Dick Randall, the Young Athlete

  CHAPTER II

  DAVE ELLIS BREAKS A RECORD

  While Allen had been speaking, they had reached the entrance to thefield; and as they passed the gateway in the high wooden fence theycould see Ellis, on the other side of the track, just getting on hismarks for the hundred yards. Ned Brewster, the captain of the trackteam, stood behind him, pistol in hand. Farther up the track, at thefinish, were the three timers: Mr. Fenton, Doctor Hartman, thephysical director of the school, and Jim Putnam, the captain of thecrew. "Come on," cried Allen, and breaking into a quick run theyreached the farther side of the field, halfway up the stretch,just as the pistol cracked, and Ellis leaped away into his stride.They pulled up instantly to watch him. He seemed to run mainly onsheer strength, paying little attention to form. As he flew past them,Dick, gazing at him open-mouthed, was dimly conscious of a number ofthings. He noticed that Ellis' face was contorted with the effort hewas making, and heard his breath coming in short, agonized grunts,"ugh--ugh--ugh--" as he strove to increase his speed. The cinderscrunched sharply under his flying feet, and with a thrill of envy Dicksaw on his crimson jersey the big white "F" of the school. He feltthat Ellis was indeed a hero. "Golly," he said half aloud, "if I couldonly run like that!"

  Allen, more skilled in estimating a runner's speed, and more criticalas well, showed little enthusiasm as Ellis, with a final effort,breasted the tape. "I guess that wasn't much," he observed. "I don'tbelieve Johnson would worry a great deal if he saw that. Not betterthan eleven, anyway, and I don't believe as good. Speed was neverDave's strong point, you know. Let's find out how fast it was."

  They walked up to the timers. Ellis, jogging slowly back, shook hishead as he neared the group. "Slow," he said. "I knew it, all the waydown. Couldn't seem to get going. How bad was it, Mr. Fenton?"

  The master, a tall, finely-built man of middle age, with a pleasant,clean-cut face, snapped back his stop-watch, then looked up at therunner. "Why, it wasn't bad, Dave," he said cheerfully enough, "it's acold day for good time. No one could expect to do much on an afternoonlike this. You made it in eleven and two-fifths; all three watcheswere the same. And that's not bad at all; it gives you sixty-sixpoints, to start with. Take your five minutes' rest now, and we'll trythe shot."

  Ellis nodded, and walked away into the dressing-room to change hislight sprinting shoes for the heavier ones, with extra spikes in theheel, to be used in the shot put and high jump. Five minutes later hecame out again and walked across the field to the whitewashed circle,took an easy practice put or two, and then made ready for his firsttry. The doctor and Putnam stood by to act as measurers, with the tapeunrolled along the ground. Mr. Fenton stood near the circle, as judge."Remember now, Dave," he said, "only three tries. Make the first onesafe and sure, and don't forget to walk out the rear half of thecircle, or I shall have to call a foul."

  Ellis nodded, and at once made ready to put. Dick watched himadmiringly, as he stood motionless, his weight thrown well back on hisright leg, the toe of his left foot just touching the ground, the bigiron shot resting easily against his shoulder. All at once he raisedhis left leg, balanced for a moment, and then sprang forward. Theinstant his right foot touched the ground he brought his body aroundlike lightning, his right arm shot forward, and the big iron ball wenthurtling through the air, landing a good six feet beyond his practicemarks. Mr. Fenton gave an involuntary exclamation of surprise. "Well,well," he cried, "you _have_ improved, Dave; that's excellent form;and good distance, too. That must be thirty-eight feet, at least."

  The doctor held the tape against the inner edge of the toe-board;Putnam, at the other end, pulled it tight, and bent criticallydown over the mark left by the shot. Then he straightened up,waving his arm, with a broad smile on his face. "Bully!" he shouted,"thirty-eight, five and a half."

  Ellis laughed, well pleased. "I told you I'd improved, Mr. Fenton," hesaid, "and I can beat that, too. I guess that's going to makeJohnson's thirty-four feet look pretty sick, all right."

  He seemed wholly unconscious of the disagreeable boastfulness of histone. Allen, however, threw Dick a significant glance, which seemed tofind a reflection in the rather grim expression on Mr. Fenton's face.The master looked as though he wished he had withheld his words ofwell-meant praise. "Perhaps, Dave," he said quietly, "Johnson may showimprovement, too. It's better to overrate the other man than tounderrate him."

  If he intended to throw any reproof into his tone it was lost onEllis, who seemed, indeed, scarcely to heed what the master wassaying. "Throw her back, Jim," he called to Putnam. "I'm going to gether out for fair this time."

  Putnam rolled back the shot. Ellis grasped it, balanced as before,knitted his brows, stiffened his muscles, and then, with every atom ofstrength at his command, delivered it. The result was disappointing.Something seemed lacking, and Putnam rose from making his measurementwith a shake of his head. "Not so good," he called. "Thirty-sevennine."

  Ellis turned to Mr. Fenton. "That was queer," he said disappointedly."I thought I was going to lose it that time. Wonder what the troublewas."

  Mr. Fenton smiled. "You tried too hard," he said. "That's one thing toremember, Dave, in the shot. The more you grit your teeth, and braceyourself for a great attempt, the worse you're apt to do. On yourfirst try you stood up to it naturally, with your muscles relaxed; buton that last put your right arm was so rigid there was no chance toget your body into it. Now make this next try like the first one; onlywhen you land from your hop, then come smashing right through with it;put all your strength on, just in that one second, and we'll see if wedon't get results."

  Dick laughed to himself. Here, he thought, was a modern master with avengeance. What would the folks at home think of a teacher, renownedfor giving "the best English course outside of college," vigorouslytelling one of his pupils to come "smashing right through" with asixteen-pound shot. And yet, while Dick smiled, he felt his respectfor Mr. Fenton in nowise diminished, but, indeed, rather increased, byseeing him thus display his knowledge of track and field. For themaster, while always in friendly contact with his boys, never for amoment overstepped the proper bounds of the relationship. He was ahundred times more their friend, yet no whit less the master. Dickcould scarcely have reasoned it out, step by step, yet withinstinctive judgment, he found himself echoing Allen's words of a fewmoments before, "Mr. Fenton's all right."

  Ellis, with a nod of comprehension, made ready for his third try. Hestarted slowly, and then, as the master had suggested, put forth allhis strength in one tremendous lunge. The effort was successful; theput was a splendid one. Putnam hurried to the spot, measured withcare, and then triumphantly announced: "Thirty-nine, seven and aquarter."

  Mr. Fenton nodded. "Very good, indeed," he said cordially. "This is afine start, Dave." He drew forth his note-book from his pocket,calculated a moment, and then added: "Sixty-four points; that makesone hundred and thirty, in two events. This looks like a record."

  With the trials in the high jump, however, Ellis' chances appearedless favorable. Even to Dick's inexperienced eye, it was evident thatthe big full-back was never cut out for a jumper. He ran slowly at thebar, from the side, clearing it awkwardly, with very little bound orspring. Mr. Fenton shook his head. "Still the old style?" he queried."I thought you were going to try running straight at the bar in yourvacation, Dave?"

  Ellis looked a little shamefaced. "Well," he answered, "I did try it,Mr. Fenton, but I couldn't seem to get the knack, so I dropped it. Itdidn't come natural, somehow."

  The master smiled. "How long did you keep at it?" he asked.

  Ellis considered. "Oh, quite a while," he answered. "A week, I guess,anyway."

  Mr. Fenton's smile broadened. "I think I told you, Dave," he said,"before vacation, that you mustn't get discouraged too soon. It's oneof the hardest things in the world when you've once acquired your formin an event, to try to alter it. I know, in my day, I went through theexperience. And it took me six months before I began to reap theadvant
age of the change. Here's a more modern instance, too. I wastalking only this summer with the best pole-vaulter at Yale, and hetold me that to change from the old-fashioned style of vaulting to thenew had meant, for him, nearly a year of steady, monotonous work, withthe bar scarcely higher than his head, before he felt satisfied thatthe knack was so thoroughly a part of him that he couldn't miss it ifhe tried. Then he put his knowledge into practice, and a thirteen-footman was the result. So a week wasn't so very long, comparatively,Dave."

  Ellis shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I can't jump anyway," heresponded. "I'm going to get the agony over with. I'll have to make upwhat I lose here in the hammer."

  The bar was raised, two inches at a time, until four feet ten wasreached. Here Ellis missed twice, and just managed to get over insafety on his last try. He had plainly reached his limit, and at foureleven made three disastrous failures. He shook his head ruefully. "Ican't jump," he repeated. "It's no good my trying."

  Mr. Fenton figured the result. "Forty-two points," he announced. "Thatbrings you up to a hundred and seventy-two. But if you'll practicesteadily at the other style, Dave, and not try to do too much atfirst, until you've really learned the knack, you can jump three orfour inches higher, I'm sure. However, never mind that now. Thehurdles are next, and I think you'll make a better showing there."

  Putnam and Allen had been setting out the hurdles on the track. ToDick, they looked terribly formidable. Ten of them in a row, eachthree and a half feet high, placed ten yards apart, with fifteen yardsof clear running at start and finish. "Gracious," he thought tohimself, "how can he ever get over all those without tripping. ThisPentathlon looks like a hard proposition to me."

  Scarcely, however, had Ellis cleared the first hurdle than Dick felthis enthusiasm return. It was all so different from what he hadimagined--the whole race was so pretty and graceful to watch. WhenPutnam fired the pistol Ellis dashed away at full speed; then,nearing the first hurdle, leaped forward, his body crouched, his legsgathered under him, cleared it handsomely in his stride, and was offfor the next. Dick felt like shouting aloud, as Ellis swept downtoward the finish. Three strides between each hurdle, and then thatquick forward bound; Dick found himself catching the rhythm of it.One--two--three--up! One--two--three--up! Ellis cleared the lasthurdle and flashed past the tape.

  The three timers consulted, then Mr. Fenton announced: "Eighteen four;fifty-two points; that's a total of two hundred and twenty-four." Hefigured for a moment with pencil and paper, then turned to Ellis, ashe came walking back toward the finish. "First-rate, Dave," he said."A hundred and forty feet with the hammer, now, and you'll beatJohnson's total. Do you think you can do it?"

  Ellis nodded. "I can do that all right," he answered confidently."Just wait a minute, till I get my breath."

  A few moments later he had taken his position in the seven-foot ring,and was preparing to throw. Dick looked with interest at the leadenball, with the slender wire handle, and the stirrup-shaped grips atthe end. "Is that what you call a hammer?" he asked.

  Allen nodded. "Sure, that's a hammer," he answered. "It is a kind ofmisfit name, though, when you come to think of it, isn't it? Theyreally did use a sledge hammer, I believe, once on a time, but they'vechanged it so much, you wouldn't think the kind they use to-daybelonged to the same family. Just watch Dave throw it, though."

  Ellis crouched slightly, extending his arms straight out from hisbody. He swung the hammer around his head, once, twice, three times,constantly increasing its speed; and then, at the third revolution,spun sharply around on his heel and made his throw. It was a splendidtry. The hammer went sailing out, high and far, landing with a thud inthe soft grass half-way down the field. Dick's eyes kindled. "Oh, say,Allen, but that was pretty," he cried. "That's the best event of allof them. I wonder if he did a hundred and forty."

  There was a little delay over the measuring. Then Putnam put hishand to his lips and shouted in across the field, "One hundred andforty-two eleven."

  Ellis picked up his sweater. "I'm not going to take my other throws,sir," he said to Mr. Fenton. "I don't think I could better that onemuch; and as long as I've beaten Johnson's total, I don't care. Ithink, when I get a good warm-day next spring, I can do twenty pointsbetter, too."

  Mr. Fenton nodded. "I think you can," he answered. "It's too coldto-day to do your best work. Everything considered, your performancewas excellent. If we can increase that high jump a little, you'll bethe next Pentathlon winner, unless Johnson shows great improvementover last year. And I hardly think he will. His lack of weight isagainst him for all-around work."

  Ellis, visibly elated, jogged back toward the dressing-room. Mr.Fenton and the doctor started to leave the field. The boys who hadbeen looking on walked after Ellis, in a little group, discussing hisperformance. Dick turned to Allen. "Any harm in my trying that shot?"he asked.

  "No, indeed," Allen answered. "You've got just as much right as anyone else. Go ahead!"

  Dick, a little shamefaced, picked up the iron ball; stood, as nearlyas he could remember, in the same position he had seen Ellis assume;made a cautious hop, and a slow and awkward put. Yet Allen, watchingwhere the shot struck, turned and looked curiously at his friend."Golly, Randall," he observed, "you must have some muscle somewhere.There wasn't a thing about that put that was right, but it went justthe same." He paced back toward the circle. "Close to thirty feet," hesaid. "That's awfully good for a fellow just beginning. Try another."

  Dick, secretly pleased at the impression he had made, determined togive Allen a still greater surprise. Promptly forgetting what he hadheard Mr. Fenton tell Ellis, he braced his muscles, made a quick, longhop, tried to turn, caught his foot in the toe-board, and measured hislength upon the field. Allen roared. "Oh, bully, Randall," he cried,"I wouldn't have missed that for money. 'Vaulting ambition, whicho'erleaps itself.' That's you, all right. Didn't hurt yourself, didyou?"

  Dick, picking himself up, grinned a little ruefully, as hecontemplated the grass-stains which decorated the knees of histrousers. "No," he answered; "I didn't, but I surprised myself alittle. I was going to show you something right in Ellis' class thattime. I guess I'll own up that's one on me. I'm going to try that highjump, though. That's one thing I did use to do when I was a kid. Idon't believe I'll break my neck on that."

  They walked over to the jumping standards. "How high will you haveher?" Allen asked.

  Dick smiled. "Oh, I'm cautious now," he rejoined. "Put her at fourfeet. Maybe I can do that, if I haven't forgotten how."

  Allen adjusted the bar. Dick backed away from the standards, measuredthe distance with his eye, and ran down the path, increasing his speedwith his last three bounds. Then, easily and without effort, he shotup into the air, sailed high over the bar, and landed safely in thepit beyond. Allen gasped. "Good Heavens, Randall," he exclaimed; "whathave I struck? Why, man, you went over that by a foot. You've got anawful spring."

  Dick laughed. "Well, I had to do something to make up for the shot,"he said. "But, honestly, it did feel good. I haven't jumped for a longtime, though I used to be pretty fair; or at least they thought so athome. But that doesn't count for very much; it's a big world."

  While they stood talking, the door of the dressing-room swung open,and Ellis came out, followed by two or three of his friends. As theypassed Allen turned. "Say, Dave," he called; "did you hear about thenew Pentathlon champion?"

  Ellis stopped. "What's the joke?" he asked, not over pleasantly.

  Allen laid a hand on Randall's shoulder. "It isn't any joke," hereplied; "Randall here. He's just been beating all your marks. Youwon't have a show with him by next spring."

  Dick looked vengefully after Ellis]

  He spoke banteringly, but any allusion to a possible rival always hada sting for Ellis. He looked Dick over from head to foot; then slowlysmiled. "Guess he'll have to grow a little first," he said cuttingly,and turned on his heel.

  Two or three of his followers laughed. Dick felt his face grow red."Confound him!" he muttered.

/>   Allen's grip on his shoulder deepened. "Don't you mind," he saidconsolingly. "That's Dave, every time. Only one toad in his puddle,you know. But you wait. If I know anything about athletics, you'llshow him something some day."

  Dick looked a little vengefully after Ellis' retreating figure. Theathlete's words and tone both rankled. "If I could," he said slowly,"I'd like to--mighty well."