He was about to say, "No, they shall not all be in vain," when he
heard the fellows on the walk outside. A cold perspiration broke out
on his forehead, as he considered the consequences should he refuse to
go with them. Strong as he was, he had a fear of ridicule. To be
laughed at, to be ostracized by the set he admired, was more than he
could endure. Like many another brave fellow, fearless in every
respect but one, he was an arrant coward before that one overpowering
fear of being laughed at.

He gathered the quilt in his arms, debating whether he should hide it
hastily in the closet, or come out boldly before them all with its
whole homely little story. The fellows were tramping down the hall
now. Oh, what _should_ he do? Go or not? It meant to break with them
for all time if he refused now.

There was an instant more of indecision, as the footsteps halted at
the threshold, but, when the door burst open, he had squared his
shoulders to meet whatever might come, and was whispering between his
set teeth: "_At any cost_, mother! I'll keep my promise _at any
cost!_"

* * * * *




HOW HE WON THE BICYCLE