CHAPTER III
ON THE CINDERS
On the following Monday, Allan set out after his three-o'clockrecitation for Erskine Field. He stopped at his room long enough toleave his books and get his mail--the Sunday letter from home usuallyput in its appearance on Monday afternoon--and then went on out PoplarStreet.
It was a fine, mild afternoon, with the sunlight sifting down throughthe branches of the giant elms which line the way, and a suggestion ofIndian summer in the air. If he hadn't been so busy with his letter hecould have found plenty to interest him on the walk to the field, but,as it was, he was deeply concerned with the news from home.
There was talk, his mother wrote, of closing down the Gold Beetle mineout in Colorado, from which distant enterprise the greater part ofher income had long been derived in the shape of dividends on a largeamount of stock; the gold-bearing ore had given out and the directorswere to consider the course to pursue at a meeting in December.Meanwhile, his mother explained, the work had stopped, and so hadthe dividends, and she didn't like to consider what would happen ifthis source of income was shut off for all time. Allan tried to feelregretful over the matter, since his mother was clearly worried--moreworried than she was willing to show, had he but known it--but the GoldBeetle was a long way off, it always had supplied them with money,and the idea that it was now to cease doing so seemed something quitepreposterous. The Gold Beetle represented the family fortune, about allthat remained after his father's affairs had been settled.
Allan found other news more to his liking: Dorothy was getting onnicely at her new boarding-school and had survived the initial periodof tragic homesickness; one of Allan's friends at Hillton, now a Yalefreshman, had called at the house a few days before; and Edith Cinnamonhad presented the household with a litter of three lovely kittens.Edith Cinnamon was the cat, Allan's particular pet, and the news of theinteresting event remained in his mind after the reprehensible conductof the Gold Beetle mine had departed from it. Mines stand merely formoney, but kittens are pets, and Allan loved pets. A wonderful ideastruck him: why not have his mother send him one of the kittens? Heresolved to confer with Mrs. Purdy on his return; surely she would haveno objections to his obtaining a room-mate to share the "parlor study"with him!
When he had changed his clothes for a running costume in the lockerhouse and reached the track he found fully half a score of fellowsbefore him. There was Hooker jogging around the back-stretch; nearerat hand was Harris practising starts; in a group at the finish of thehurdles he saw Stearns, the track-team captain, Rindgely, severalfellows whose faces he knew but whose names were unknown to him, andBilly Kernahan. He drew aside to let a file of runners by and thenapproached the group. Rindgely nodded to him slightly, not with anysuggestion of unfriendliness, but rather in the manner of one who hasnever been properly introduced. Billy accompanied his salutation with acritical survey of the half-clothed figure confronting him.
"How are you feeling to-day?" he asked.
"Fine, thanks!" answered Allan.
"That's the boy! We'll try you at three-quarters of a mile after awhile. You'd better get warmed up, and then try half a dozen starts."
While the trainer was speaking, Allan was aware of the fact that WalterStearns was observing him with evident interest. When Billy ceased,Stearns said something to him in low tones, and the next moment Allanfound himself being introduced to the track-team captain. Stearns wasrather under than above medium height, with small features and alerteyes of a steel-gray shade that contrasted oddly with his black hair.Below his white trunks his legs were thin and muscular, and under thefaded purple sweater his chest proved itself broad and deep. He spokerapidly, as though his tongue had learned the secret of his legs andwas given to dashes rather than to sustained efforts.
"Glad to know you, Ware," he said, as he shook hands. "Glad you'recoming out to help us."
"I don't believe I'll be much help," answered Allan.
"Oh, yes; bound to. I saw you run in the handicaps. That was a mightypretty race you made. By the way, do you know Mr. Long? And this isMr. Monroe. And Mr. Mason. Keep in with Mason. He's office-boy on thePurple and writes criticisms of the track team."
Allan shook hands with the three, while the group laughed at Stearns'sfling at the managing editor of the college weekly. Long was astartlingly tall fellow, with a crooked nose and twinkling, yellowisheyes, and Monroe was short and thick-set, and looked ill-tempered.Mason, Allan recognized as one of a half-dozen men whom he had seenabout college and as to whose identity he had been curious. Mason wasthe sort of fellow that attracts attention: tall, broad-shouldered,with shrewd, kindly eyes behind glasses and a firm mouth under astraight and sensitive nose. He looked very much the gentleman, andAllan was glad to make his acquaintance. He was in the dark as to whatposition Mason really occupied on the Purple, and so the point ofStearns's joke was lost on him. But he smiled, nevertheless, havinglearned that it is sometimes well to assume knowledge when one hasn'tit.
"See you again," said Stearns. The others nodded with various degreesof friendliness and Allan took himself off. The track was in goodcondition to-day and held the spikes firmly. Allan jogged up and downthe stretch a few times, trying his muscles, which on Saturday had felta bit stiff after the mile run, and lifting his knees high. Then hestarted around the track. Half-way around he drew up behind Hooker.
"Hello!" said the latter. "Nice day, isn't it?"
Allan agreed that it was, and the two went on together to the turn.There Hooker turned up the straightaway.
"Going to try starts?" he asked. "Let's go up to the end there."
Allan couldn't see the necessity for becoming proficient in thecrouching start until Hooker explained as they returned from a briefdash, in which the younger lad had been left wofully far behind.
"Sometimes," said Hooker, "you'll want the pole at the start, and ifyou're placed two or three places away from it, you won't get it from astand, you see. But if you use the crouch and get away quick, you havea pretty good show of getting ahead of the men who have the inside ofyou. Let's try it again. You give the signal this time."
After ten minutes of it, Allan picked up his sweater and followedHooker down the track to report to Kernahan. The football men hadtaken possession of the gridiron by this time, Long and others werepractising at the high jump, and altogether the field looked very busy.
"You and Ware try three laps," said the trainer to Hooker. "Watch yourform, now, and never mind about your time. I'll attend to that for you.Take turn about at the pacing; you take the first lap, Hooker. Want toget into this, Larry?"
Rindgely nodded and peeled off his sweater. The others had to trotabout for a minute or two while Rindgely stretched his muscles. Thenthe three got on to the mark, Billy gave the word, and they startedoff at an easy pace, Hooker in the lead, Allan next, and Rindgely inthe rear. All three hugged the rim of the track and settled down intotheir pace. On the back-stretch they had to slow down once to avoid agroup of football substitutes who were crossing the cinders, and onceRindgely was forced to leap over a ball that came bouncing out onto thetrack, and was much incensed about it. Hooker's pace was wonderfullysteady, but Allan thought it rather slow. At the mark Billy told themto "hit it up a bit now," and Hooker slowed down, letting Allan intothe lead.
Allan increased the pace considerably. This time there were nointerruptions, and they neared the end of the second lap fresh anduntired. Kernahan glanced up from his watch as they sped by.
"All right!" he shouted. "Get up there, Larry, and hold that pace."
Rindgely took the lead. As they commenced the turn Allan's gaze,wandering a second from the front, lighted upon a tall, wide-shoulderedand somewhat uncouth figure at the edge of the track. Strange to say,the figure nodded its head at him and waved a hand, and as Allan wentby there came a stentorian cry of encouragement that might have beenheard half across the field:
"Chase 'em down, Freshman! Give 'em fits!"
Allan bit his lips angrily as he sped on. Wh
at business had that bigchump yelling at him like that when he didn't even know him? Prettyfresh, that's what it was! Allan hadn't made the acquaintances of somany fellows but that he could remember them, and he was quite surethat he had never met the big chap who had yelled. But at the sametime there had been something familiar about the fellow's voice--toofamiliar, thought Allan with a grudging smile--and he wondered who hemight be and why he had singled him out for his unwelcome attentions.Then the incident passed for the time out of his mind, for the lastturn was almost at hand and Rindgely was increasing the pace.
Allan began to feel it at the turn, and when they swung into thehome-stretch and the pace, instead of settling down to a steady finish,grew faster and faster, he came to the unwelcome conclusion that hewas not in the same class with the other two. Rindgely, in spite ofall Allan could do, lengthened the space between them. Hooker, seeingthat Allan was out of it, passed him fifty yards from the mark andstrove to overhaul the leader. But Rindgely was never headed, andfinished several yards in front of Hooker and at least thirty ahead ofAllan. When they turned and jogged back to the trainer, the latter wasslipping his watch into his pocket.
"What's the good of doing that, Larry?" he asked, disgustedly. "Thatwasn't a race."
"Oh, I just wanted to liven it up a bit," answered Rindgely, grinning."What time did I make, Billy?"
"I didn't take you," answered the trainer, shortly. "That's enough forto-day."
Allan turned away with the others, but Billy called him back.
"What was the matter?" he asked. "Pace too hot for you?"
"I suppose so; I couldn't stand that spurt."
"Well, that was some of Larry's nonsense; he'd no business cutting uptricks." He was silent a moment, looking across to where the secondeleven was trying vainly to keep the varsity from pushing over hergoal-line. Then, "Ever try the two miles?" he asked. Allan shook hishead.
"I don't believe I'd be any good at it," he answered. "Not that I'many good at the mile, either," he added, somewhat discouraged at theoutcome of the trial.
"What's the best you ever did at the mile?"
"About four minutes forty-five seconds."
"You did it inside of forty, Friday."
"I did?" Allan looked his surprise. "Oh, but I ran a hundred and twentyyards short."
"I allowed for that," answered Billy, quietly. "Now, look here,Ware; you've got it in you all right, but you don't make the most ofyourself. You let your feet drag back badly, and you've been tryingafter too long a stride. You make that shorter by six inches and you'llcut off another second after a while. And to-morrow I'll show you whatI mean about the stride. There's plenty of time before the dual meetin the spring, and by then we'll have you doing things right. The onlything is," he added, thoughtfully, "whether you wouldn't do better atthe two miles. What do you think?"
"I really don't know," answered Allan, doubtfully, "but I'd like to tryit."
"Well, there's lots of time. The indoor meet in Boston comes along inFebruary; we'll have you in shape for that, and you can go in for themile and the two miles. Meanwhile, you'd better come out with the othermen while the decent weather lasts."
"Do you think I can make the team?" Allan asked, hopefully.
"Easy; but they don't take new men on till after the trials in thespring."
"Oh!" said Allan, a trifle disappointed.
"Don't let that bother you," advised the trainer. "You're as good ason it now. You make the most of the fall training, Ware, and keep fitduring the winter. I'd go in for hockey or something. Ever play hockey?"
"Yes, but I can't skate well enough."
"Well, get plenty of outdoor exercise of some sort this winter; don'tlet the weather keep you indoors."
"All right, I'll remember." Allan's gaze wandered toward the lockerbuilding. Half-way across the field a big figure was ambling toward thegate, hands in pockets. Allan turned quickly to the trainer. "Do youknow who that fellow is?" Kernahan's gaze followed his. After a moment:
"That's a freshman named Burley. Know him?"
"No; I just wondered who he was," Allan replied.
"And I don't want to know him," he muttered, irritably, as he trottedoff to the locker house.
But Fate seldom consults our inclinations.
On Your Mark! A Story of College Life and Athletics Page 4