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 class.  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 pronouncedly successful man or an equally pronounced failure, a very good man or a man who would be a villain.  And Will had laughingly accepted the verdict, being well assured 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 passing 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.

“Hello, 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.