CHAPTER XX
BADLY BEATEN
Saturday dawned fresh and clear. A little breeze, redolent of forestdepths and growing things, blew over the meadows from Mount Adam. Theriver sparkled beneath its touch and the broad carpet of yellowishgreen marshland beyond felt its breath and stirred in response. Theschool turned out to a man--or should I say to a boy?--and long beforethe hour set for the meeting the stand and much of the turf without theropes that guarded the track in the vicinity of the finish lines werewell thronged. The village came too, in the persons of the postmasterand the livery-stable keeper and the two rival grocers and many othersof local prominence; and their wives and daughters came with them andlent an added dash of color to the scene.
The meeting was much like every other event of the kind. Contestantsran, hurdled, or jumped; the judges looked inscrutable; and theaudience cheered indiscriminately. It was little to them whether thisboy was disappointed or that one made glad; they applauded a brilliantfinish or an extra inch surmounted with the pole, and cared but littlewhat the figures might be. There were no records broken that day, butProfessor Beck and Don and the coaches--of which there was a small armyon hand, many having arrived on the morning train--were on the wholewell satisfied with the results shown. Don took both hurdle events, andPerkins came in a close second. Middleton failed to use his allowanceto good effect, and made a poor third in each race. Dave threw thehammer one hundred and thirty-eight feet four inches, which, with hishandicap of eight feet, gave him second place in the event. Hardy threwone hundred and forty-seven feet two inches, and Kendall was third withone hundred and forty feet nine inches. Hardy’s performance assuredhim a place on the team and indicated a possibility of victory at theforthcoming meeting. The pole vault, the sprints, the jumps, and thequarter mile were all well contested, and some of them showed evenbrilliant work. Whitehead ran away from the field in the last twentyyards of the half mile, and Wayne finished a poor sixth, partly owingto the fact that he had made a bad start and partly because the pacewas too hot for him; Whitehead’s time was 2.07?.
After such a sorry showing as that it seemed that Fortune owed Waynesome reparation in the mile event; if so, Fortune didn’t pay the debt.Profiting by the experience gained in the half mile, Wayne got off wellwith the pistol and took a place in the van of the group of eightrunners. At the quarter mile he was third and felt as fresh as a colt;at the half he had pulled himself up to a place on the inside of thetrack and but a yard behind the leader. At the three quarters he wasstill running strong, but Whitehead had passed him and was disputingthe lead with Battles. At the beginning of the last lap, Wayne foundhimself fourth. On the back stretch he passed Seers and drew up behindWhitehead and Battles. His legs were strong, his breath good, and hecould have run another mile without minding it. But after the turn,when he dashed ahead to win, he found to his dismay that there was nodash in him. Battles and Whitehead tore away from him and Seers crawledup, hung for an instant on his flank, and passed him. Battles won firstby a fraction of a second, Whitehead was next, Seers third, and Waynefourth. The winner’s time was 5.03?; Wayne’s, 5.19.
He crawled dejectedly to the dressing room and refused to be comfortedby Whitehead’s predictions of better success next time. He was out ofit, and he knew it. There was nothing to do save put as good a faceas possible upon defeat. He trotted away to the gymnasium before themeeting was quite over and took his bath and rub down almost alone.To-day these things failed to summon back his spirits, and he went tohis room, perched himself on his own particular window seat, gazed outacross the sunlit river and marshes, and thought it all over.
It seemed hard luck. A few months before he would have cared butlittle whether he made the track team or not. But now it was different.The virus of athletic ambition was in his veins, and the afternoon’sdefeat, entailing as it did loss of position on the track team, seemedmagnified into an overwhelming catastrophe. He tried to summon backthe old indifference; he remembered scoffing at Don because the lattermade so much of athletic triumphs; somehow it was different to-day,and he wished that he had resisted Don’s appeals and stayed out of itall. Then a sense of injury overwhelmed him. What right had Don andProfessor Beck to encourage him as they had into thinking that the longhard training would win him a place on the team and then to drop himlike a--like a hot penny because he had failed once or twice to come upto their standard? He was so certain all the time that he could havewon if--if--what? What had been the trouble? He knit his brows andstared hard across the river. He had had no trouble as to wind; hislegs had remained strong and tireless to the end; he had simply beenunable to run as fast at the finish as the others. Very well, then,it only remained to learn how to save his strength so that he couldspurt hard in the last fifty yards. Why couldn’t they give him anotherchance? In the midst of his musings Don came in. He tossed a pair ofgrips on to the table and joined Wayne at the window. There was anatmosphere of constraint in the study, and for a moment neither boyspoke. Then Don broke the silence.
“I’m awfully sorry, Wayne.”
“Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter.”
There was another interval of silence. Then Don broke out with:
“But it does matter! I feel all broke up over it! It’s too bad, oldchap; that’s what it is. But perhaps it isn’t all up yet. I’m going totry and get Beck to give you another try, Wayne. Don’t you think youcan do better?”
“Yes, I _know_ I can. I could have won easily to-day if--if-- Thetrouble was I didn’t have any speed left at the finish; even Seerspassed me! Can’t I learn to save up for a spurt? I wasn’t tired; Icould have run another mile, I’m sure, Don.”
“Of course you can learn, if--if there is only time. You see, old chap,there is only three weeks left. But I am going to see Beck, and I’lldo all I can. I feel certain that you can beat that time to-day, andbetter it, too. There has been a mistake somewhere; you haven’t beenworked right. And it’s Beck’s fault, I guess; at any rate, it isn’tyours.”
“Oh, it’s nobody’s fault, I reckon; it’s just rotten luck!”
“No, luck doesn’t enter into it, Wayne. There’s been a mistakesomewhere; and I hope Beck will see it.” He paused and looked in atroubled way at his chum. “Perhaps you think it is my fault, Wayne?” hesaid wistfully. Wayne shook his head.
“No. I was rather blaming you and Beck a while ago, but I had no rightto. It isn’t your fault at all, Don, and don’t you worry about me;you’ve got enough to attend to. I’ll be all right. Only if you don’tmind speaking to Beck about it, you know----”
“Of course I will. Right away, too. All the fellows are asked to reportin Society House this evening at eight. Beck is going to announce thenames of the fellows who are to go to training table Monday, and someof the grads are going to talk a bit. Remsen came to-day.”
“Who’s Remsen; the football man?”
“Yes, he used to coach the eleven. He’s a jolly nice fellow, andawfully popular here. He’ll probably talk some, too. I hope he does;he’s worth hearing. You’ll go, won’t you?”
“If I’m wanted; though, if I’m not going to be on the team, I don’t seewhat use----”
“Of course you’re going on! So shut up and keep chipper. I promisedBeck to go to his room at five, and it’s nearly that time. Don’t getblue, old chap; we’ll fix it all right!”
When the door had slammed to after Don the boy at the window sat along while looking out on to the darkening landscape. The river grewto a deep violet with steel-gray ripples. The marsh became filled withshadows, and the sun dropped behind the purple hills and left thetwilight cold and colorless. With a sigh and a shake of his broadshoulders Wayne jumped up, pulled down the shades, and lighted the gas.He seized the first book that came to hand, a Greek Testament, andsettled himself resolutely in the armchair.
“If Beck won’t give me another show,” he muttered as he found hisplace, “I’ll go ahead and train on my own hook. And I’ll cut that oldmile down to five minutes even if I have to work all
day. And thenthey’ll _have_ to take me on!”
For the Honor of the School: A Story of School Life and Interscholastic Sport Page 20
