Must be a good sort, he answered sympathetically. Hello, heres Hope.
Dick approached and nodded smilingly to the two. He had a slip of paper in his hand, and as he greeted them he glanced over the dressing-room as though in search of some one.
Have either of you fellows seen Professor Beck? Both replied in the negative, and Dick folded up the slip and placed it in his pocket. Ive been looking all over the place for him; wanted to see him about the crew candidates. By the way, Nesbitt, we want you to report here a week from Tuesday at four oclock. Im going to post the notices this evening. Carl tells me youre going to try for the two hundred and twenty yards, Stewart?
Yes, Im down for it, but Nesbitt here says hes entered too, and Im rather doubtful of my chances now.
I didnt know you ran, said Dick, turning to Trevor.
Oh, yes, I run a bit, now and then. Ive been jogging round the track and feel as stiff as a poker.
Thatll wear off all right. I was stiff myself to-day at recitations.
I should say so, exclaimed Stewart. I honestly didnt know a thing. I think they ought to give us a day after recess to get caught up with things; a fellow cant do any studying the night he gets back to school. I went to the library last night and almost fell asleep over an encyclopedia.
Well, you did better than I did. I scarcely looked into a book.
Ditto, said Trevor. Turkey gave us fits; there wasnt a chap in the English class knew what the lesson was.
Well, Im going to have a go at the weights, said Dick. See you two later.
And I guess Ill go back to the room, said Stewart. If you havent anything better to do, Nesbitt, you might walk over that way.
Thanks, but Wheels is rather careful of my health just now, and doesnt want me to leave the grounds; hes afraid I might get my feet wet, I fancy; so Ill come over and see you some other time. I have half an idea to do some studying, just to be queer.
The two went out together, and Dick, opening his locker, proceeded to attire himself in his gymnasium clothes. The room had filled up with boys, and he was kept busy answering questions about the crew. A big youth in a blue-and-white striped sweater entered, and, seeing Dick, made for him at once.
Say, Hope, is it so that were not going to have any crew this spring?
No, its not so. Were going to have the best crew that we ever put into the water, answered Dick. Who told you such rot as that?
Blessed if I know who did say it, but Ive heard one or two fellows talking about it. Im glad theres no truth in it, old chap; I didnt think there was, you know. When are we going to work?
Report a week from Tuesday at four, will you? I guess well start the trouble about the fifteenth. And say, Crocker, if you hear any one talking nonsense about no crew or poor material, just call them down, will you? Theres nothing in it, and its hard enough anyhow to get the fellows to turn out without any rumors of that sort.
All right.
Crocker swung himself off, and Dick went into the gymnasium and set to work at the weights. With the cords over his shoulders and the irons sliding rhythmically in the box, he began to go over in his mind a conversation he had had a half hour before with Carl Gray. Carls information had not been encouraging, and Dick was more worried than he liked to own even to himself. Carl had stayed at the academy during the recess, as had Roy Taylor the first for financial reasons, the latter because his home was half-way across the continent. According to Carl, Taylor had been very active for a week past in predicting a failure for the crew among the old men and the possible candidates. He could have but one end in view, to discourage the fellows, and render it difficult, if not impossible, for Dick to get enough good men to form a winning eight. The worst of it was, he reflected, that Taylors manner of creating discouragement was so artful that it was out of the question to charge him with it. Even during his loudest talk about the uselessness of trying to form a good crew, he never failed to announce his intention of reporting for practice and of doing all in his power to avert the impending defeat. And now, as evidenced by Crockers remark a few minutes since, he had even managed to gain circulation for the report that there was to be no crew at all!
Dick changed his position, pulling the grips with half-arm movement to his shoulders, and frowned wrathfully at the wall. Carl was right, he told himself; Taylor deserved to have his head punched! That, however, was the last remedy to be considered, if only for the reason that to lose Taylor from the boat meant almost certain defeat. For the big Nebraskan was without any doubt the best man at Number 7 that a Hillton crew had had for many years strong, a hard worker, and an excellent oar. Plainly the last thing to do was to antagonize him. Besides, he was popular among quite a lot of the fellows, and his word undoubtedly had weight; another reason for making almost any sacrifice to retain his good-will. If there was only another man to take his place at Number 7, thought Dick, tugging the cords viciously, hed mighty soon spoil his game, but he ran quickly over the fellows who by any possible stretch of the imagination might be considered material for Taylors position in the boat, and sighed. There was no one. It might be that there was one among the newer candidates who, by dint of hard work, could be fashioned into a good Number 7, but to lose Taylor for such a possibility was risky work. No, the only course was to apparently know nothing of Taylors underhand work, to undo it as best he could, and to at all hazards keep him in the crew. For a moment Dick wished that Taylor had been made captain.
Hello, Hope!
Dick turned to find a big, good-looking youth of eighteen with a rather florid complexion and black eyes and hair smiling broadly upon him. He was dressed in knitted tights and jersey that showed an almost perfect form, and swung a pair of boxing-gloves in one hand.
Hello, Taylor, answered Dick, forcing himself to return the smile. How are you?
First-rate. Glad to see you back. Some one said you were in here, and I thought Id look you up; wanted to ask about crew practice. When are the fellows going to report?
Tuesday week.
All right; Ill be on hand. Rather a tough outlook, though, I expect.
Oh, I dont know; weve enough of last years fellows to make a good basis for the new crew. I think well do pretty well.
Taylor shook his head sadly, then looked up and smiled brightly.
Well, never say die, eh? We must all do our best. You can count on me, you know, old fellow. In fact, Ive been drumming up trade already; persuaded quite a bunch of chaps to report. The trouble is that they dont seem to think its worth while; seem to be cock-sure that well be beaten.
Do they? I havent heard anything of that sort. There isnt any good reason for it, anyhow.
Oh, come now, Hope, youll have to own up weve got a hard row to hoe. I wouldnt say so to any one else, you understand, but just between ourselves, I dont think weve got the ghost of a show.
Well, answered Dick smilingly, all the more reason for hard work. And for goodness sake, dont let the fellows hear you talking that way.
Me? I guess not, protested Taylor. I know better than that, I hope! Well, Im going to have a bout with Miller; see you again.
As the other turned and crossed the floor, Dick became possessed of an almost overwhelming desire to follow him and call him to account; to have it out with him then and there, and, if necessary, to to His fists clenched themselves and he set his teeth together. He was glad when Taylor passed from sight. Turning again to the weights he seized the cords and for many minutes the irons bumped and banged up and down in the slides as though well, as though some one thereabouts was hopping mad.
Me? I guess not, protested Taylor. I know better than that, I hope! Well, Im going to have a bout with Miller; see you again.
As the other turned and crossed the floor, Dick became possessed of an almost overwhelming desire to follow him and call him to account; to have it out with him then and there, and, if necessary, to to His fists clenched themselves and he set his teeth together. He was glad when Taylor passed from sight. Turning again to the weights he seized the cords and for many minutes the irons bumped and banged up and down in the slides as though well, as though some one thereabouts was hopping mad.
CHAPTER V
THE INDOOR MEETING
The gymnasium was brilliantly lighted, and the seats that had been placed under the balconies were well filled, for, despite the inclemency of the weather, the town folks had turned out in force for the indoor meeting. The floor had been cleared of standards and bars, while ropes, rings, and trapezes had been relegated to the dim recesses of the arching roof. A running track had been roped off on the main floor, with inclined platforms at the corners of the hall to aid the runners at the turns, while the regular track above was turned into a temporary gallery from which the fellows who were not going to compete and there were about a hundred and fifty of them viewed the fun, leaning far over the railing, laughing, shouting, and singing excitedly. The four classes had gathered each to itself as far as was possible; the seniors on the left, the upper middle class on the right, the lower middle at one end of the hall and the juniors at the other. In front of them long draperies of class colors festooned the railing, and class challenged class with cheers and songs, and the Hillton band struggled bravely with a popular march.
The trial heats in several of the events had already been run off, and in the middle of the floor a number of contestants were putting a canvas-covered twelve-pound shot with varying success when Stewart Earle, accompanied by Trevor Nesbitt, left the dressing-room, and pushing their way through the narrow aisles between the rows of chairs, at last reached the formers father and mother, who, in company with a tall and slender boy of sixteen, occupied seats next to the improvised barrier that divided audience from running track.
I want you to know Trevor Nesbitt, said Stewart. Nesbitt, my mother and father. And that little boy beyond there is Master Carl Gray. Trevor shook hands with a small, middle-aged gentleman in sober black, who peered upward at him in a manner that suggested near-sightedness, and with a lady somewhat younger than her husband, whose plain but kind face and sweet voice at once won his heart. As Gray was quite beyond reach of his hand, he merely accorded that youth a smiling nod. Stewart was still talking.
You remember, mother, I told you that Nesbitt was going to run in the two hundred and twenty yards, dont you? Well, the funny part of it is that we ran a dead heat in the first trial! I guess Im a goner already. He ended with a smile that only partly concealed his uneasiness.
His mother smiled from him to Trevor.
Then you two boys will run together? she asked.
Yes, maam, answered Trevor. Theres five of us left for the final.
Thats very nice, she replied, for if Stewart is beaten he will not feel so badly if you are the winner, will you, dear?
Trevor muttered something about there being no danger of his winning, while Stewart answered gaily: But youre leaving the other three chaps out of the game, mother; perhaps one of them will beat us both.
No fear, said Carl Gray; Dunlops a stiff, Wharton isnt in your class, Stew, and as for Milkam, well, I think you can beat him out all right at a hop; so its between you and Nesbitt, and may the best man win.
Thats right, said Mr. Earle, nodding his head approvingly. If your friend is a better runner than you, Stewart, he should win, of course. When do you race? He held a program up to his eyes and scowled in an endeavor to decipher the lines.
In about twenty minutes, I guess. Let me see, father. Stewart took the program. Twenty-yard dash, junior; twenty-yard dash, senior; putting twelve-pound shot; running high jump; one-mile run; pole vault; sixty-yard hurdle; eight-hundred-and-eighty-yard run; two-hundred-and-twenty-yard dash; relay race, one mile, lower middle class versus junior class; relay race, one mile, senior class versus upper middle class. Well, you cant tell by this, I guess; theyll just pull off the events when they feel like it.
All out for the eight hundred and eighty yards, cried a voice across the building.
There, see? said Stewart. That events down after the hurdles; you cant tell much by the program; you never can. I wish theyd call the two hundred and twenty now, though.
Getting nervous, Stew? asked Carl Gray.
A little, I guess. There they come for the half mile. Look, theres Keeler of our class; hes one of our relay team; isnt he a peach?
A what, dear? asked his mother.
A er well, I mean isnt he fine? stammered Stewart, while Carl and Trevor exchanged grins.
Is he? He looks from here dreadfully thin, answered Mrs. Earle.
Thats partly what makes him a good runner, explained Stewart. Hes all muscle, scarcely any weight to carry.
Well, dear, I do hope you wont get to looking like that.
Humph, I should hope not. This from Stewarts father. The bunch of ten runners had left the mark, and had begun their long series of tours about the track, cheered from the gallery by their fellows. Go it, Keeler! shouted Stewart as a youth with ludicrously long legs ambled past, almost the last of the group. A quick glance and a fleeting grin from a queer, good-humored, and very freckled face answered Stewarts cry, and the runners swept by, their feet pounding loudly as they took the inclines at the turns. The shot putting was over and the victor, a dumpy-looking boy with the lower middle class colors across his shirt, had been clamorously hailed as he walked off with superb dignity, and the vaulting standards were being put in place while a group of half a dozen youths trod gingerly about looking very serious and important. Finally the bar was up, with a white handkerchief across it, and one after another of the contestants, with the long pole in their hands, ran lightly forward, rose till their white-clad bodies swung out from the staff like pennants, and dropped across the bar.
Why, how easily they do it! cried Mrs. Earle admiringly, and Stewarts father clapped his hands vigorously.
Huh, said Stewart, thats nothing; they havent begun yet; just wait until they get that bar up to about nine feet.
Nine feet! Why, how high is it now, dear?
Bout seven foot eight, I should think; eh, Carl?
There it goes to the even eight, answered Carl, as the judges raised the bar.
Is is there any danger of their falling, Carl, asked Mrs. Earle.
Not a bit, and if they do theyll hit the mattress. I say, Stew, look at Keeler.
The runners had completed half the distance, and as they again swept by the freckled-faced and long-legged lower middle class boy left his place near the rear of the procession, and with an easy spurt placed himself in the first group. The three boys added their applause to that which thundered down from the far end of the gallery.
I wouldnt be surprised if he won, said Trevor. Hes running easy and has lots more spurt left, to look at him. But, of course, Manning is a pretty tough proposition, I fancy.