For the Honor of the School: A Story of School Life and Interscholastic Sport

by Ralph Henry Barbour

  CHAPTER XVIII

  DON LOSES HIS TEMPER

  “Connor, you and Middleton will try the full flight together. Get onyour mark, and I’ll start you in a minute. Perkins, you took the fulldistance yesterday, didn’t you? Well, report to Mr. Beck, please, forstarting; and you’d better go a hundred and twenty on the flat at abouta sixteen-second clip. Hello, Wayne, aren’t you working to-day?”

  Wayne suited his step to Don’s and trotted up the track with him towhere Connor and Middleton were waiting at the far end of the long lineof hurdles.

  “I guess so; after a while. Beck’s busy with the broad jumpers. Are yougoing over the hurdles?”

  “If I get a chance. Hang it, I haven’t had any time to practice thisweek. Connor and Middleton have taken up every minute, and they’reawful duffers at hurdling. Perkins is a good man, though; he justpassed you a minute ago. Wait until I get these fellows off and I’lltalk to you.”

  Don went to the starting line and Wayne, drawing his coat more closelyabout his running costume, perched himself on an unused hurdle at theside of the track and looked on. Don took a small revolver from hispocket and stationed himself behind the two hurdlers.

  “Both you fellows must try and get over the hurdles lower. Rememberthat it doesn’t matter if you strike them; it won’t hurt you. Connor,you start well and make your first hurdle all right, but after that youget ragged. Keep your pace up to the end; you ought to finish just asfast as you begin. Middleton, you haven’t got your pace right yet. Yourfirst two steps are always too short, and the result is that your thirdleaves you too far from the hurdle. You must correct that. I’ll giveyou both two tries over the full flight. This time take it easy and becareful. On your mark! Set!”

  _Bang!_ went the little pistol and the two hurdlers dashed forwardtoward the first of the three-feet-six-inch obstacles. Don ranalongside on the cinders, watching their performance and shoutinginstructions.

  “Higher next time, Connor, by a half inch.” “Lengthen your stride,Middleton.” “Take your time, both of you.” “That’s better, Connor; goodwork. Don’t stop; keep on to the finish!”

  The three hurdlers came slowly back, listening in patient andrespectful attention to Don’s criticisms, and again dug their spikesinto the cinders at the mark, crouching low and practicing littlestarts. Don called to Wayne.

  “I’m going over them once, Wayne, to show these chaps what I’ve beentalking about. Will you start me?”

  Wayne hurried up and took the pistol.

  “You fellows,” continued Don, turning to the two tyros, “had better runalong and watch me over the hurdles. You’ll see what I mean by jumpinglow, and you, Middleton, had better watch my stride. All ready, Wayne.”

  The latter cocked the pistol. “On your mark! Set!”

  At the report of the pistol Don straightened himself quickly fromhis crouching position and tore lightly down on the first of the tenhurdles, springing off the right foot, turning his body slightly tothe right and clearing the bar with a long, low, graceful rise thatwas scarcely more than a stride. Three long steps and he was again inthe air, his rear ankle just tipping the wood as he landed on the ballof his right foot and sped on, apparently without effort. Again andagain his white-clad form rose and fell down the line of hurdles untilthe last one was surmounted and he had crossed the finish running likea deer, swiftly and lightly. Then with a series of high, shorteningstrides he gradually slowed down and turned back.

  “Isn’t it pretty, the way he does that?” said a voice in Wayne’s ear,and the latter turned to find Paddy beside him.

  “You bet it is!” answered Wayne warmly. “I wish I could do it!”

  “Ever try?”

  “No; did you?”

  “Once; last year. Don had five hurdles set up out here, and I told himI’d beat him over if he’d give me a start. So I tried. He waited untilI was over the first hurdle. Then he started.” Paddy paused and grinnedreminiscently.

  “Who won?”

  “There wasn’t any race, me boy. The spalpeen went across the finishwhile I was trying to pick myself out of the third hurdle. You see, Igot over the first all right, but when I reached the second there wassomething wrong; I had too many feet or--or something; and I got thereon the wrong one. I finally jumped off one of them--I think it was theleft hind foot--knocked the hurdle over, ran for the next one, landedon top of it, and then--well, then the hurdle and I were all mixed uptogether. I think it struck me, but I’m not sure. Oh, hurdle racing issomething that I wasn’t cut out for. I’m quite willing that Don shoulddo my share.”

  Don and the other two lads came up while Wayne was still laughing overPaddy’s narrative, and, yielding the pistol, Wayne stood aside andwatched the next trial. Don got into his overcoat again and Connor andMiddleton crouched at the mark.

  “Now, see what you can do,” said Don. “I’ll tell you frankly thatneither of you can make the team on such work as you’ve done up todate. So, for goodness’ sake, put brains into your hurdling. I’ll timeyou this try, and the fellow that finishes second will have to workhard next week if he wants to go to the interscholastic meeting.”

  Once more the pistol sounded, the two boys left the mark as though shotfrom a cannon, and together took the first two bars. Then Middletonbegan to drop behind, and at the last hurdle was a long two yards tothe rear of Connor, who finished well and strongly.

  “Nineteen and a fifth,” called Don. “Slow work that. But you bothshowed improvement. Your stride’s all wrong yet, though, Middleton; twoshort at first; nothing even; you’ll get beaten every time until youmend it. I won’t try you over the full flight again until you’ve had afull week’s work learning the stride. Monday you’d better go back tothe low hurdles again and try taking about three of them. That’s allto-day.”

  Middleton and Connor, the former looking very meek, seized their wrapsand trotted away toward the dressing room. Don joined Wayne and Paddyon the top of the hurdle and the three swung their legs and chatteduntil Professor Beck approached and summoned Wayne to the starting lineof the mile.

  It was Saturday afternoon, a week from the date of the handicapmeeting, and the track candidates were out in full force. Groups ofwhite-clad boys dotted the field. The broad jumpers and the polevaulters were busy near by; several sprinters were trotting toward thegrand stand after their trials; the hammer and shot candidates werehard at work; a number of fellows were jogging about the track; on thegridiron the spring football squad was learning the rudiments of thegame, and the sound of the bat broke sharply on the air now and thenwhere the baseball candidates were at practice. On the links a numberof figures moved hither and thither at the will of the speeding whitespheres. The scene was a bright and busy one, and overhead the blueApril sky arched cloudless from hill to mountain.

  “Gordon, get your coat off and limber up,” commanded Professor Beck. “Iwant you to run your distance to-day on time.”

  Wayne threw aside his coat, looked to his running shoes, and trotteddown the cinders to the one-hundred-yard post and back again,stretching his muscles and relishing the faint gritting sound thathis shoes made on the smooth, level path. Then he got on his mark andlistened to the professor’s directions.

  “I’ll tell you your time after each quarter,” he announced. “I want youto study it and your pace so that you will be able in a race to judgeaccurately how fast you are going. Get away quickly and get a goodsteady pace by the end of the first sixty yards. Remember you’ve gota quarter of a mile farther to run than you’re used to. And remember,too, that on the last half lap you must increase your speed. Keep thatin mind and save enough strength for a good hard spurt at the finish.Sutton will pace you on the last quarter. On your mark!”

  Wayne sped away from a good start, and, according to directions, founda steady pace ere the end of the first half minute, and ran in goodform. At the end of the first quarter Professor Beck announced the timeand bade him to slow up a little. The half mile was accomplished wellunder 2.28. When he reached th
e line at the end of the third quarterSutton was waiting and started off beside him at a pace that madeWayne’s eyes open. But he did not try to overhaul the fleet-footedfour-hundred-and-forty-yard runner at once, but ran well within himselfand saved his strength for the last half lap. He began to feel the pacenow, and his feet showed a tendency to drag. As he passed the line onthe next to the last lap some twenty yards behind the middle-distanceman Professor Beck was waiting watch in hand.

  “All right,” he called. “Don’t hurry until you turn for the finish.”

  Around the track for the last time the two runners went. Suttonincreased his pace and his lead about halfway down the back stretch.Overcoming the impulse to try and run him down then, Wayne kept up hissteady, moderate pace until the turn toward the finish. Then he calledon his reserve strength and spurted forward, making a fine race to thetape and finishing well up behind the speedy Sutton. As he trottedback to the line Professor Beck met him.

  “Your time was five minutes and twenty seconds, Gordon. Try andremember your speed, so that next time you will be able to regulateyour pace by to-day’s performance. You kept your arms up as usual andyour second quarter was a bit too fast. Next time try and run it aboutfive seconds slower, and put that five seconds into the finish. Iexpect you to cut that time down by at least fifteen seconds before themeet. That’s all this afternoon. Work yourself easy the first of nextweek; I think I’d leave out the cross-country run Monday and do abouttwo miles slow on the track. I’ll give you another trial on Thursday.”

  Wayne trotted away to the gymnasium, had a refreshing shower and rubdown, and had done a full hour’s work at his studies when Don came inat dusk. The latter was not satisfied with his chum’s performance.

  “You’ll have to beat that, Wayne. Sturgis, of St. Eustace, ran the milelast year easily in 5.02?,” he said. “And Warrenton has men that cando nearly as well. But it’s early yet. I do wish you’d get out of thehabit of hugging yourself. I watched you this afternoon. You had yourhands over your lungs during the whole last half of the mile.”

  “Hang it,” Wayne responded, “you and Beck are awful cranks! I tell youthat I can run better that way. I’ve tried letting my arms swing, andit won’t work.”

  “No one wants you to swing your arms,” answered Don. “Just let themalone and they’ll look after themselves. Only, for goodness’ sake stopputting them on your chest and loading your lungs down!”

  “I don’t load my lungs down,” answered Wayne a trifle shortly. “Mylungs are all right. I had plenty of breath when I finished to-day torun another mile.”

  “All right; but you wait and see, my boy. Folks that have been atthe business longer than you know more about it, I guess; and you’lldiscover some fine day that you’ve just thrown away your chances ofdoing something by sticking to a habit that you could easily breakyourself of now if you’d try.”

  “I have tried; I can’t run any other way.”

  “You haven’t tried hard enough. It’s nonsense to say that you _can’t_keep your arms off your chest; you just _won’t_!”

  Wayne retired behind his Cæsar in silent dignity, and Don, his temperworn by the day’s labor with the hurdlers and jumpers, isolated himselfin his window seat and scowled over his history of Greece until hungerdrove both to supper, by which time the small quarrel was forgottenand the two raced downstairs and across to Turner Hall in the best ofspirits.