The Savannah morning news. (Savannah, Ga.) 1900-current, 1902-10-05

as he sat perched on the window seat
of his room in Stoughton hall looking
enviously at his big chum. Charlie
WItherspoon.
The latter was studying with vigor to
make up some back work which an un-
appreciative faculty had warned him
must be attended to promptly. The
fact is. Witherspoon had been devoting
the greater part of his time during the
past few weeks to football. Three days
before this the Yale game had taken
place 1T Springfield with a result which
had caused the usual rejoicing at New
Haven and a corresponding gloom at
Cambridge.
Witherspoon looked UP with grin on
the uninjured portion of his good ma
tured face. We'll. my boy, why DON'T
you do something? There seems to be
a long-felt want out here for SOME
RODY to do something"
mo joking. 1 WOULD like to do
something to help Harvard win vic
tory. 1t must be glorious to struggle
for victory with the grand old Har-
ward cheer to spur you on. If l were
only a big chap like you l would try
for something"
"Humph" muttered the big athelete,
as his mind went back to the recent
game. II don't see the glory" Then,
struck by something in Ned's tone. he
rose slowly, and, walking over to the
window, laid his hand impressively on
his chum's shoulder.
p
thing that l have had on my mind for
a good while, and this is a good time
to say it. You've been here three years
now, and haven't done a thing to make
a mark in any line. Isn't that so?"
Ned admitted 1t with sudden shame
With a weak attempt at an excuse he
added: But
Now hold on right there!" interrupt
ed Ned's mentor, decisiVely. You have
struck the exact cause of this state of
things. You are always wanting to do
something. but YOU stumble over such
an everlasting lot of butts and ifs that
you never even get started at anything.
Do you want to know why those Ellis
win so often? It's because they make
up their minds to win, and then buckle
right down to work to do it. without
bothering their heads about how much
better things would be for them If they
somehow were different It's a good
thing to take a lesson from the enemy
and profit by it."
Having relieved his mind. Wither-
spoon turned to his work again. A few
moments of silence ensued. and then
from Ned:
Yes, but what can l do?
"Do?" came the quick reply. you
can run. That's what you can do"
hut thara fndnV
other fellows"
"Of course there are other fellows,
but 1 was telling you what you could
do-if you have sand enough to try
"Sand?" yelled Ned, his blood tingling
at the implied reflection on his courage.
do you mean to say that I'm afraid
to try?"
THAT remains for you to demon
strate," was the cool rejoinder.
Nothing more was said, but When
the handicap race came off, a day or
two later. the name of Thomas appear
ed among the entries. He had a big
handicap, and surprised his friends by
winning easily and in creditable time.
Witherspoon chuckled to himself, but
made no remark Ned took this SEEM
ing indifference sorely to heart, for he
valued very highly his chum's appro-
baton.
HE doesn't think this is anything"
he grlmbled to himself "Well, we'll
see later, old man."
The next spring found Ned still
working away with grim determine
ton hitherto quite foreign to his ma
ture. The trial races brought Ned in
contact with those "other fellows" to
whom he had referred in his talk with
Witherspoon the previous autumn. The
other fellows" possessing possibly
better natural capabilities as runners
and having the advantage of expert
ence and longer training, invariably
beat him. But he persisted and made
no sign even in the face of sneering
comments of some of his rivals.
Thomas can't run a little bit
81 don't see why he makes such a
fool of himself as to try"
The fool smiled cheerfully and
kept on training; and the margin of
his defeats grew smaller.
One afternoon late in May Ned was
notified to his surprise that he was one
of the successful candidates for the
Mott Haven Team" which was to up
hold the colors of Harvard in the in
tercollegiate games at New York.
That same night DIR. Thomas sat in
his modest library reading, through
unusually dense clouds of tobacco
smoke, the following telegram:
Dear Dad-Am on the team. Go to
New York Friday. Come on. Ned.
The doctor was a hard working coun-
try physician, proud of nothing in the
world but his only son, Ned. Since
the death of Mrs. Thomas, some years
before. the two had drawn nearer to
each other. They always had been
great companions, but their common
grief had made the relationship dou-
bly, dear.
The doctor took fully as much in
terest in all Ned's doings at college as
did that worthy himself. and he had
actually worried over Ned's chances
of making the team. Not that he
placed an undue value on that achieve
ment, but he knew that Ned had set
his heart upon it. The latter had told
him what Witherspoon had said about
his lack of determination and self-con-
fdence, and the doctor had told his
son that his chum was right. This
had cut deeply into Ned's soul, but it
gave him the necessary stimulus.
IF l could only win, how proud dad
would be-" he thought a hundred
times. He really did not expect to
win any more than his fellow students
expected him to. His chum. Wither-
spoon, had watched him closely, and
was much pleased with his determined
way of doing his work, yet even he
was forced to admit that several others
seemed to have more speed than Ned
appeared capable of developing, and
there was no knowing what some fell
low from Yale, Princeton or some other
college might do.
Ned's father, however, was troubled
by no doubts. He felt sure that Ned
would win now that. he had once "got
the bit in his teeth as he expressed
it. Consequently that bright June aft