“Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter.”
There was another interval of silence. Then Don broke out with:
“But it does matter! I feel all broke up over it! It’s too bad, old chap; that’s what it is. But perhaps it isn’t all up yet. I’m going to try and get Beck to give you another try, Wayne. Don’t you think you can do better?”
“Yes, I know I can. I could have won easily to-day if—if— The trouble was I didn’t have any speed left at the finish; even Seers passed me! Can’t I learn to save up for a spurt? I wasn’t tired; I could have run another mile, I’m sure, Don.”
“Of course you can learn, if—if there is only time. You see, old chap, there is only three weeks left. But I am going to see Beck, and I’ll do all I can. I feel certain that you can beat that time to-day, and better it, too. There has been a mistake somewhere; you haven’t been worked right. And it’s Beck’s fault, I guess; at any rate, it isn’t yours.”
“Oh, it’s nobody’s fault, I reckon; it’s just rotten luck!”
“No, luck doesn’t enter into it, Wayne. There’s been a mistake somewhere; and I hope Beck will see it.” He paused and looked in a troubled way at his chum. “Perhaps you think it is my fault, Wayne?” he said wistfully. Wayne shook his head.
“No. I was rather blaming you and Beck a while ago, but I had no right to. It isn’t your fault at all, Don, and don’t you worry about me; you’ve got enough to attend to. I’ll be all right. Only if you don’t mind speaking to Beck about it, you know——”
“Of course I will. Right away, too. All the fellows are asked to report in Society House this evening at eight. Beck is going to announce the names of the fellows who are to go to training table Monday, and some of the grads are going to talk a bit. Remsen came to-day.”