “You’ll feel better after supper. You’re homesick. I used to be, my first year. Used to think I’d give most anything for a sight of the Charles River and the marshes, as they look from the library window at home. But I got over it. When I began to feel sad and virtuous I’d go out and swat a football or jump over things. That’s the best way to get rid of homesickness, Wayne; go in for athletics and get your blood running right. You don’t have much chance to think about home when you’re leaping hurdles or trying to bust your own record for the hundred yards.”

“I should think not,” laughed Wayne. “I know I wasn’t homesick the other day when I was chasing around country and jumping over those silly hedges; but I reckon I’d rather be a bit homesick than have my legs ache and my lungs burst.”

“They won’t when you’re in training,” answered Don. “But you did great work that day; we were awfully proud of you.”

“So you say, and I suppose it’s all right, only I keep telling you that I wasn’t trying to win the team race; I was just trying to beat that blamed St. Eustace chump who laughed at me when I was sitting comfortably on the ground there. Just as though any fellow mightn’t fall over those old hedges, hang him!”

“Well, don’t you mind,” answered Don soothingly. “He isn’t laughing now, you can bet; that laugh cost his school the race.”

Wayne made no reply. He had gathered the pillows in a heap under his head and was lying on his back nursing his knees. It was almost dark outdoors and in the room the shadows held full sway. Across from Don’s window the lights in Masters Hall were coming out and throwing dim shafts upon the broad gravel path.

“Wayne, I wish you’d go into training for the track team,” continued Don. “All you need is some good hard practice to make you a dandy runner. Why don’t you?”

“What’s the good?” asked Wayne carelessly. “I have hard enough work as it is trying to learn my lessons without losing a lot of time running around a track. Besides, it’s so tiresome.”

“Don’t talk nonsense,” answered Don. “You have hard work with your lessons because you won’t study, and you know it. You could do a lot of training in the time you spend now in loafing. And, look here, Wayne, if you go in for athletics you can study a lot better; really. I know; I’ve tried both ways. And besides, you won’t have to run around a track much until long after winter term begins; hard work doesn’t start until February. Of course, if you’ve made up your mind to be a duffer, I won’t say anything more about it. But I’m captain of the track team, and I know you would make a bully runner and I want you to help me out if you will. We’re going to have a hard time next spring to find good men for the mile and half-mile events, and if we don’t win one of them I’m afraid St. Eustace or Collegiate is sure of first place. I wish old Hillton might come out on top next year. Think of it, Wayne, this is my second year as captain, and my last, for I shan’t take it again, and if we are beaten next spring it will be a nice record to leave behind, won’t it? Two defeats and no victories! Hang it, we’ve got to win, Wayne!”

Wayne laughed lazily.

“What’s so funny?” demanded Don rather crossly.

“You – you’re so serious. The idea of caring so much about whether we get beaten or not next spring. Why, it’s months away yet. If you’ve got to worry about it, why not wait awhile?”

Don was too vexed to reply and Wayne went on in his careless, good-natured tones.

“You fellows up North here are so crazy about athletics. Of course, they’re good enough in their way, I reckon, but seems to me that you don’t think about much else. I don’t mean that you don’t study – you’re all awful grinds – but you never have any time for – for – ”

“What – loafing?” asked Don sarcastically.

“No, not exactly that, but – but – oh, hunting and riding and being sociable generally. Do you shoot?”

“Not much; I’ve potted beach birds and plovers once or twice.”

“Well, that’s the kind of sport I like. Down home we shoot quail, you know; it’s right good fun. And next month the fox hunting begins.”

“I think I should like that,” exclaimed Don eagerly, forgetting his ill humor. “I’ve never ridden to hounds. Isn’t it hard jumping fences and things?”

“Hard – on a horse? Shucks! Compared to leaping over hedges on your feet it’s about the easiest thing in the world. All you have to do is to sit still.”

“Well, it sounds easy,” answered Don dubiously, “but I should think sitting still on a horse that was plunging over a rail fence would be rather difficult; seems to me that the easiest thing would be to fall off. Did you ever fall?”

“Twice. Once I hurt my shoulder a little. Of course we boys don’t do any hard riding; dad won’t let me go out very often, and when he does he always goes along. You see, once I went fox hunting instead of going to school, and he found out about it.”

“What kind of a school was it you went to?”

“Oh, a little private school kept by an old codger who used to be a professor at the University. We fellows had a pretty easy time of it; when we didn’t want to study we didn’t, which was mighty often.”

“Well, you won’t find it so easy here,” said Don.

“Oh, I’ve found that out already,” answered Wayne ruefully. “We have so many studies here I can’t begin to keep track of them all. I never know whether I ought to be at a recitation or fussing with dumb-bells in the gymnasium.”

“Well, you’ll get used to it after a while and like it immensely, and think that there isn’t another place in the world like Hillton. And when you do you’ll care more whether we win or get beaten at athletics and football; and then – ”

There came a loud hammering at the door.

“Enter Paddy and David!” cried Don.

Dave Merton alone entered, and closing the door behind him promptly fell over an armchair.

“Confound you fellows! why can’t you keep your room decent? A chap’s always breaking his shins when he comes here. Where’s Paddy?”

“What, have you become separated?” cried Don. “Light the gas, Wayne, and let us view the unaccustomed sight of Dave without Paddy.”