“No, I didn’t wait for that.  Did you make a speech?  I heard the boys laughing and cheering as I came away.”

“Oh, yes, I got off a few stale jokes and some heavy-footed persiflage.  It went well enough.—­But I looked for you afterwards because I felt I may have seemed rather short when you came up; the truth is, I was racking my brain at that moment; Scarborough had just sprung the fact on me that I must make the speech.”

“Oh, it was all right,” said Irving.  “I’m sorry to have bothered you at such a time.  I was just a little agitated because Westby was rather angry over being penalized in the hundred—­”

“So I hear.  Well, it was hard luck in a way—­but after all you had a perfect right to penalize him; he did foul, and he ought to be sport enough to take the consequences.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t have been—­it wouldn’t be possible to run the race over?”

“Certainly not.  Besides, Westby has no right to say that if he’d started even with Flack, he’d have beaten him.  It’s true that he gained half a yard on Flack in the race; but it’s also true that Flack knew he had that much leeway.  There’s no telling how much more Flack might have done if he’d had to.  So if Westby says anything to me, I shall tell him just that.”

“I feel sorry about the thing anyway.  I’m sorry I made a mess of it—­as usual.”

“Oh, cheer up; it’s not going to do you any harm with the fellows.  A little momentary flash from Westby and Morrill—­”

“No, I wasn’t thinking of myself.”

“You weren’t!” The bluntness of Barclay’s exclamation of astonishment caused Irving to blush, and Barclay himself, realizing what he had betrayed to Irving’s perception, looked embarrassed.  But Irving laughed.

“I don’t wonder you’re surprised.  I guess that’s been the worst trouble with me here—­thinking about myself.  And that was what was troubling me when I went to you this afternoon.  But it isn’t any longer.  I feel bad about Westby.  I can’t help thinking I did rob him of his race—­and then I sat on him at supper into the bargain.”

Barclay shouted with laughter.  “You sat on Westby—­and you’re sorry for it!  What’s happened to you, anyway?  Tell me about it.”

Irving narrated the circumstances.  “And I want to be friendly with him,” he concluded.  “Don’t you think I might explain that it was a blunder on my part—­and that I’m sorry I blundered?”

“I wouldn’t,” said Barclay.  “He’s beginning to respect you now.  Don’t do anything to make him think you’re a little soft.  That’s what he wants to think, and he’d construe any such move on your part unfavorably.”

“Well, perhaps so.”  Irving sighed.

“You’re stiffening up quite a lot,” observed Barclay.

“I was very wobbly when Westby and the other fellows went for me after that race,” confessed Irving.  “If I stiffened up, I guess it was just the courage of desperation.  And I don’t think that amounts to much.  But I’ve cheered up for good now.”