be seated at her table and giving gracious attention to her
gossipy conversation. For a whole week after his visit Aunt Selina made
a great point of it--and of telling her friends of it. The distinction
of having a Trevelyan to dinner was a great triumph over Mrs.
Fleming-Cohen, who had once entertained a Jewish mining magnate from the
Far West--but who had never attained anything like a Trevelyan.

I think Trevelyan began at first feeling very much ashamed and sorry; he
was just trying to square up matters with his own conscience. He had a
room in one of the college dormitories. He seldom used it, but when he
did he would invite me to stay up there with him and to sit until the
wee, quiet hours, talking over our briar pipes, interspacing the layers
of blue smoke with argument and stirring plans. Trevelyan had great
hopes for me. He had discovered that I was a runner.

As a matter of fact, I had done a little practicing with the track team
at military school. I had never amounted to much, had never stood out
tremendously in meets. I liked to run, I liked the healthy trim that the
exercise gave me, but I'm afraid I never took it very seriously.

But Trevelyan saw things differently. Here was my great chance. Never
mind the college papers, the literary societies and all that tame
coterie of lesser institutions. If I made the track team I would be a
college hero--and, after seeing me capture the flag in the class rush,
he had no doubt of my vim and nerve. I must make the track team.
(Trevelyan, by the way, was assistant manager of the track
organization.)

So, soon enough, I was out on the windy field in my old school
track-clothes, racing around and around with a sturdy intention of
proving myself worthy of Trevelyan's friendship. That was my chief
reason for "coming out for track," after all.

The coach, a taciturn, gray old fellow, whose muscles were running too
fat and whose temper had frayed out in the years of snarling at
prospective champions, paid little attention to me until the week before
the freshman-sophomore track meet. Then he tried me out at a 44-yard
run. That was what I had been used to doing at school. There was only
one man in the freshman class who could beat me in this run for certain.
There was no reason, said Trevelyan, why I should not be absolutely sure
of my place on the class team.

Three days before the meet the other "44" man sprained his knee. He was
out of the race for the time being.