Dick Randall, the Young Athlete

by William Osborn Stoddard

  Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by Google Books

  Transcriber's Notes:

  1. Page scan source: https://books.google.com/books?id=kh5WAAAAYAAJ

  DICK RANDALL

  Dick stood dreaming, gazing across the yard]

  DICK RANDALL

  _THE YOUNG ATHLETE_

  BY

  ELLERY H. CLARK

  WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY

  WALTER BIGGS

  INDIANAPOLIS

  THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY

  PUBLISHERS

  COPYRIGHT 1910

  THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY

  PRESS OF BRAUNWORTH & CO. BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS BROOKLYN, N. Y.

  TO MY NEPHEWS

  WELD ARNOLD

  AND

  ALLEN WILLIAMS CLARK

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER

  I The New Boy.

  II Dave Ellis Breaks a Record.

  III Dick and Jim Go On a Shooting Trip.

  IV The Shooting Trip's Unexpected Ending.

  V Duncan McDonald.

  VI A Question of Right and Wrong.

  VII A Battle Royal.

  VIII On Diamond and River.

  IX Foul Play.

  X The Pentathlon.

  DICK RANDALL

  DICK RANDALL

  CHAPTER I

  THE NEW BOY

  Fall term at Fenton Academy had begun. Dick Randall came slowly downthe dormitory steps, then stopped and stood hesitating, as if doubtfulwhich way to turn. Uncertainty, indeed, was uppermost in his mind. Hefelt confused and out of place in his new surroundings, like astranger in a strange land.

  The day was dark and gloomy. The sky was overcast, and the afternoonsun shone halfheartedly from behind the clouds. A fresh breeze bentthe trees in the quadrangle, scattering a shower of leaves about theyard. In spite of himself, Dick felt his spirits flag. 'A' thousandmiles lay between him and home; and except for a few brief visits,made close at hand, this was his first real venture into the world.Unaccustomed to the change, unacquainted with his classmates, with thesteady routine of work and play not yet begun, he was wretchedlyhomesick; and strive as he would, he could not keep his thoughts,for five minutes together, from his father and mother, and thewhite-walled farm-house on the slope of the mountain, looking downover the valley and the meadowland below. He felt ashamed anddisgusted with himself, for he was no longer a "kid"; he was almostseventeen, and big and strong for his age; and yet, fight it as hemight, the longing for home would not down.

  Thus he stood dreaming, gazing unseeingly across the yard, untilpresently, with a start, he came to himself. A friendly hand smote himbetween the shoulder-blades, a friendly arm was drawn through his, andhe turned to meet the somewhat quizzical glance of his classmate andnext-door neighbor in the dormitory--Harry Allen.

  Instinctively Dick smiled. He had sat next to Allen at supper thenight before and had taken a liking to him from the start. Allen hadchattered away steadily, all through the meal, yet his talk had beenunaffected, entertaining, and wholly free from any effort at "tryingto be funny" or "showing off." He was Randall's opposite in everyway--as slight and frail as Dick was big and broad-shouldered, aslight as Dick was dark, and apparently, at the present moment, ascheerful as Dick was depressed. "Well, Randall," he asked, "what yougot on your mind? Composing a speech?"

  Dick flushed a little. "No, nothing like that," he answered; "I don'tknow just what I was doing. Just thinking, I guess. You see--"

  Allen interrupted him. "Oh, _I_ know," he said; "I've been through it,all right. You can bet on that. Don't I remember the first day I came?Golly, I should say I did. Talk about a cat in a strange garret. Well,that was little me. Don't worry, though. Just about three days, andyou'll think you've lived here all your life. It's a dandy school.You'll find that out for yourself. And Mr. Fenton! Well, if there's abetter master in the state, I'd like to see him. Teach! I guess hecan. Languages, you know--that's his branch. He's got Latin and Greekdown fine. And English! Why, they say his English course is the bestthing outside of college. He starts away back with Chaucer--'well ofEnglish undefyled,'--Spenser, you know, _Faerie Queene_--and he bringsus right down to Robert Louis Stevenson. Oh, it's great! No fellowfrom this school has flunked English for ten years. How's that? Goingsome?"

  He paused, a little out of breath. Dick smiled, finding somethinghumorous in the contrast between his classmate's breezy speech, andthe "English undefyled," for which his liking was so evidentlysincere. Yet he found Allen's talk acting on him like magic, and bythe time they had reached the end of the yard, his gloomy thoughtswere forgotten, and he was himself once more.

  To the left, they could see the boat-house, and the faint blue of theriver, just showing through the trees; to the right lay the athleticfield, and it was toward the track that Allen turned.

  "Come on," he said; "let's walk down and watch Dave Ellis. He's goingto try the Pentathlon. He's been training for it all summer. You methim last night, didn't you?"

  Dick nodded. "Yes, I met him," he answered. He had sat opposite Ellisat table, and had admired his rangy and powerful build. Yet something,too, in his manner, had repelled him as well; Ellis had seemed alittle patronizing, with a trifle too much of the "Conquering Hero"about him. So that now Dick hesitated for a moment, and then asked,"Say, Allen, if it's a proper question, what sort of fellow isEllis? Doesn't he seem pretty--well, I don't know just what word Iwant--pretty--cocksure of himself, somehow?"

  Allen did not answer at once, and when at length he did so, it was inrather a guarded tone. "Well, you see, Randall," he replied, "I don'tbelieve I'd better say anything. Dave's a candidate for classpresident next spring, and he's pretty sure to get it, too. Only--someof the fellows have been sounding me to see if I cared to run, and ifI should, why, I wouldn't want you to think, from anything I said--"

  Randall's face was scarlet with embarrassment. "Excuse me, Allen," hecried, "I didn't know. I didn't mean--"

  Allen hastened to reassure him. "Of course you didn't," He said;"that's all right, Randall. I only thought I'd let you know. And asfar as that goes, there's really no reason why I shouldn't say what Ithink about Dave, if you'll give me credit for being fair about it,and won't think I'm trying to work any electioneering games. Here'sjust what I think about him. I think Dave's a good fellow. And he'scertainly a remarkable athlete--one of the best, I guess, that we'veever had in the school. All I don't like about him is, that he hasn'tmuch school spirit; I think he's for Dave Ellis first, and the schoolafterward. But still he's all right, you know. He's a good enough sortof fellow in most ways. One thing, though, he's got to look out for.And that's his studies. He had a close shave getting by last year, andI don't believe he's opened a book since school closed. Oh, Dave's allright, but you'll find he's a good deal bigger man outside the lectureroom than he is in."

  Dick nodded. "I see," he answered; "and I'm much obliged, Allen, fortelling me about the election. I won't go putting my foot in it again,in a hurry. I'll know enough after this to k
eep my mouth shut, till Ibegin to get the hang of things. Ellis must be a dandy athlete,though. I never saw a better built fellow in my life."

  Allen was quick to assent. "Oh, he is," he answered. "He's a corker.He's six feet one, and weighs a hundred and eighty pounds. He'sawfully good on the track, and he pulls a fair oar, and I guess he'sthe best full-back we ever had in the school. _Was_ the best fullback,I mean. You knew we'd cut out football, didn't you?"

  "Yes," Dick answered, "I heard about it. Was a fellow really killed,Allen?"

  His companion nodded. "Yes, Faulkner, of Hopevale," he said. "Ithappened in the Clinton game. It was an awfully sad thing, too. Hiswhole family had come on to see the match. It happened in a scrimmage.He was picked up unconscious. But no one thought it was reallyanything serious. They took him to the infirmary; pretty soon he wasin a fever; went out of his head; and two days later he died. Injuredinternally, the doctors said. So of course we cut out foot-ball, andI'm glad of it, too."

  Dick drew a long breath. "That was tough!" he exclaimed. "Think howhis father and mother must have felt! And the master at Hopevale, too.I suppose he considered himself somehow to blame, though of course hewasn't, really."

  Allen shook his head. "No, of course it wasn't his fault," heanswered. "It was just one of those things no one could foresee. ButI'm glad they've stopped it, anyway. So now Dave's going to put allhis time into the track, because, you see, with foot-ball off thelist, it makes the Pentathlon more important than ever. This spring isgoing to decide who wins the cup, and the way things look now, thePentathlon may settle the whole business. They've got a dandyPentathlon man over at Clinton--a fellow named Johnson--he won it lastyear, and broke the record--made two hundred and eighty points--so ifDave could beat him, it would be great for us, all right. I guess wecan tell something from what he does to-day."

  They walked on for a few moments in silence; then Dick, with suddenresolve, turned squarely to his friend. "Look here, Allen," he said,"I know you'll think I'm greener than grass, but I read somewhere,once on a time, that if a fellow didn't understand a thing, he mightas well own up to it, or else he'd never learn at all. And that's whatI'm going to do now. I'm not up to date on school affairs. I don'teven know what cup you're talking about. And I don't know what youmean by the Pentathlon. I suppose it's got something to do withathletics, but if you hadn't said anything about it, it might besomething to eat, for all I'd know. So if you don't mind, I wish you'dexplain things to me, and then, perhaps, I won't feel quite so muchlike a fool as I do now."

  Allen laughed. "Heavens," he said, "it isn't your fault, Randall; it'smine. Here I go rattling on about everything, as if you'd been in theschool as many years as I have. No wonder I've got you mixed. Well,now, let's see; I'll begin with the cup. No, I won't either; I'llbegin at the beginning; and that's with Mr. Fenton. Do you knowanything about what he did in college?"

  Dick shook his head. "No, I don't," he answered humbly. "I told you Iwas green. We don't know much about athletics out our way. Unlessplowing, and getting in hay, and chopping wood count for anything. Ifthey do, we might have a show."

  Allen laughed again. "Well, they ought to, all right," he answered."What a bully idea for a Pentathlon! I'm going to speak to Mr. Fentonabout it. People couldn't say athletics were a waste of time then.Well, to come back to _him_. He was a hummer when he was in college.He was awfully popular, and he stood away up in his class, and theysay, in athletics, there wasn't anything he couldn't do. They wantedhim for the crew, and they wanted him on the nine, but he wouldn't doeither. I guess he didn't have any too much money then, and he toldthem, straight out, that he'd come to college to work, and not forathletics. He wasn't a crank, though; he took his exercise every day,only he didn't waste any time over it. And finally the trainer of thetrack team spotted him and got him to come out for the jumps. Golly,but he surprised them. He never seemed to take such a lot of painsabout it, but I guess he was what they call a natural jumper. Anyway,before he got through, he did six feet in the high, and twenty-threetwo and a half in the broad. Perhaps that didn't hold them for awhile. So you can see he's a good man to be master of a school. He'sbeen through the thing himself, and he's got this whole athleticbusiness down fine.

  "I remember the talk he had with me when I first came to the school;it made me take a shine to him right away. He doesn't lecture you, youknow, as if you were a kid; he talks to you just as if you were grownup, and knew as much as he did; maybe more. Well, first of all, hetold me he didn't think any school could succeed where the master andthe boys weren't in harmony; and then he went ahead and gave me hisideas on athletics. He said he liked them, and approved of them, andmeant to do all he could to encourage them--but that he was going tokeep them in their place. He said athletics were to help out lessons,and not to hinder them; and that there wasn't any need of any conflictbetween the two. But if there was a conflict, he said--if a fellow gotso crazy over athletics that he couldn't study--then the athleticswould have to go. And if that made the fellow feel so bad that eventhen he couldn't study--or _wouldn't_ study--why, then it would be thefellow himself that would have to go. But he meant that more for ajoke, I guess; nothing like that's ever happened since he started theschool. It's a pretty pig-headed fellow that can't get along with Mr.Fenton. He's got a great way with him, somehow or other; I don't knowjust how he does it, but he gets lots of fellows interested instudying that you'd think were too lazy even to want to learn thealphabet straight. Oh, I tell you, Randall, he's all right."

  Dick nodded. "I'll bet he is," he answered with enthusiasm. He wasbeginning to feel the genuine _esprit de corps_; was realizing, forthe first time, that a school might be something more than a placewhere one came merely to "do" one's lessons, and to learn enough toenter college in safety. "Yes," he went on, "that sounds mightysensible to me. And as you say, Allen, where a man's been an athletehimself, and a scholar, too, why, you can't help feeling a respect forwhat he thinks about things. I can understand, though, about fellowsgetting too much interested in athletics. I can see right now whereI've got to look out for that, myself. You've seen such a lot of ithere that you don't realize how it takes hold of a fellow that's neverhad any show to go into them. I feel as if I'd like to try everythingin sight, if I didn't remember that my father's had to work good andhard to send me here. And he wouldn't care much for cups and medals, Iguess. 'Book-learning,' that's what he wants to see me get. Still, Isuppose there's time for studying and athletics, too, if a fellow goesat it right."

  Allen nodded. "Oh, sure there is," he answered. "And don't get theidea, from what I said, that Mr. Fenton's a crank about it, or thathe's the preachy kind, because he isn't. He's keen on physicalculture, you know. A fellow's got to take his exercise every day,whether he's a star athlete like Dave, or the worst grind thatever wanted to swallow a Greek dictionary, roots and all. Oh, Mr.Fenton likes exercise, only, as he says, there's a happy mediumeverywhere--in athletics, just as in everything else. He doesn't wantthe fellows to underdo; and he doesn't want them to overdo; and hekeeps an eye on every boy in the school. He takes just as much pridein having the fellows in good shape physically as he does in havingthem go into college with honors; and I tell you we don't have muchsickness around here. So you needn't worry about exercise; there's noreason why you can't try anything you want. And I should think, tolook at you, Randall, you'd make a crack-a-jack at something. How muchdo you weigh? A hundred and sixty?"

  His companion's build, indeed, fully justified his admiration. Randallwas strong and sturdy, from much hard work in the open, absolutelyhealthy, and as rugged and active as a young colt. It was small wonderthat Allen, himself a member of the track team, looked him over withan appreciative eye.

  Dick flushed with pleasure. "I weigh a little more than that," heanswered. "About a hundred and sixty-eight, I guess. That's nothing,though. Think of Ellis."

  "Oh, well," returned Allen, "weight isn't everything." Then added,with a smile, "You wouldn't think, to look at me, Randall, that I hadany pretensions
to being an athlete, now would you? As the song says,'I'm as thin as the paper on the wall.' I hardly disturb the scaleswhen I weigh myself."

  Dick looked at him. "Why, I don't know," he answered frankly, andhalf-doubtfully, "but I should think, somehow, you look as though youcould run pretty well."

  Allen laughed. "Good guesser," he rejoined. "You've hit it, firstcrack. I don't mean, of course, that I'm any good, but running's theonly thing I can do anywhere near well. It took a lot of hard work,too. I was certainly a lemon when I started in. But last year I wonthe quarter in the school games, and I got third in the big meet. So Iwon my 'F', and that makes a fellow feel good, you know. Shows he'sdone something for the school."

  Dick looked puzzled. "Won your 'F'?" he questioned. "What does thatmean, Allen?"

  "Why," answered his friend, "if you make the crew, or the nine, or thetrack team, you get an athletic suit and a sweater. And on the shirtand the sweater there's a big 'F', and a little 'A' on each side ofit. A. F. A.--Fenton Athletic Association. The crew fellows get awhite sweater, with the letters in red; the nine have gray sweaters,with red letters; and the track team have red sweaters, with theletters in white. And if you're on a winning crew, or a winning nine,you can rip off the 'A. A.' from your sweater, and that leaves justthe big 'F', and shows you're a point winner for the school. With thetrack team, it's a little different, because there it's more a case ofevery fellow for himself. You can't have the same kind of team workthat you can with the nine and the crew. So when the big meet comesfor the cup, no matter whether the school wins or not, if you getfirst, second or third in your event, then you're a point winner, andyou've got a right to your 'F'. Now, do you see?"

  Dick nodded. "Sure," he answered, "I've got that all straight; but nowthere's another thing I don't understand. What's the big meet? Andwhat's the cup? You were going to tell me about the cup when westarted, and then we got switched off on to something else."

  Allen smiled. "I guess 'something else' was Mr. Fenton," he said. "I'mpretty apt to talk people to death about him. I think he's a corker,and I don't mind saying so. I'd rather have him think I was all rightthan win my 'F,' ten times over, and that's putting it pretty strong,too. Well, about the cup. That's a cinch to explain. It's just likethis. There are three schools, you see, right around here, in a kindof ten-mile triangle. There's Clinton Academy and Hopevale andourselves. We've always had some sort of league with one another, inall kinds of athletics, ever since the schools started, but six orseven years ago the masters and some of the graduates got together,and put things right on a systematic basis. Some rich old chap in NewYork, who was a graduate of Hopevale, and had a couple of boys in theschool, donated a cup--a perfect peach--to be competed for every yearuntil one school won it three times and then it was to be theirs forgood. They put five sports on the schedule: foot-ball, base-ball,track and crew, which counted three points each; and the Pentathlon,which counted one. The school that won the most out of those thirteenpoints held the cup for that year.

  "Well, Hopevale made a great start. They had some dandy athletes inthe school then--some folks were mean enough to say that was why theold fellow in New York gave the cup--but anyway, however that was,they won, hands down, for two years running. The next year theythought there was nothing to it--they thought they couldn't lose--andI guess they eased up a little, and didn't train quite so hard as theydid the other years. Well, they got a surprise all right, for Clintonbeat them out. They made six points that year, to four for Hopevale,and three for us. And then, the year after that, Dave Ellis enteredschool, and we had our turn. We got so, with Dave at full-back, wenever thought about the three points in foot-ball at all--we figuredthem just like money in the bank--all we used to wonder about, was howbig the score was going to be. And then, in the spring sports, we hadMansfield pitching on the nine, and Harrison stroking the crew,and of course Dave came in strong again on the track. Oh, we hadthings easy for the next two years. The second year we won allthirteen points--made a clean sweep of everything. So _we_ began toget cocky--same as Hopevale--but we never let up, you can bet; weworked as though we thought we hadn't a show, unless we kept on doingour darndest.

  "And then of course everything had to go wrong. Mansfield graduatedthat year, and Harrison's father died, and he had to leave school; andthen this fellow Johnson came to Clinton, and he was certainly a find.He and Dave had it out, hammer and tongs, in the track meet, and againin the Pentathlon, and Johnson had the best of it both times. AndClinton beat us by four points, and evened things up again. So you cansee what a scrap it's been, right from the start--it couldn't verywell have been closer--and you can imagine what it's going to be nextspring. Each school has won the cup twice, so of course this time'sgot to settle it. Clinton has it all figured out that they're going towin. They give us the crew, and Hopevale the base-ball, but they saythat with Johnson right they're sure to take the track meet, andthe Pentathlon, too. But of course no one can tell as far ahead asthat--it's foolish to try. Still, that's a pretty good prediction, Ithink myself, unless Dave can show an improvement over last year onthe track. He says he can--he says he's been training all summer, andthat he's in the shape of his life.

  "I know what he's figuring on. If the three schools should be tied,and it should all hang on the Pentathlon, why, the fellow who won thatwould be a regular tin god, you know; he'd go down in the history ofthe school like George Washington in the history of the country. AndDave wouldn't mind being that fellow a little bit. Not that I'm tryingto knock him, you understand. That's a good, legitimate ambition. I'dlike to be the fellow myself; only I need a hundred pounds of weight,more or less, and about a foot more height, before I'd fit in thePentathlon. And there's another reason for Dave's practising, too; hewants to get back at Johnson. Dave can't take a licking, you know; heisn't used to it, and it hurts. He claims he's going to square up thisspring, but I'm not so sure. Johnson's an awfully good man, and thePentathlon's no cinch for any one, no matter who he is."

  Dick, wholly absorbed in his friend's recital, drew a long breath asAllen concluded. "By gracious," he exclaimed. "That is exciting, isn'tit? Suppose it did work out that way. Just think of it. To have ithang on a single point, and then to have our school win--to have Ellisbeat Johnson. Oh, that would be great!" He paused a moment, and thenadded: "Just tell me one other thing, Allen, and I won't bother youany more. I've got everything else straight, but just what's thePentathlon, anyway?"

  Allen laughed. "I'm going to send you in a bill for private tutoring,"he said good-humoredly. "This is an awful strain on my mind, givingyou so much information free. And it would take a Philadelphia lawyerto explain the Pentathlon straight. We go back a few thousand years,just for a starter, to the days of the Greeks. 'The glory that wasGreece, and the grandeur that was Rome.' Edgar Allan Poe, Randall.Ever read him? Ever read _The Haunted Palace?_ No? Well, you just waltzinto the library some day and take a crack at it. If I could write onepoem like that, I'd quit work for the rest of my life; I'd feel I'ddone enough. Well, never mind, that's not the Pentathlon, is it? Ineed a muzzle, I think; that's the only trouble with me. Now, then,reverse the power. Back we go, back to the Greeks. They had a kind ofall-around championship in their sports, you know; they called it thePentathlon. _Pente_, five; _athlos_, contest; five-event, I supposewe'd say, now. First, I believe, it was running, jumping, throwing thediscus, wrestling and fighting; and then, later, they cut out thefighting and put in the javelin instead. We've got the same kind ofthing to-day--the all-around championship they call it. Dave says hemeans to try it some time when he goes to college. But it's too muchfor school-boys, of course; it's ten events instead of five, andthere's a mile run in it and a half-mile walk.

  "So our Pentathlon is modeled on the Greeks. We have fiveevents, too: hundred-yard dash, sixteen-pound shot, high jump,hundred-and-twenty-yard high hurdles and throwing the twelve-poundhammer. You see, it's a pretty good test. You've got to have speed forthe hundred and the hurdles, and spring for the high jump, andstrength for the s
hot and the hammer. And something else besides;skill for all five of them. The four S's, Mr. Fenton says, speed,spring, strength and skill. He's a great believer in the Pentathlon;says it develops a fellow all over; arms and legs, back and chest; thewhole of him. There's a dandy prize for it, too--a silver shield withan athlete on it, going through all the different events. But thescoring is the ingenious part; the man who thought that up was awonder. You see it isn't like regular athletics--it's more like a kindof examination paper. Take the hundred, for instance. If you went intothe Pentathlon and ran the hundred in nine and three-fifths--that'sthe world's record, you know--you'd get a hundred points; just thesame as if you answered all the questions right in an examination. Andthen, at the other end, they set a mark so low that the smallest kidin school could beat it; twenty seconds, say. That's the zero mark,same as if you answered every question in the examination wrong. Andfor every second, and fraction of a second, in between you're markedaccording to what you do.

  "It's the same, of course, with the other events, so you _could_ makea total of five hundred; theoretically, I mean. Of course, really, noman ever lived--I don't suppose a man ever will live--who could befast enough to be a champion sprinter and hurdler, and strong enoughto be a champion weight man, and springy enough to be a championhigh-jumper--all at the same time. Johnson made the record lastspring--two hundred and eighty points--and that's awfully good for aschoolboy. He isn't such a big fellow, either; I don't believe heweighs much over a hundred and fifty; but he's fast--he can do ahundred in ten-two, all right--and he's a good hurdler and jumper, buthe's not quite heavy enough for the weights. Still, Dave's got his jobcut out for him; there's no doubt about that. Well, here we are; and,by gracious, we're late, too."