"Two eleven! He can't, Woodie. There's something wrong with your
scales."
"Not a thing."
The two students stared at each other and then at the coach. They were
able to grasp the facts intellectually, but they could not penetrate the
reactions of their emotions. At last Lefty said: "But that
isn't--well--it isn't human, Woodie."
"That's why I'm scared. Something has happened to this bird. He has a
disease of some kind--that has toughened him. Like Pott's disease, that
turns you to stone. But you wouldn't think it. There's not a trace of
anything on the surface. I'm having a blood test made soon. Wait till
to-morrow when you see him in action. It'll terrify you. Because you'll
have the same damned weird feeling I have--that he isn't doing one tenth
of what he can do--that he's really just playing with us all. By God, if
I was a bit superstitious, I'd throw up my job and get as much distance
between me and that bird as I could. I'm telling you simply to prepare
you. There's something mighty funny about him, and the sooner we find
out, the better."
Mr. Woodman left the dormitory. Lefty and Chuck stared at each other for
the space of a minute, and then, with one accord, they went together to
the registrar's office. There they found Hugo's address on the campus,
and in a few minutes they were at his door.
"Come in," Hugo said. He smiled when he saw Lefty and Chuck. "Want some
more trunks moved?"
"Maybe--later." They sat down, eying Hugo speculatively. Lefty acted as
spokesman. "Listen here, guy, we've just seen Woodie and he says you're
phenomenal--so much so that it isn't right."
Hugo reddened. He had feared that his exhibition was exaggerated by his
eagerness to impress the coach. He said nothing and Lefty continued:
"You're going to be here for four years and you're going to love this
place. You're going to be willing to die for it. All the rest of your
life the fact that you went to old Webster is going to make a
difference. But there's one thing that Webster insists on--and that's
fair play. And honesty--and courage. You've come from a little town in
the West and you're a stranger here. Understand, this is all in a spirit
of friendship. So far--we like you. We want you to be one of us. To
belong. You have a lot to learn and a long way to go. I'm being frank
because I want to like you. For instance, Chuck here is a millionaire.
My old man is no dead stick in the Blue Book. Things like that will be
different from what you've known before. But the important thing is to
be a square shooter. Don't be angry. Do you understand?"
Hugo walked to the window and looked out into the thickened gloom. He
had caught the worry, the repression, in Lefty's voice. The youth, his
merry blue eyes suddenly grave, his poised self abnormally disturbed,
had suggested a criticism of some sort. What was it? Hugo was hurt and a
little frightened. Would his college life be a repetition of Indian
Creek? Would the athletes and the others in college of his own age fear
and detest him--because he was superior? Was that what they meant? He
did not know. He was loath to offend Lefty and Chuck. But there seemed
no alternative to the risk. No one had talked to him in that way for a
long time. He sat on his bed. "Fellows," he said tersely, "I don't think
I know what you're driving at. Will you tell me?"
The roommates fidgeted. They did not know exactly, either. They had come
to fathom the abnormality in Hugo. Chuck lit a cigarette. Lefty smiled
with an assumed ease. "Why--nothing, Danner. You see--well--I'm
quarterback of the football team. And you'll probably be on it this
year--we haven't adopted the new idea of keeping freshmen off the
varsity. Just wanted to tell you those--well--those principles."
Hugo knew he had not been answered. He felt, too, that he would never in
his life give away his secret. The defences surrounding it had been too
immutably fixed. His joy at knowing that he had been accepted so soon as
a logical candidate for the football team was tempered by this
questioning. "I have principles, fellows."
"Good." Lefty rose. "Guess we'll be going. By the way, Woodie said you
smashed a couple of track records to-day. Where'd you learn?"
"Nowhere."
"How come, then?"
"Just--natural."
Lefty summoned his will. "Sure it isn't--well--unhealthy. Woodie says
there are a couple of diseases that make you--well--get tough--like
stone."
Hugo realized the purpose of the visit. "Then--be sure I haven't any
diseases. My father had an M.D." He smiled awkwardly. "Ever since I was
a kid, I've been stronger than most people. And I probably have a little
edge still. Just an accident, that's all. Is that what you were
wondering about?"
Lefty smiled with instant relief. "Yes, it is. And I'm glad you take it
that way. Listen--why don't you come over to the Inn and take dinner
with Chuck and me? Let commons go for to-night. What say?"
* * * * *
At eleven Hugo wound his alarm clock and set it for seven. He yawned
and smiled. All during supper he had listened to the glories of Webster
and the advantages of belonging to the Psi Delta fraternity, to
descriptions of parties and to episodes with girls. Lefty and Chuck had
embraced him in their circle. They had made suggestions about what he
should wear and whom he should know; they had posted him on the
behaviour best suited for each of his professors. They liked him and he
liked them, immensely. They were the finest fellows in the world.
Webster was a magnificent university. And he was going to be one of its
most glorious sons.
He undressed and went to bed. In a moment he slept, drawing in deep,
swift breaths. His face was smiling and his arm was extended, whether to
ward off shadows or to embrace a new treasure could not be told. In the
bright sunshine of morning his alarm jangled and he woke to begin his
career as an undergraduate.