In the development of character defeat often plays an important part. The person who has never known the pangs following failure, whether deserved or otherwise, is poorly prepared to face such a misfortune when it comes to him, and at some time it must befall every one. Continued success is almost sure to breed over-confidence, self-conceit, underestimation of others, and, in many cases, downright caddishness. A certain amount of failure, a proportionate share of defeat, adds stamina and determination to a character that is naturally strong, and the experience thus obtained may be turned to profit in teaching the luckless one how to avoid future mistakes. It is only the weak and unfit who are ever totally crushed and disheartened by failure.

Hunk Rollins was one of the dejected members of the Oakdale eleven who whined after the Wyndham game was over, repeating his conviction that luck was against Oakdale and declaring she never could hope to defeat Wyndham.

Roger Eliot, hearing Rollins, had something to say:

“We lost the game in the last ten minutes of play, and we did so simply because you and one or two other fellows got cold feet. We made our touchdown and goal easier than we had dreamed we could, and that swelled our heads. We thought we were really going to have a snap; but when Wyndham woke up, got wise to our style and held us even play, our confidence began to ooze away. Those fellows fought for every point, and never let up once. After they tied us we went to pieces. If every man on the team had continued to do his level best, the game would have ended in a draw.”

“Perhaps you would have been satisfied with that?” sneered Hunk.

“At least, it would have been better than losing. It’s no use to cry over spilt milk. Everything considered, we have been amazingly successful this season, and the fact that we came so near downing Wyndham should spur us on to get after that bunch just twice as hard next year.”

“You’ll never beat them,” Rollins once more asserted.

“We’ll never do it with fellows on the team who think we can’t.”

“That’s a knock at me.”

“It’s the plain truth, Rollins. Considering the material we had to build on, we turned out a corking team. We owe a lot of gratitude to the coach.”

“Perhaps you’d won if you’d been able to strengthen your team with the feller from Texas.”

“Bah! We couldn’t have won anyhow,” put in Barker. “I wonder we made as good showing as we did.”

Roger turned on him. “You were one who let up toward the last of it, Barker. You surprised me by your lack of spirit. You were given one splendid chance to get through for a big gain, possibly for a touchdown, and you shirked.”

Berlin’s face turned white, and a resentful gleam of anger rose in his eyes.

“Look here, Mr. Eliot—the season is over and I no longer feel it necessary to call you captain—I want you to understand that I did my best, and if you say anything different you’re a——”

“Stop, Barker! I wouldn’t use that word if I were in your place, for if you do you’ll find you’re not dealing with Rodney Grant. There was no excuse for your quitting. You weren’t used up, but you flinched at the critical moment. I didn’t intend to say this publicly, but you joined Rollins in the cry-baby act, and I couldn’t help speaking out. It’s not the first time, either, that you’ve shown a disposition to lie down and let others face the brunt of things. I think you know what I mean.”

Barker shivered with a sort of cold rage. Eliot had not lifted his voice, but, knowing him as he did, Berlin was seized by a sudden disinclination to provoke him further.

“All right,” he muttered. “I’m not going to quarrel with you now, Eliot, but I won’t forget this.”

The boys journeyed homeward through the gathering darkness and stinging cold of the November night in anything but a happy condition. No one cared to accept Tuttle’s offer to treat on peanuts, and Cooper’s efforts to jolly things up by springing some bad puns and cracking a few stale jokes fell lamentably flat.

Not a few of them fancied Rod Grant must be secretly rejoicing over the result of the game, and, naturally, this increased their dislike for the Texan. Grant found himself shunned and practically ostracized by all save Stone and Eliot, and even Roger made no particular effort to be friendly. Stone stuck by faithfully, regardless of the efforts of various fellows to lead him to do otherwise.

Cold weather deepening, the boys fell to watching Lake Woodrim with longing eagerness for the time when it should close over and the ice become sufficiently strong for skating. In due course this happened, and, with their skates polished and ground, the fellows flocked to the lake, accompanied by a few girls who likewise enjoyed the sport.

School over one day, Grant was standing alone on the academy steps gazing toward the lake when Stone, carrying his skates, came out.

“Hello, Rod,” said Ben. “Come on.”

“Where?”

“Down to the lake. The ice is great.”

“I don’t skate.”

“Don’t? Why not?”

“Never learned.”

“That’s queer.”

“Not so queer when you consider that we have blessed little skating in the State of Texas.”

“Oh, I didn’t think of that. Well, now is your time to learn, and I know you’ll like it.”

“I haven’t any skates.”

“I’ll loan you mine.”

“That’s right good of you, Ben, old man; but I don’t think I’ll try it—now.”

“Why not?”

“Well, to tell you the plain truth, I’m not anxious to make an exhibition of myself before everybody. Sometime, perhaps, I’ll sneak off by my lonesome and have a go at it. Is the ice solid all over the lake?”

“Well, pretty nearly all over it. There are one or two weak spots, but we know where they are, and we keep away from them.”

“Do you swim?”

“Sure; don’t you?”

“Yes, but I fancy it would be right unpleasant to take a dip in that icy water.”

Ben was thinking of Grant’s words as he clamped on his skates at the edge of the lake down behind the gymnasium. There was something strangely contradictory about the boy from Texas, who had betrayed a disposition to swagger a bit and to boast in a joshing way, but who would not fight, who had refused to play football, and who now was plainly indisposed to make himself an object for jesting or ridicule by attempting to skate. Whether this backwardness came from a sensitive temperament, or whether Grant was actually lacking in courage, was a question Ben could not decide. There had seemed to be some timidity in the fellow’s desire to know whether or not the ice was sufficiently strong for skating all over the lake. Finally, swinging away to join some shouting lads who were engaged in an impromptu game of hockey, Stone dismissed the problem.

Even then Grant was on his way to Stickney’s store, where he purchased a pair of skates. Supper over that night, he set off alone toward the upper end of Lake Woodrim.