“Oh, yes you could. But look here, Matson, you mustn’t think of failure. You’re not built that way. Now aren’t you sport enough to take a chance?”
Joe was silent for a moment. He thought of many things—of his overpowering ambition, and then answered falteringly:
“I—I’m willing to try.”
“All right, then I’ll sign you,” was the answer.
Another rush of the delirious students almost carried Joe off his feet. He was cheered and cheered again. Through the mob came pushing and shoving the president of the exclusive Anvil Club.
“I say, Matson,” he began, “this is great! Yale has come into her own again. We’d like the honor of electing you to our society, and would be pleased to have you make application.”
“I’m much obliged to you,” spoke Joe slowly, “but I’m afraid I can’t.”
“You can’t! Why not?”
“Because I’m going to leave Yale!”
“Leave Yale!” came the indignant protest. “What for?”