I borrowed a wheelbarrow from the barn, and wheeled my trunk down to
Recitation Hall, singing.
* * * * *
What a hypocrite I had been! But I had obtained what I sought--a room
alone. But now I must, in truth, study the Greek Testament and
Horace....
I figured out that if I enrolled for several extra Bible courses the
Faculty would be easier on me with my other studies, and let me cut some
of them out entirely.
To make myself even more "solid," I gave out that I had been persuaded
to Christianity so strongly, of a sudden, that I contemplated studying
for the ministry. I even wrote my grandmother that this was what I
intended to do. And her simple, pious letter in return, prayerful with
thanks to God for my conversion so signal--in secret cut me to the
heart....
But it gave me a temporary pleasure, now, to be looked upon as "safe."
To be openly welcomed at prayer-meetings ... I acted, how I acted, the
ardent convert ... and how frightened I was, at myself, to find that, at
times, I believed that I believed!...
My former back-sliding was forgiven me.
And the passage of Tennyson about "one honest doubt" being more than
half the creeds, was quoted in my favour.
* * * * *
Field-day!...
* * * * *
I entered for the two-mile, to be run off in the morning ... for the
half-mile, the first thing in the afternoon ... the mile, which was to
be the last event, excepting the hammer-throw. My class, in a body, had
urged me to enter for all the "events" I could ... when the delegation
came, I welcomed them, with gratified self-importance, to my solitary
room. I invited them in, and they sat about ... on my single chair ...
my bed ... the floor....
"You see, Gregory, if you win two of these races, we'll get the banner
that goes to the class that makes the greatest number of points ... you
must do it for us ... we have never yet won the banner, and this is our
last chance."
They left, solemnly shaking my hand, as over a matter of vast
importance....
Hurrying into my track suit, I went out to the Oval. It was three days
before the meet.
Dunn was there, with several others, measuring out distances and
chalking lanes.
With all the delicate joy of an aesthete I took my slim, spiked running
shoes. I patted them with affection as I pushed my feet into them. I
removed the corks from the shining spikes....
I struck out with long, low-running, greyhound strides ... around and
around ... the wind streamed by me....
I knew I was being watched admiringly. I could see it out of the tail of
my eyes. So I threw forward in a final sprint, that brought me up, my
eyes stinging with the salt of sweat, my legs aching ... my chest
heaving....
"Good boy," complimented Dunn, coming up to me, and patting me on the
back ... Gregory, I'm _for_ you. I'm so glad you've come out a clean,
fine, clear-cut Christian."
* * * * *
For the two-mile, the half, and the mile, each--a single athlete was
training, his heart set on the record. It seemed impossible that I
should win all three races. Yet I did.
I was all nerves and sinews for the two-mile. The night before I had
lain awake. I could not sleep so I read a poor translation of the odes
of Pindar. But behind the bad verbiage of the translator, I fed on the
shining spirit of the poetry. With Pindar's music in me, I was ready for
the two-mile.
* * * * *
Tensely we leaned forward, at the scratch. I had my plan of campaign
evolved. I would leap to the fore, at the crack of the pistol, set a
terrific pace, sprint the first quarter, and then settle into my long,
steady stride, and trust to my good lung power ... for I had paid
special attention to my lung-development, at "Perfection City."
I felt a melting fire of nervousness running through my body, a
weakness.
I bowed my face in my hands and prayed ... both to Christ and to Apollo
... in deadly seriousness ... perhaps all the gods really were....
The gun cracked. Off I leapt, in the lead ... in the first lap the field
fell behind.
"Steady, Gregory, steady!" advised Dunn, in a low voice, as I flashed
into the second....
I thought I had distanced everybody ... but it chilled me to hear the
soft swish, swish of another runner ... glancing rapidly behind, I saw a
swarthy lad, a fellow with a mop of wiry, black hair, whom we called
"The Hick" (for he had never been anywhere but on a farm)--going stride
for stride, right in my steps, just avoiding my heels....
Run as I might, I couldn't shake him off....
Every time I swept by, the crowd would set up a shout ... but now they
were encouraging "The hick" more than me. This made me furious, hurt my
egotism. My lungs were burning with effort ... I threw out into a longer
stride. I glanced back again. Still the chap was lumbering along ... but
easily, so easily ... almost without an effort....
"Good God, am I going to be beaten?" I sensed a terrific sprinting-power
in the following, chunky body of my antagonist.
There were only two more laps ... the rest of the field were a lap and a
half behind, fighting for third place amongst themselves ... jeered at
by the instinctive cruelty of the onlookers....
My ears perceived a cessation of the following swish, the tread.
Simultaneously I heard a great shout go up. I dared not look back,
however, to see what was happening--I threw myself forward at that
shout, fearing the worst, and ran myself blind....
* * * * *
"Take it easy, you have it!"
"Shut up! he's after the record."
* * * * *
The shrill screaming of the girls who had come over, in a white,
linen-starched wagon load, from Fairfield, gave me my last spurt.
Expecting every moment to hear my antagonist grind past me, on the
cinders, I sped up the home-stretch.
The air was swimming in a gold mist. I felt arms under mine, and I was
carried off to the senior tent, by my class-mates....
Yet I am convinced that I would have been beaten, if my rival had not
had the string that held his trunks up, break. He had sunk down on the
track, when they had fallen, not to show his nakedness ... and, pulling
them up, and holding them, amid great laughter, he had still won second
ribbon.
* * * * *
I won the second race--the half-mile, without the humour of such a
fateful intervention. It was my winning of the first that won me the
second. I had just equalled the two-mile record, in the first....
I ran that half, blindly, like a mad man. I was drunk with joy over my
popularity ... for when I had gone into the big dining room for lunch,
all the boys had shouted and cheered and roared, and pounded the dishes
with their knives.
* * * * *
"Now, Gregory, you've just got to take the mile away from Learoyd ...
he's a junior ... you've just _got_ to!... besides, if you don't ...
there's Flammer has lost the broad jump ... and we won't win the class
banner after all."
Learoyd was a smallish, golden-faced, downy-headed boy ... almost an
albino.... I had seen him run ... he ran low to the ground, in flashes,
like some sort of shore-bird.
* * * * *
In the class-tent, alone. Dunn had driven my class out, where they had
been massaging and kneading my legs ... which trembled and tottered
under me, from the excessive use they had already undergone.
I sat down and put my head between my knees, and groaned. Then I
straightened out my right leg and rubbed it, because a cramp was
knotting it.
"Hello, Gregory!"
The tent-flap opened. The athletic director poked his head in.
"Come on, Gregory, we're waiting for you."
"Wait a minute, Smythe ... I want to pray," I replied simply. Reverently
he withdrew ... impressed ... awed....