CHAPTER X
CROOKED WORK
"Yes, me byes, there's nothin' in this wide world much worse, to memanner o' thinkin', than a 'ringer.'" It was Reddy who spoke, followingup a conversation in which most of the athletes had joined. "Crookednessis a bad thing in any line of business or amusement, but it's speciallybad in anythin' like sport, that in its very nature ought to be keptclean and wholesome. It's a queer thing, though, but true none the less,that there's nothin' much worse than some branches o' sport. Look atprize fightin', fer instance. O' course, I'm not sayin' that some fightsaren't on the level, an' all that, but take them as a rule and thescraps and scrappers are so crooked they could hide behind a corkscrew."
"Yes, and there are lots of other things the same way," observed Bert,who was one of the group. "I've been told that wrestling is as crooked,if not more so, than boxing. Do you think it is, Reddy?"
"Well, that's a hard question, m' son," returned the veteran trainer,thoughtfully. "When you get right down to it, there's not much to choosebetween them. I've seen many a boxin' an' wrestlin' bout in my time, butthere's very few that I thought was straight from start to finish. It'sa wonder to me how the fight promoters manage to keep on fooling thepublic. It looks to me as though a babe in arms would get wise to theirgame. But nix! The poor ginks will file out of a hall after a rotten go,swearing they'll never spend a cent to see another fight, and the nextweek they're back again, same as ever."
"I guess there's not as much underhand work in other lines of sport asin that, though, is there, Reddy?" questioned Tom.
"No, I don't think there is," answered Reddy, speculatively. "Of course,among amateurs, there generally isn't the money incentive that theprofessionals have, and that makes a big difference. The hard thing,when you're dealing with amateur meets, is to keep professionals out.Some club will want specially to win a race, and like as not they'lllook around for some professional, who's not too well known, to helpthem out. It's a dirty, low-down trick, o' course, but it's tried many atime, just the same."
"Huh," said Tom, "why doesn't the amateur up and beat the professionalat his own game? There's nothing very wonderful about a man, justbecause he runs for money, instead of the honor."
"Thrue fer you, me bye," returned Reddy, smiling, "but that's sometimeseasier said than done. A man who's running to earn his bread is usuallygoing to run faster than the man who's simply out fer glory. That maynot sound very noble, and all that, but it's the truth, nine times outo' ten."
"Yes, but how about the tenth time?" asked Bert, who had been listeningattentively to all the trainer said.
"Well, once in a great while the 'ringer' gets tripped up, o' course. Iremember one time, many a long year ago, when I saw jist the thing youmentioned happen," and a reminiscent smile spread over the veteran'sface.
The listening group of young athletes sensed a story at once, andassailed Reddy with requests to "fire away, and tell them about it."
The trainer seemed in a talkative mood, and without much urging, began.
"'Twas whin I was but a young lad," he said, "but even thin I was alwaysinterested in sport of any kind, and used to attend ivery track eventfor miles around the little town where I lived. I used to help aroundthe club houses, carryin' water and such things, and got to know, bysight at any rate, a good many well-known runners and sich.
"Well, one day there was a big college meet not far from our town, ando' course nothin' would do me but what I must see it.
"Accordin'ly, I was hangin' around the club house long before the timefor the race, and had plenty o' time to size up the contestants. Theywere as fine lookin' a set o' byes as you could wish to see, and theywas all jokin' and rough-housin' as though they had never a care ontheir minds. I knew they'd be in dead enough earnest in a little while,though.
"Well, the time come for them to get dressed in their runnin' togs, andsuddenly I began to sit up an' take notice, as you might say. As onebig, sthrappin' feller, that I hadn't noticed much before, on account o'his havin' kept apart a little from the others, and havin' been soquiet-like, stood up in his runnin' suit, it flashed across me mind thatI'd seen him run some place before. At first I couldn't place him, thinkas hard as I might, but suddenly I remembered where I'd seen him. It wasat a race held about a year ago, and then he had run in the hundred-yarddash with professionals and had come in third.
"'Well, what do ye know about that,' thinks I to myself, 'the good fernothin' crook is goin' to run against these young fellers, and it's acinch he'll cop off the prize.' And, believe me, I felt sorry for theother boys that was goin' to race against him, fer I knew he was fast,although not among the first-raters, and I figured that none o' theothers would have a show in his company.
"However, there was nothin' I could do, for nobody would have taken myword for it, an' I'd a' got laughed at fer my trouble. So I kept me owncouncil, and sat tight, but all interest in the big race was lost ferme, for I hated crooked work about as much then as I do now, I guess.
"There was a young feller from C---- that I'd picked to win thehundred-yard dash, before I recognized this ringer chap. (His name wasSmith, by the way, but he was known now, I found out, as Castle.) YoungSidney was a game kid, all right, from his toes up. He wasn't very tall,and at first glance you wouldn't think he'd be any great shakes as arunner. But he could get away at the crack o' the pistol about as fastas any man I ever saw, barrin' none, and he could certainly burn up thetrack fer a short distance. He was never much on the long distances, buthe was sure class on everythin' up to three hundred yards.
"I'd seen him run several times, and once or twice when I'd brought hima drink o' water, or somethin' like that, he'd grin at me an' give me apleasant word or two. So I had a likin' for him, and was minded to puthim wise.
"So the first chance I got I sidled up to him and tipped him off thatthis Castle feller was a 'profesh.' He gives a long whistle, and lookspretty much surprised, naturally. But he was game, clear through, and hesays to me, 'Well, kid, I don't care if he is a professional. I'm asgood a man as he is, and I think I can beat him, anyway. It's the onlychance I have, because I'm not going to squeal to the officials.'
"Well, I liked him all the more for that, and o' course wished him allkinds o' luck. Me heart was heavy fer him, though, for I didn't think hewould get a look-in.
"By now the time had come fer the lads to line up, and they all filedout o' the club house, as sober as so many deacons. The starter got themin position, and everythin' was ready fer the event. There were fivestarters, and each one looked to have a chance to the finish.
"'Get on your mark! Get set!' yelled the starter, and pointed his littlepistol up in the air. Crack! she went, and the lads were off in a bunch,runnin' as though the old Nick were after thim.
"This 'ringer' chap was up to all the tricks of the trade, howiver, andhad 'beat this pistol' by the shade of an eyelash. He had a five-footlead on young Sidney before they'd gone eight yards, and that's anawful lot in a hundred-yard sprint. 'Good-night,' thinks I to meself,'the ringer's won the race already,' and the thought made me far fromhappy, as ye may aisily imagine.
"But the old boy himself seemed to be in young Sidney, and before I knewit my heart was in me mouth and I was almost yelling me lungs outrootin' for him.
"He raced along in great bounds, and it seemed to me as though eachstride covered ten feet. By the time they'd made half the distance hewas right up to the 'ringer's' shoulder, and seemed to be goin' fastereach second.
"Smith (or Castle, whichever you choose to call him) gave a glance back,and let out every bit o' speed in him. For a second he drew away fromthe kid, and I was almost ready to cry, I was so disappointed.
"But Sidney was not the bye to be left behind, and he put on full steam,so to speak. By now everybody that was watchin' the race was standin' ontheir ears with excitement, and when at the seventy-five-yard markSidney drew right abreast of this Smith chap I thought the whole fieldwould go wild. Pretty women an' girls waved their parasols and shr
iekedat the top o' their lungs, and as fer the men--well, they just wentplumb batty.
"The other entries were practically out of the race now, and wereplugging along far in the rear. The two leaders hit it up faster an'faster, till they were fairly flying. For all he was a 'ringer,' theSmith chap was game, and did his best, I'll say that for him. But youngSidney was a regular cyclone that day, and on the last ten yards jumpedahead as though the other fellow were standing still. It seemed to me hecleared the last fifteen feet in one jump, and I'll swear he was in theair when his breast broke the ribbon.
"He'd won the race, all right, but he didn't hear the applause thatpretty nearly split the sky in two. He just crumpled up like a wet rag,and it was pretty near ten minutes before we could bring him to.
"When he did finally open his eyes, he happened to look at me first, andhe grinned weakly, 'Well, Red, we trimmed the "ringer" good and plenty,you and I, didn't we?' and he actually shook hands with me.
"Believe me, boys, I was the happiest kid in the State that day, barnone."
Here Reddy stopped speaking, and gazed ruminatively out over the ocean,with what looked like a mist in his blue eyes.
After the athletes had discussed this story in all its details, Bertasked, "But what became of the 'ringer,' Reddy? What did they do tohim?"
"Oh, there was nothing much we could do," replied the trainer, "but,believe me, it was an awful knock to the college that put him up to it,and I don't think they tried that trick for many a long day afterward.Believe me, lads, crookedness doesn't pay, in sport or in anythingelse."
Bert Wilson, Marathon Winner Page 10
