“It was a great race, Phelps,” said Hawley, “and you’ve added another point to our score.”

Will could understand the attempt at consolation which his huge classmate was making, but it only served to increase the bitterness of his own defeat.  He smiled, but made no response.  He could see Peter John strutting about and receiving the half-bantering congratulations of the students, and his heart became still heavier.

“Never mind, Phelps, you didn’t have any chance to train,” said Hawley.  “Mott and Ogden have been down on the track every evening for the past three weeks.”

“They have?” demanded Will, a ray of light appearing for the moment.

“Sure.  And besides all that they got the date of the ‘meet’ changed too.”

“They beat me,” said Will simply.

“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 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.