The second week in March witnessed the return of the track team candidates to practise in the gymnasium. Spring was unusually late that year—perhaps you recollect the fact?—and several feet of snow hid the ground until well toward the last of March. But meanwhile the candidates, thirty-eight in number, were divided into two squads and were daily put through chest-weight and dumb-bell exercises and sent careening around the running track. Allan, who since his failure to “make good”—in the language of the undergraduate—had been somewhat disgusted and down in the mouth, with the return to practise experienced a renewal of faith in himself and his abilities. Billy Kernahan laughed at his pessimistic utterances and assured him that outdoor work would do wonders for him.
Meanwhile Hal was hard at work with the freshman baseball squad and was turning out to be something of a “star” at the bat. Tommy, who during the winter months had found much difficulty in keeping himself busy, was as happy as a lark, since the awakening activity in athletics, the class debates and the final debate with Robinson afforded him opportunities to perform wonderful feats of reporting and gave him almost as much work to do as even he could desire.
Pete was left forlorn. Of the quartet he alone had no interest in life save study; and without wishing to be hard on Pete, I am nevertheless constrained to say that in his case study as an interest was something of a failure. He managed to stand fairly well in class, but this was due rather to an excellent memory than to any feats of severe application. When, toward the last of March, the baseball men and the track team went outdoors, he was more deserted than ever. Hal and Allan were inaccessible to him save in the evenings, and even then insisted on studying. As for Tommy——
“You might as well try to put your thumb on a flea as to try and locate Tommy,” he growled aggrievedly. “I tried to meet up with him on Monday, and the best I could do was to find out where he had been last seen on Saturday. I haven’t caught up with him yet, by ginger!”
“Why don’t you go in for something?” asked Hal. “Try baseball.”
“Baseball!” grunted Pete. “What do I know about baseball? It would take me a month to learn the rudiments of the game. I’ll go out for spring football practise next month, but that only lasts a couple of weeks, they say, and after that I guess I’ll pack up and go home.”
“Try golf,” said Allan, with a wicked smile. Pete snorted.
“I’d look well hitting a little ball with a crooked stick, wouldn’t I?” he asked disgustedly. “No; I may be a blamed fool, but I know better than to make such a show of myself as that.”
In the end Pete found an interest, and the manner of it was strange. It happened in this wise.
It was a few days before the class games. If his friends would not come to him, Pete could, at least, go to his friends. And so he had got into the way of walking out to the field in the afternoon and watching Hal on the diamond or Allan on the track. Sometimes he had a word or two with them; but at all events it was better, he thought, than moping about the college. The scene was a lively and, when the weather was bright, a pretty one. To-day the sky was almost cloudless, the sun shone warmly and there was a quality to the air that made one want to do great things, but yet left one content to do nothing.