Among those who were waiting was Ward Hill. Apparently he was taking but little interest in what was going on about him. He nodded or quietly responded to the greetings he received from the waiting people, but that was all. Back and forth along the gravel path which led across the country road to the station, he walked, but he seldom took his eyes from the distant bend in the road where the smoke of the coming locomotive, he was well aware, would first appear. For Ward was expecting a friend to arrive by that same "afternoon train." Early that morning he had received a telegram, a most unusual experience in his life. Even now he could feel the thrill as he tore open the yellow envelope and read the words:
Am coming on afternoon train. Meet me at the station. SPECK.
Once more he took the message from his pocket and re-read it. He smiled as he placed it again in his coat and a softer expression came over his face. However the other boys in that far-away Weston school might feel toward him, Speck, or John Hobart, as his name had appeared in the catalogue, at least was true to him.
"Dear old Speck," thought Ward, as a vision of the school and his experiences there in the preceding year rose before his mind. And yet it was evident that the recollection was not entirely pleasing. To Ward it had largely been a year of failure. He thought of his own high hopes when he had entered, and then the picture of his gradual but sure descent could not be forgotten. How he had neglected his work and been drawn into the company of those who were no credit to the school, to their parents, or to themselves! How he had failed at the very time when he had been most eager to show what he could do! He had won no prize, had failed in the final examinations, and by his one attempt to do right, had incurred the anger of "the fellows," and at last had departed from Weston feeling very like an outcast. The bright spots had been the friendship of Jack Hobart, and the strong confidence which Mr. Crane, the teacher of Latin, had expressed in his ability to recover himself and in a measure make good the time he had lost. All summer long that final interview with Mr. Crane had been his inspiration, and Ward had worked faithfully in his endeavor to make up the work he had lost.