DEAR SIR: I am desirous that my son may win distinction in some
form of athletic sport. I understand that you have charge of the
instruction in this department. It is my wish that he be given
especial training in that exercise to which he is best adapted. I
have already advised him concerning my plan. I write you also,
because he has unfortunately little ambition in this direction,
and I must ask that he be given particular care and attention. I
shall be pleased to have you send me the customary bill for such
extra work. My son comes of a family renowned for strength and
vigor, and should be able to surpass all competitors. I should
consider a second place no better than absolute failure. Asking
your serious consideration of the above, I am,
Sincerely yours,
MARGARET LEE FAIRFAX.
TO MR. WALTER BROWN.
Now, I have received a great many letters concerning athletic matters in
my time, but few more interesting than this. Concealed under a very
matter-of-fact speech and manner, there is in me a vein of the
imaginative which I occasionally indulge. Sometimes a very small matter
will be enough to send me on a very wild flight. I remember that I read
the letter with the black border again and again, trying to picture to
myself the one who wrote it. There were nine sentences, and six of them
beginning with the "I,"--evidently a woman of strong personality. "I am
desirous," "It is my wish," certainly indicated one accustomed to have
her inclinations respected. "He comes of a family renowned for strength
and vigor, and should be able to surpass all competitors," plainly
showed a woman proud of her birth, and ambitious for success. A
Virginian, a Fairfax. I made a mind picture of her as she wrote the
letter, sitting in a cool and shaded room in one of those
white-pillared, wide-halled mansions, built a century ago among the
oaks. She was dressed in black, her figure tall and slender, her back
straight and her head well poised. Her hair had a few threads of white
in it, but a hint of color still showed in her cheeks, and the light had
not yet gone out of her dark eyes. Her mouth I pictured a trifle
thin-lipped and positive. At an old mahogany desk with big brass
escutcheons she sat, the magnolias' heavy fragrance in the air, the song
of the darkies sounding faintly from the distant fields. This is the
picture I made on that November morning, and how long I should have
dreamed I cannot say, had not Paddy's voice from under my window waked
me from my trance, with "Jerry, ye Kildare divil, luk at the rake ye
lift out the night; it's half a mind I hev to comb yer thick hid wid
it."
Jerry protested his innocence in tones only less strident than Paddy's
own, and the remarkably fluent and aggressive tirade of the latter was
only lost to me when they had walked down the track and out of ear-shot.
Now, I defy any one to make mind pictures under such conditions, and I
became my practical self at once. I shut off the romantic stop with a
thud, and turning on the business pipe, proceeded to answer my mail.
Most of the circulars went into the waste basket; receipted bills into
one compartment, unpaid into another. I answered a few of the routine
letters, and then oddly enough I broke my rule, and took up the
black-bordered letter again.
Who was this candidate for athletic fame? His name was not even
mentioned in the letter. Evidently the son of Margaret Lee Fairfax was
supposed to be too well known to need any further title. A reference to
my list gave me among the freshmen, "Richard Spotswood Fairfax, The
Oaks, Fairfax Co., Va.," but this did not help me at all. He had
certainly not appeared on track or field, or I should have remembered
him, and he had even neglected a physical examination. He was probably
bandy-legged, big-waisted, round-shouldered, and hollow-chested. He
might be a sufferer from dyspepsia and heart disease; there were chances
that he had a fancy for Greek roots, and thought football brutal. I have
been asked by doting parents to make champion sprinters and weight
putters out of just such timber,--although the age of miracles is past.
I had a conventional way of answering such letters, and prepared to go
through the usual forms. A modest request it was indeed! "I should
consider a second place no better than absolute failure." Little did she
realize what a combination of excellences go to make up a winner, nor
how many good men train faithfully for four years without getting a
place.
Give him "especial care and attention"? Well, hardly, if he does not
care enough about himself even to have his chart made out.
I had taken the sheet of paper and written the "Dear Madam," when there
came a knock at the door, and at my "Come in," it swung leisurely open.
Just how I came to the conclusion I cannot tell, but I knew the first
moment I set eyes on my visitor that it was Richard Spotswood Fairfax
himself. He was not at all the monstrosity I had painted him; in fact,
he was a mighty good-looking fellow. He was a little above average
height, with a dark oval face, brown hair, and a wide smile that "wud
timpt a man to borry a dollar," as Paddy once said. His tailor knew his
business, though his suit of brown tweed fitted a trifle more loosely
than our Northern style would have permitted. He also wore a low
roll-collar, that showed a firm, round neck to advantage. He smiled when
he entered, and sank into a chair by the side of my desk with a sigh of
content and another smile. He was in no hurry to speak, and as I learned
after was never in a hurry to do anything. He looked me over a moment
with his handsome sleepy blue eyes, and then spoke in that melodious
drawl which is taught nowhere else but in "ole Virginny." I do not
remember how he introduced the subject, for I was too much taken with
his voice to notice. I cannot begin to describe it, or the easy way in
which the words followed each other, divorced from all such aggressive
letters as _r_, _g_, and _t_.
He told me he wished to be examined, and assigned some branch of sport
to which he could give his attention; in effect, just what his mother
had written, except that he omitted to say anything about winning or a
first place. I asked him if he had ever done anything in athletics, and
he said that barring a little gunning, a moderate amount of riding, and
considerable fishing, he had done nothing at all in sports. He expressed
a decided preference for the fishing, which I thought was
characteristic.
To my question as to whether he had any choice whatever concerning work
on track or cinder-path, he answered, none at all, except that which
called for the least exertion would best suit his book. I decided that
his mother had written truly when she said he "lacked ambition in this
direction," and might have said that he lacked ambition in any other. It
was surprising that I did not take a dislike to one who professed such a
decided aversion to manly sports, but the boy was so open and frank
about it that the impression was not at all disagreeable.
After Fairfax had told his story and answered a few questions, I ordered
him in a short, Yankee fashion (that seemed almost brutal compared with
his easy tones) to strip and I would take his measurements. At my
direction he rose slowly, went over to the corner, leisurely took off
coat and vest, and when he got down to the buff, and I looked up from
my writing, as I live, I had answered three letters, and the clock had
ticked off a full five minutes. (Two is usually enough to transform a
shackled slave of Fashion to the freedom of a state of nature.) I laid
my pen aside, and taking tape in hand began to look him over. I confess
I could hardly restrain an exclamation of surprise. His languid ways and
slow movements had not prepared me for any such development as he
showed. The conventional costume of the nineteenth century is a
wonderful disguise, designed by some man-milliner to hide the
imperfections of a degenerate race. The trained athlete and the flabby
dude look much alike in loose trousers and padded coats.
Now, Dick was neither athlete nor dude, though if I ever saw a man cut
out for the former, he was the one. His skin was dark, but clear and
velvety. He stood easily, with every muscle relaxed, and was as
symmetrical as a demi-god. There was nothing out of proportion, no fat,
no unused muscle, and no over-development. Indeed, I surmised, what
afterward proved true, that he was the best specimen of an embryo
athlete that it had ever been my good fortune to see.
I took him to the standard and found his height five feet ten and
one-half inches. He lifted the scales at one hundred and fifty-eight,
and then I put my tape on him and began my measurements. As I marked
down one after another my admiration grew, and when I had finished and
he had dressed and left me, I could not deny myself the pleasure of
making out his chart, even before I finished the mail. A wonderful chart
it was, too. The average percentage was not as high as that of one or
two fellows who had the advantages of intelligent handling by good men
at first-class preparatory schools, but when it came to symmetrical
development, there was not one in the same class with him. The line was
almost straight, a slight advantage only showing in measurements below
the waist.
After the chart was finished I put it in a conspicuous place on the
mantel, went back to my letters, and finally wrote Mrs. Fairfax as
follows: "I shall be pleased to give your son the attention you ask.
Although it is impossible to guarantee any degree of success, he has the
advantage of an unusually good development, and may make something of
himself if he is willing to work faithfully and follow orders. It rests
more with him than myself. There will be no extra charge."
It may seem rather a curt letter, but compared with what I usually write
in answer to like requests it was remarkably "Chesterfieldian." Not
that I am ever likely to so far forget myself as to neglect the common
courtesies, but it is often necessary to be very positive in order to
protect against further annoyance. I received an acknowledgment from
"The Oaks" a few days after, which was not quite as dictatorial as the
first, and in which the "I" was not nearly so much in evidence. It also
asked me to report occasionally, and hinted that maternal authority
might be invoked in case of difficulty, and that Richard Spotswood
Fairfax had been taught to respect it thoroughly.
Dick appeared on the cinder-path the second day after his call on me,
clad in irreproachable track costume, and I gave him a little trial with
some of the other freshmen who had been out several weeks. He had never
worn a running-shoe before that day, nor entered a contest, and yet he
ran the "hundred" in eleven and three-fifths, and the "quarter" a little
under the minute, coming in as fresh as paint, and without turning a
hair. It was odd to see him standing with a half-dozen other fellows,
who were drenched with perspiration, and wheezing like blacksmiths'
bellows, while he was not even tired.
The next day he cleared four feet eleven in the "running high," and
nearly seventeen in the "running broad." Now, these were wonderful
performances for a novice, particularly as Dick seemed not to exert
himself in the least.
That night, as I sat in my room smoking a comforting pipe, I thought the
matter over very thoroughly. I am a shy bird for "wonders," and doubtful
concerning "phenoms," but I made up my mind in cold blood that almost
anything was possible for Richard Spotswood Fairfax, of "The Oaks." With
the advantages of my handling, he ought to be a world beater, and no
mistake. As Tom Furness expresses a good thing, "There was frosting on
top, and jelly between the layers."
Of course I said nothing of this to Dick, but ordered him regular
all-round work in the gymnasium for the winter, and told him if he took
good care of himself, we might make something of him in the spring. In
those days we had no big indoor meets, and the men were allowed to do
very much as they pleased until near the end of the winter. I am of the
opinion that such rest is better in the end than a continuous course of
training, particularly for men under twenty-one.
I saw considerable of Dick, and was well satisfied to have him keep to
easy exercise. He filled out a bit, and the muscles on his shapely body
grew large and firm as the days went by. I was a bit troubled by the
boy's extreme popularity, for it brought continual temptation to shirk
work. Some one or another was perpetually asking him away, when if he
had possessed fewer friends, he would have been less troubled. He was a
mighty fine-looking fellow, and with an unlimited fund of good nature
and good cash (two most essential passports to college popularity),
spring found him the best known and best liked man of his class, a
favorite with man, woman, and beast. He had stuck to his work most
faithfully, and barring a little fling or so, such as all boys of his
age are likely to take, I had little fault to find with him. I remember
I expressed one day my surprise that he had not missed his hour in the
gymnasium more than once or twice since he started in, and was told, as
if the answer was conclusive, that he had given his promise. He also
added later that a Fairfax never broke his word, even in the least
degree.
One common difficulty I escaped with Dick, that of keeping him from the
football field, the grave for the hopes of so many a promising athlete.
Dick pronounced the game altogether too much like work to suit him, and
no entreaty would move him in the least; not even the plea that he was
"needed," or the threat that he would be considered disloyal to his
class, had any effect whatever on him.
Now, it must not be thought for a moment that I object to football in
its proper place. It is the king of sports, and stands by itself,
unrivalled in its attractions for all of Anglo-Saxon blood. It is the
best successor to the knightly tourney that this prosaic century has
left us. Neither an occasional accident, nor the foolishness of some of
its supporters, with excuses for defeat, nor demands for apologies, will
ever succeed in killing it.
The game is made, however, only for strong, stocky men. To see one with
a turn of speed, long, shapely legs, and slender body mixed up in a
scrimmage, and sure to end in the hospital at last, is more than I can
stand. It should not take those unfitted for its fierce struggles, but
qualified by nature for other forms of sport.
After considerable thought I decided to have Dick try for the running
broad jump, and for these reasons: First, the team was weak in this
department. Second, this was a trifle his best performance. Third, Dick
chose it, as calling for the least labor. Indeed, he absolutely declined
distant running, unless he was bound to it by his promise to his
mother.
So Dick settled down to regular work and practice at the "running
broad," and appeared each day as surely as the clock struck the hour;
not even Frost, a veteran of four years, was as much to be depended on.
Now, there is no more practical school than that of the cinder-path;
with given athletic material, a certain amount of work should bring
exact results. We look for them just as confidently as the farmer looks
for his crops in the autumn, after the planting of the spring and the
cultivation of the summer. There may be accidents, just as the farmer
has a hail-storm, or like fruit under an untimely frost a man may go
stale at the last moment. But, barring accidents, we expect a gradual
growth and development in just proportion to the natural ability of the
man.
Now, strange to say, Dick Fairfax contradicted all known laws; his style
improved, and his physical condition as well, but his jump was the same
old jump after several weeks of practice. He worked up to an average of
nineteen-six, but there he stuck, and no handling, instruction, or care
could pull him on to the even twenty feet. Encouragement, blame, the
incentives of trial contests, and even ridicule were all the same to
Dick. I did all I knew,--and a bit well-informed I claimed to
be,--giving him more attention than any three other men. This was
partly because I liked the boy, and partly because I received a letter
from "The Oaks" once every week asking how Richard was getting on. I
have a decided aversion to lying, and I disliked to tell the truth to
the lonely woman who looked forward so confidently to her son's success.
But most of all I stuck to Dick because of the possibilities I saw in
him. His legs were marvels; from toe to thigh, muscle, sinew, and bone
were perfect. And yet Seever, with his crooked joints and spindle
shanks, could best Dick's best effort by a good foot. I racked my brain
for reasons of the failure, but with no result. I tried all possible
changes, even to a take-off with the left, but all in vain. Nineteen-six
he could do before or after breakfast, and probably at midnight, if
tried at that unusual hour. He was the most consistent performer I have
ever seen. The trouble was that it was consistency to a distance of no
use at all to us. Little Jack Bennett, who had started in with something
like a thirteen-foot jump, had plugged away day after day, until he was
"hoss and hoss" with Dick, and the latter was quite content. Approval or
disapproval were all the same to him, and he answered both with a smile,
or a careless glance from his sleepy blue eyes.
Beside Dick and Jack there were Frost and Seever, two veterans who had
reached their limit, and were good for a scant twenty-one. We had not
one first-class man.
Now, while I am telling this tale more particularly for the initiated, I
mean to make it plain to others less well informed, and will for their
sakes say that the honor of the broad jump championship is to-day
divided between Reber in America and Fry in the Old Country, both of
whom have negotiated twenty-three feet six and one-half inches. No one
jumping less than twenty-one feet has any chance in a first-class
competition, and it would have done us as much good if Dick had done
nine feet as nineteen; that is, no good at all.
Mrs. Fairfax reminded me in her first letter, after I had informed her
that Dick had chosen the "running broad" as his special event, that this
was a traditional Virginia sport, and she was pleased with the
selection. She called my attention to the fact that Thackeray in his
story of the "Virginians" makes Harry Warrington cover twenty-one feet
three inches against his English rivals, and says that Col. George
Washington could better this by a foot. Now, if this is history, and the
truthful George did the distance with a short run on grass, and no
take-off but a line on the turf, he was a wonder, and better than any
we can show to-day. If Reber and Fry had lived in his time they would
not have been in his class, and should George Washington return to
earth, and enter a contest to-day (I hope there is nothing sacrilegious
in the thought), he would distance their best efforts. A mighty fine
pair of legs he must have had, and what he could have done with modern
improvements, such as spiked shoes, a five-inch joist, on a nice
cinder-path, and with prepared ground to land in, we can only guess; I
should say he could have bettered his record by a good yard. It is easy
to understand how such a man could succeed in the great game of war.
Our Virginian jumper, despite all his advantages, was content with a
performance of nearly three feet less than that of the father of his
country, who had hailed from the same State.
So matters went on, until one morning late in April I arranged with Dick
to give him an early morning trial alone. He demurred at this most
decidedly, being very fond of his morning nap, but consented finally, if
I would agree to call him. I cannot tell how I allowed him to wheedle me
as he did; but it was a way he had with all, and few could resist him.
It was a little after seven when I left my door and started for Dick's
room. Now, I am no spring poet; in fact, thirty years' connection with
the cinder-path has knocked most of the romance out of me, but I
remember that morning still. It had been a late winter, and this was
really the first dawn with no chill on the air; the trees were
blossoming, the birds singing, the sun shining, the air like a tonic,
and there was an indescribable something which told that winter was gone
at last.
After some delay at Dick's door,--for he was a wonderful sleeper,
particularly in the early morning,--I succeeded in waking him, and sat
in the window-seat while he took his tub. I helped him a little in the
rub-down, and a man more fit I never saw. This over, Dick pulled on his
trunks, jersey, and sweater, and taking his shoes in his hands he
followed me leisurely down-stairs. We waited a moment on the steps,
while he pulled his shoes on, and then jogged over to the track. So
fresh was the air, that just before we reached the ground I found myself
quickening strides with Dick, until we finished at a very pretty sprint,
something I had not done for a long time. It does not help a trainer to
compete under any conditions with his man.
Perhaps it was partly because I felt that I had unbent too much with him
that I made my lecture, already planned, more severe than intended; at
any rate, it was a mighty stiff talk the boy got. I knew it was useless
to mince matters, and was resolved to cut through his armor of good
nature and indifference, if there was a vulnerable point, and a straight
thrust could reach him. A couple of weeks before, the captain of the
team, disgusted with Dick's unsatisfactory work, had quite lost his
temper with him and told him in so many words that he was not worth the
salt of the training-table, and must make a brace or he would not make
the team at all.
Almost any other man would have either got hot and given a sharp answer,
or more likely still gone into his boots with disappointment. Dick,
however, did neither. He gave one of his wide smiles, maddening enough
to an earnest man, took the matter very calmly, and volunteered to get
his feed at his own expense whenever we tired of furnishing it. He
remarked that a table with a little more variety would suit his palate
fully as well, and after the talk went on with his tiresome jump of
nineteen-six just as if nothing at all had been said.
Now, while this was provoking enough, and under usual conditions would
have resulted in a summary drop from the team, we did not take the boy
at his word. We were in desperate need of a broad jumper, and hoped that
he might get out of the rut, and pick up that extra foot or two before
the games. We thought it possible, also, that in a big contest the boy
might be stirred up a bit, very much to his benefit.
On this April morning I talked about as plainly as I knew, using good
old Anglo-Saxon phrases, and not many French idioms. I would not care to
see my exact words in print, and I am afraid some of the bright eyes
that I hope to please with this book would open wide with surprise. A
trainer is given a certain license, like the driver of a yoke of oxen
and the captain of a football team. I knew one of the latter who was
seriously blamed because his puritanical training forbade the use of any
stronger language than "board of health" when a signal was lost or the
ball was dropped. Out in the open air, and among strong men, it is very
easy to form the habit of using strong words on occasions like this.
I told Dick, in effect, that I had given him time and attention that
rightfully belonged to other men on the team, and had nothing to show
for it; that he could do better, and must do better; that his lack of
improvement was a reflection on me as well as himself; and finally, if
he was not an arrant cur, without courage and without honor, he would
have tired of a child's jump long ago. "Why, man," said I, "if you had
sand enough for an ant-hill, with a pair of legs like yours, you would
be making a jump of twenty-three feet this morning."
Now, Dick was a great pet of mine and had never heard a hot word from
me; he was very much surprised, and when I called him an "arrant cur,
without courage and without honor," he flushed to the roots of his hair.
The question of his honor was what touched him most deeply, for his
Virginia atmosphere had made him especially sensitive, if not over
careful. I was pleased to see his face grow dark, and the smile fade
from the corners of his mouth. He was first indignant, and then in a
towering passion. He stepped toward me, with clinched hands, and opened
his mouth a couple of times to speak, but not a word did he say. Then he
turned suddenly on his heel, walked away from me down the cinder-path,
pulled his sweater over his head, dropped it on the grass, faced toward
me again, and set himself for his sprint.
I was standing with him close to the joist when I delivered my lecture,
and I remained where I was, wondering what the boy was up to.
He came down the path for his jump, with his jaw set, his eyes aflame,
his brows black, and with two bright red spots in his cheeks. One of
Dick's faults was that he would not force himself to full speed, an
absolute essential for a good broad jump. In fact, a man who will not or
cannot sprint should not be allowed to waste his energies on this event.
This morning was an exception to the rule with Dick, for he came toward
me like a whirlwind, apparently paying no attention to either stride or
distance. He fortunately reached the mark all right, caught the joist
firm and strong, and launched into the air with his knees high.
I cannot describe my sensations as he shot by me, better than to say he
seemed to fly. I knew before he landed that the old mark of nineteen-six
was gone forever, but when he broke ground close to the end of the box,
and fell forward, I could not gather my senses for a moment. Dick picked
himself up like a flash, his brows still threatening, and coming up to
me said hoarsely, "Measure that, you English blackguard!" and strode off
to his room without even stopping to pick up his sweater.
I said nothing at all in answer, for I was not in the least offended at
the uncomplimentary language. Not that I am accustomed to being
addressed in other than a respectful manner, but in this case I had
really brought the anger on myself intentionally, and I had been
successful beyond my fondest hopes.
As Dick disappeared behind the fence, Tom Furness swung round the
corner, out for an early spin round the track.
"What do you call that?" said he, looking at the marks.
"It is the biggest jump ever made by man," I answered solemnly.
"A jump from the hard ground, either sidewise or backward," said Tom;
"nothing but wings could carry a man from the joist to those marks."
"Look them over," I said, "before you question them."
Well, to make a long story short, the marks told their own tale; the
ground was unbroken except by his feet, for there had been a shower the
night before. There were proofs enough to convince Tom that Dick's shoes
with Dick in them had run down that cinder-path, and from the joist had
jumped the distance. Tom saw readily that the heel prints were too deep
for a short jump backward, and too even for one sidewise. There was the
broken ground, showing that the impetus was from the joist and the
jumper was at a high rate of speed, and had lifted high in the air.
When we had argued it all out satisfactorily, Tom suggested that we had
better measure it before we talked any longer, for it might not show up
to what I thought.
He took the end of the tape and held it to the joist, while I walked
ahead, with the reel rattling as I pulled it out. By the well-worn
figures up to twenty-one I went; twenty-two and twenty-three were
slightly blurred, but the twenty-four was fresh and bright, and at
twenty-four two and one-quarter I stopped, and looked back to see if the
tape was all right. I lifted my hand again, examined the ground very
carefully, pulled the tape tight, and made the mark twenty-four feet one
and three-quarter inches, back of which there was not the hint of a
break.
Then Tom and I changed ends and he found it just the same.
There was no mistake about it. Given a competition and witnesses on that
April morning, and the record would not stand to-day at twenty-three six
and one-half, but a good seven and one-quarter inches better, and the
name of Richard Spotswood Fairfax would be fastened to it.
Now, I expected that Dick would be all right with me the next time we
met. I thought he would be pleased that my words, however severe, had
forced him to the big jump, and even anticipated an apology for his
offensive words. In this, however, I was mistaken. I did not realize the
extreme sensitiveness of a Virginian and a Fairfax to any reflection
upon his honor. Dick met me courteously enough, but distantly, and
indeed was never the same to me again.
I found, too, that my lecture had only a temporary effect, for he took
up the old jump of nineteen-six the same as before, apparently as
contented as ever.
Tom Furness was foolish enough to tell the story of Dick's big jump, and
was jollied therefore by everybody, receiving credit for a most
Munchausen imagination. Tom let them rough him all right, for nothing
pleased him better, but came to me at last with Sam Hitchcock asking me
to settle a bet, whether or no Dick Fairfax had broken the record of the
running broad jump in practice.
Of course I could but tell the truth under such circumstances, although
I knew I was putting my reputation for veracity to a severe test. I
declared very seriously that Dick had certainly bested the
twenty-four-foot mark under record conditions. Sam was incredulous, and
went so far as to remind me that it was not at all a joking matter, for
a good ten-dollar note must change hands on my decision. At this, I
repeated my statement positively as before, and Sam paid over the money
without any further remark.
It was altogether too good a story for him to keep, and it soon became
an interesting subject of discussion. Those who knew me best (and Sam
among them, despite his loss) believed the tale, but there were many
"doubting Thomases." Some made it a subject for senseless jokes and
witless questions, such as, "Was the tape elastic?" "Did he jump from
the roof?" or "Did he do it very, very early in the morning?" Other
"smart Alecs" declared the twenty-four feet was all right, but the extra
one and three-quarters inches they could not go.
Now, I am not at all averse to a draw on the long bow when swapping lies
with a sporting friend and both know the game we play, but when I speak
seriously I wish to be taken in the same way. Beside, I had allowed
money to pass on it, and that should have settled the matter.
It was partly due to my resentment at this banter that Dick finally made
the team and little Jack Bennett did not. The latter certainly became
better in practice, but I claimed that neither were of any use at their
regular jumps, and that Dick's extraordinary performance, for which I
vouched again, while not likely to be repeated, was possible, and made
Dick the better man for the choice.
When the decision was finally made, about a week before the games, I
wrote Mrs. Fairfax a long letter, telling her the whole truth, giving
special emphasis to the early morning trial. I declared my only hope for
Dick's success (and that a faint one) was that the heat of a contest
with men of other colleges, and before a crowd, might wake him up and
get him a place. I did not see how he could win except by a miracle. I
declared that I had kept my promise to her most faithfully, and that my
disappointment was, if possible, greater than her own.