"What are you good for—a short dash, or a long run?"
"I think I can do either fairly well."
"Fairly well does not go at Yale, as you know, Merriwell. You must do things exceptionally well. You are altogether too modest. If something had not brought you out, nobody could have known you could
do anything at all. You have been pushed in various ways by others, but you fail to push yourself."
"Oh, I do not go about blowing my own horn," said Frank, smiling.
"You will find you'll have to blow your own horn when you go into business, or my brother is a liar. He keeps hammering at me that the man who does not blow his horn is the fellow who gets left. To a large extent, it is that way here at Yale. The fellow who keeps still and sits back gets left. That's my sermon. I'm not going to say any more now. Get into training for a long run. I'll come round at nine this evening and go you a sprint of a mile or two, just to see how you show up."
That was all. Pierson turned and sauntered away, without another word.
Frank whistled softly, and smiled.
"This is Browning's work," he muttered. "Pierson takes things for granted. How does he know I will take any part in a race? He does not ask if I will, but he tells me to go to work and get into shape. He is coming round to-night to see how I show up. All right."