Page 61 - The Adventures of a Freshman

CHAPTER XIII

THE LAST CHANCE

Many times that huge, dark thing in the background of his thoughts jumped into the foreground and
interrupted his work; but he accomplished a good deal. He felt a glow of hope. It was only ten days to the
examinations, but it had only been during the past month of madness that he had neglected his studies. He
could soon make that up.

Just as he started for chapel, he suddenly began to wonder if he had been mistaken about that prize. Wasn't it
only $100 after all? He took down a catalogue and looked it up. He was right, the prize was $200.

"A prize of $200, part of the income of the J. S. K. fund;" but what was this?--"To be paid in quarterly
instalments during the following year"! He had never noticed that before. For a moment it made him feel sick
at the stomach. Then he decided that it was not so bad after all, for if he only won the prize he could borrow
money on the certificate of it that would be presented the winner at commencement.

For the first day or two the club guyed him for turning poler, and they thought his serious and grave demeanor
was very funny when he declined to join with them in their pursuits. At first he paid no attention to their jeers;
he had no time. Then came the day he got angry and said. "It makes no difference to me what you fellows
think. I've quit my foolishness for good, and that's all there is to it. Now let me alone."

He struck the table a heavy blow, and looked as if he meant everything he said; and no one felt inclined to guy
him again. He looked like the old Deacon who had done up Ballard.

"The Deacon must have an attack of R. E. Morse," Billy Drew said, as he left the room.

"I think he's pretty hard hit financially," said Lucky Lee, who had been pretty hard hit of late himself. "He's
working his way through college, you know. I wish he hadn't lost so much money."

"He had no business playing, then," said Powelton.

"I respect him for stopping, anyway," said Todd, who seldom played cards; recently he had not played at all;
he had been doing some studying, "just for fun," he said.

"So do I," said Lee, in a low voice, and the others agreed--in lower voices.

Meanwhile, Young was studying as if his life depended upon it, and the strain was telling. He had lost
twenty-four pounds since the football season.

The fellows saw nothing of him now except at meals, where he kept his white face turned down to the book
beside his plate. They had left off guying him, and were worrying about him instead.

They began saying: "See here, old man, you've got to quit this. You'll kill yourself if you keep on this way.
The prize isn't worth it." But it did no good. Finally a number of them came up to his room one evening to see
what they could do about it. They were headed by Lucky Lee.

"I wish you would let me alone," was all that Young would say. "I've simply got to win that prize."

"Why have you got to?" asked Lucky, in his nice, refined voice.

At that Young only smiled queerly, and turned to the table where his books were.