"Did I win? Did I win? Did I win?" I asked again and again.
"Yes, you won!"
I was being carried about on their shoulders.
"A little more, and we'd have to take you over to the hospital," commented Smythe, as he looked at me, while I lay prone on my back, resting, under shelter of the tent.
"Who—who used up all this witch-hazel?" he asked of the rubbers....
I hid my face in the grass, pretending to groan from the strain I had just undergone. Instead, I was smothering a laugh at myself ... at the school ... at all things....
"God and witch-hazel," I wanted to shout hysterically, "hurrah for God and witch-hazel."
Then I rose shakily to my feet, and, flinging myself loose from those who offered to help me, I ran at a good clip, in my sneakers, dangling my running shoes affectionately—to my solitary room ... with a bearing that boasted, "why, I could run all those three races over again, one right after the other, right now ... no, I'm not tired ... not the least bit tired!"
That night, in the crowded dining hall, the ovation for me was tremendous.
"I'll smash life just like those races," I boasted, in my heart.