The cheerers were silent. The two leaders were standing on tip-toe, each with his elbows doubled up and mouth half open, ready to begin the cheer. One of them, however, would have to keep still. Dougal shut his lips.
"First prize awarded to Dougal Davis, of Pers——"
Then came the loud, eager "'Ray! 'Ray! 'Ray!'" of the quick cheer, and then two more quick ones, and next a long one with "Davis!" on the end, then the word "Davis! Davis! Davis!" that way, three times. Then they began giving more quick cheers again and a few long ones, as if they had just started.
Meanwhile the clerk kept his sober gaze upon the paper in his hand, waiting to announce the second and third winners and pretending to be annoyed at the delay, though enjoying it as much as any girl in the audience.
"Good work, Dougal, good work," cried one of the four fellows pounding him on the back.
Dougal did not smile slightly or look unconcerned. He grinned all over his face and enjoyed it. As soon as the attention was taken away from him he leaned back in the corner of the pew and enjoyed it some more. That is the way to do.
He was still tense and excited from his victory when a few minutes later he heard the clerk reading off something about the new fellowship in Political Science. This was the one he had gone in for, and he had felt doubtful over the result, because he had not been able to spend as much time upon it as he wanted to, and it required a great deal. However, the only other man in the race was nothing to be afraid of. But all the same a little dart of dread shot through him now, and he thought what if he should lose it after all. It would not do at all. This was what he wanted more than any of the honors. He had a particular reason for wanting to win it. This he failed to do.
Before he was quite aware of what was taking place the clerk had already made the announcement and the crowd were wildly cheering, cheering that other fellow as if they had never heard of Dougal Davis. He felt like a man that steps off a bridge in the dark; he heard the splash and felt a shock, but he did not know just what had happened. He had never been beaten in anything before. It came very hard. But that was not what made it hurt so much. It was because Linton had won it.
He could not help thinking of the little speech he had planned to make that evening—"Well, you see, Jimmie, I haven't time for it, anyway. I have to go to the Seminary, and maybe to the Medical College after that. So I thought I would resign, and I hope you'll apply for it and come back to the old place for another year. You're sure to get it, if you apply for it." Wasn't it a pretty little speech?
He turned and glanced over at Linton, who sat with his head nestled contentedly against Reddy Armstrong's shoulder, while the happy-looking fellows all around him were punching and pounding him and rumpling up his hair as if they never would cease; and as if they were glad Dougal Davis was beaten. Linton himself only raised his eyebrows and shook his head deprecatingly. He seemed to take it all very easily, as if he were accustomed to winning prizes and beating Dougal Davis, and he still wore that imperturbable look, and Davis knew that it would have been just as imperturbable and contented looking if he had lost.