There were now only about three months before commencement at Yale, and every ambitious senior was doing his best to acquit himself honorably.
Geoffrey, however, had not been obliged to work nearly so hard this year as during the two previous ones; those had been the test of his course, and he had strained every nerve.
It had been a little doubtful at the close of his last year about his entering the senior class.
The professors, fearing for his health, had advised him to relinquish his purpose to do so. Mrs. Huntress, too, was anxious about him, for he had been losing flesh and color for several months, but Geoffrey very quietly remarked, in the presence of the professors, that he would do his best during the summer vacation to prepare for his examinations for the senior class, and if he failed in them he would cheerfully remain the extra year.
Mr. Huntress would not curtail him in any of his privileges, and so again sent him to a pleasant spot in the country with a tutor, a boat, and a couple of saddle-horses, and the coaching went on as faithfully as ever.
The result was that Geoffrey passed his examinations without a condition, and then felt that his hardest work was over; he would need to burn no more midnight oil, and when there came a recess he would feel at liberty to enjoy it as others did and gain a little of the rest he so much needed.
He was not idle, however.
Gladys had told him that she would expect great things of him, and “great things” he meant to accomplish, if it were possible, for her sake.
At the beginning of the year Huntress and Mapleson were dubbed “the twins” of their class, and not long afterward it was whispered that they stood about equal in the race for first honors. Some were inclined to think that Huntress would win the day, others that Mapleson would be the favored one.
When the verdict was finally rendered in favor of Geoffrey, Everet Mapleson swore an angry oath, although his own name stood second on the list.