In a moment, however, the runners were off and Peter John quickly advanced to the first place, followed by a line of five that were well bunched together.  There were many derisive calls and cries and Peter John’s work seemed to be taken as a joke by all the spectators, who were loud in their declarations that he was “making a mistake” and would “never be able to maintain his stride.”  Around the course sped the runners until at last they were on the home stretch and still Peter John was in advance, his arms working like the fans of a Dutch windmill and his awkward movements becoming more awkward as the strain of the final part of the race came upon him.  Still he was in the lead, however, and the derisive cries were giving place to shouts of approval and encouragement from his own classmates.

The increasing excitement seemed to provide an additional spur to the awkward freshman, for his speed suddenly increased and he darted across the line far in advance of his rivals who were bunched behind him.  Laughter was mingled with the applause that greeted him, and when the captain of the college track team advanced and extended his hand in congratulation, the genuineness of the applause that followed was unquestioned.

Peter John, highly elated by his success, approached Will and said glibly:  “There, Will, I rather guess that’ll add five points to our score.”

“I rather guess it will,” laughed his classmate cordially.  He was as greatly surprised as any one that day, but he was too generous to begrudge any praise to Peter John.

“Now see that you do as well,” said Peter John, as the call for the finals in the hundred-yard dash was made.

Will made no response as he advanced to take his place.  Foster had already won the running broad jump and was in a fair way to win the shot-put as well.  Peter John had been successful too, and to Will it seemed that he must win his race or his disappointment would be almost too bitter to bear.

At the report of the pistol the contestants darted from the line and came speeding down the track toward the finish, which was near the place where the spectators were assembled.  Vigorously, lusty, the perfection physically of young manhood, the four runners sped on with the swiftness of the wind, but when they touched the tape it was evident that Mott was first by a small margin and that Ogden was second, being an almost imperceptible distance in advance of Will Phelps, who had finished third in the race.

CHAPTER XIII

WAGNER’S ADVICE

The applause that greeted the winners was sounding but dimly and like some far-away shout in Will Phelps’ ears when he staggered into the outstretched arms of Hawley, who was waiting to receive his classmate.  Mortification, chagrin, disappointment were all mingled in his feelings, and it was all intensified by the fact that both Foster and Peter John had won their “numerals” and were now marked men in the class.  Not that he begrudged either the honors he had won, but his own reputation as a sprinter had preceded his coming to Winthrop, and Will knew that great things had been expected of him.