Dick Randall, the Young Athlete

  CHAPTER V

  DUNCAN MCDONALD

  On a Saturday afternoon, a fortnight after the shooting trip to thelake, Dick Randall and Jim Putnam, on their way across the yard, cameface to face with Harry Allen and Ned Brewster, sauntering leisurelyover toward the gym. The day, although the month was December, waswarm and clear; the ground lay bare of snow; altogether it was anafternoon when out of doors seemed far more attractive than in.

  Allen, halting them, struck an attitude, raised one arm, and startedto declaim. "Whither away, whither away--" he began, and then, asBrewster planted a well-aimed blow in the small of his back, he cameabruptly to a stop. "Confound you, Ned," he said, "that hurt. Can'tyou appreciate good poetry? I never saw such a fellow. Well, if I've_got_ to descend to vulgar prose, where do you chaps think you'regoing, anyway?"

  Randall laughed, and in a tone of exaggerated deference, answered,"With your kind permission, Mr. Poet, we are 'whithering away' to therustic cottage of Mr. McDonald, leader of strike-breakers, who has nowrecovered, and has been out of the hospital for some days. Mr.McDonald has won his fight; the 'passel o' furriners,' as my friend atthe livery stable calls them, has been put to rout, and Mr. McDonaldwishes to have an opportunity to thank his gallant rescuers in person.Isn't that what we are, Jim? Gallant rescuers? Of course we are."

  Putnam nodded. "Sure," he answered, "of course. At least you are. Idon't know whether I can qualify or not. I was driving the mare, youknow. But still, on the whole, I believe that took more courage thanfighting strikers. Oh, yes, we're heroes, all right, and we're goingdown to be properly thanked."

  Brewster groaned. "My, but you're a chesty pair," he scoffed. "I don'tsuppose you'd let two ordinary mortals come along and breathe the sameair with heroes, would you, now? Harry and I were just saying that thegym doesn't seem to offer much attraction on a day like this."

  Randall bowed low. "My dear young men," he said, "if my co-hero, Mr.Putnam, the gentleman on my left, has no objection, we will permit youto go. I think that the sight of virtue rewarded would be a mostuseful lesson to you both. Perhaps Mr. Tennyson here might immortalizethe whole thing in what he thinks is verse."

  Brewster mournfully shook his head. "Oh, this is awful," he said,"we'll have to go with them, Harry. I wouldn't trust them alone, now.They're so puffed up that one good gust of wind would blow them clearaway, and then we'd be minus our best high jumper, and our starquarter miler. So come on and we'll look after them. It's hard on us,I know, but it's our duty to the school."

  They left the yard, walked down past the track, and then struck outstraight across the fields on their long tramp. As they left theschool boundaries behind them Allen turned quickly to Dick. "Well, alljokes aside," he exclaimed, "your friend's recovered, hasn't he?"

  "Yes," Randall answered, "he's all right again now. They hit hima pretty good crack on the arm--broke a bone in his wrist, Ibelieve--and he had a nasty cut in the shoulder, and lost quite a lotof blood. But they fixed him up at the hospital. It wasn't reallyanything serious."

  "How did the boy come into it?" asked Brewster.

  "Why," returned Randall, "it was quite a story. The boy was a FrenchCanadian. His mother's dead and he was living alone with his father,up north of the village. The father was one of the strikers, but Iguess he was rather a chicken-hearted kind of individual, for when thestrike-breakers arrived and things began to look squally he got out oftown, and left the little boy up there in the shanty, all alone.McDonald was the head man among the strike-breakers, and in the courseof the evening he happened to hear about it and he said right awaythat he was going up to get the boy. His friends told him he was afool to do it, but he said no one was going to bother him, anyway, andif they did he guessed he could look out for himself. Well, thestrikers got wind of it and three of them laid for him when he wascoming back with the boy. He said it was the neatest ambush you couldimagine. He was on the watch for them, he thought, and he had arevolver in his pocket, and yet he walked right into them before heknew it. And I imagine he was having about all he wanted when we blewalong and pulled off the great rescue scene. So that's all there wasto that."

  It was a good hour later when they finally came in sight of thecottage, standing by itself, far to the southward of the town.Everything about the place looked neat and clean. There was no sign ofMcDonald, but a little wisp of smoke curled upward from the chimney,seeming to hang motionless against the still, clear air. Putnam turnedto Randall. "Think we've struck the right place, Dick?" he asked.

  Dick nodded. "Seems to answer the description," he replied, and then,as they started to climb the fence surrounding the field which laybetween them and the cottage he gave a little exclamation of surprise."Why, for Heaven's sake," he cried, "talk about your track sports.What do you think of that, now?"

  The others paused to follow the direction of his gaze. Sure enough, inthe center of the field, between them and the cottage, were a set ofhigh-jump standards, a take-off board for the broad jump, a shot ring,and three or four circles for throwing the hammer. They walked hastilyforward, and then stopped, wondering, for, allowing for the necessaryroughness of the field, everything was arranged in excellent style.Dick examined the ground in front of the standards with a criticaleye, then voiced his approval. "The fellow who fixed up this place,"he said, "knew his business. I believe, on a dry day like this, Icould jump as high here as I could on the field at home. Who on earthdo you suppose is interested in athletics around here? Couldn't beMcDonald, could it, Jim?"

  Putnam shook his head. "No, of course not," he answered. "A man whoworks in a paper mill all day isn't going to bother to build a placeto practise jumping and throwing weights. Some of the boys from thevillage, most likely, I suppose."

  They walked on across the field and knocked at the door of thecottage. Immediately they heard footsteps within, and a momentlater McDonald himself appeared on the threshold. He was a tall,active-looking man, splendidly proportioned, with a keen andintelligent face. A slight pallor, and a little stiffness in the wayhe held his left shoulder, were the only signs which he showed of hisrecent encounter.

  "Come in, come in," he cried, "the whole of you. I'm glad to see you,boys. I had considerable courage to ask you to come way over here, butthe doctor wouldn't let me walk to the school, and I wanted to see youbefore I started back to work, to get a chance to thank you, fair andsquare, for that night. I guess, if you hadn't happened along, Iwouldn't be here now. There isn't much I can do, I'm afraid, inreturn, only to tell you that I shan't forget it, if I ever have achance to pay you back for what you did. And I thought--" He rose,took from the mantel two small leather cases, oblong in shape, andheld them out to Randall and Putnam, one in either hand. "I thoughtmaybe you'd like to have these for a kind of souvenir--most youngfellows nowadays are interested in such things--perhaps, though, youboys aren't--"

  The boys took the cases from his hand, pressed the spring which openedthem, and the next moment were gazing with delighted surprise at theheavy gold medals within. At the same instant they read theinscriptions upon them, and then, both at once, gave a gasp ofsurprise, for the name, traced in tiny letters on the gold, below theword "Championship," was that of the man who had been known, a dozenyears before, through the length and breadth of the country, as theforemost athlete of his day. Both boys cried out in chorus. "Oh,golly!" from Putnam; and from Dick, "_Duncan_ McDonald! Why, forHeaven's sake! We never guessed--"

  There was a moment's silence; McDonald flushing a little under thegaze of frank hero-worship which the four boys bent on him. And then,to break the pause, "Yes, I'm Duncan McDonald," he said, "or what'sleft of him. Not quite so spry, I guess, as when I won those, but Istill answer to the same name."

  There was another pause, until Brewster suddenly exclaimed, "Thenthat's your athletic field out there. We were wondering whose it couldbe."

  McDonald smiled. "Athletic field is rather a big name for it," heanswered. "It's a little place I fixed up s
o that I could go out oncein a while, on a Saturday afternoon, and throw weights, and jump, justfor the sake of old times. Why, do you boys care for that sort ofthing?"

  "Do we?" cried Brewster. "Well, I should say we did! You see--" andfor ten minutes he talked steadily, telling the story of the cup, thePentathlon, and everything else concerning the rivalries of theschools. As he finished McDonald nodded. "I see, I see," he said."Well, that's a nice sporting situation, isn't it? Perhaps I couldhelp you boys out a little, after all. When the weather gets better,along toward spring, if you would send your all-around man--Ellis, didyou say his name is--over here, I might be able to show him somethingabout his events. I'd be glad to try, anyway."

  "Oh, that would be great," cried Brewster, "that would help a lot, Iknow. And we've another Pentathlon man right here. We think he'll bealmost as good as Ellis by spring. Stand up, Dick, and be counted."

  Randall laughed. "Don't talk about Pentathlon men," he said, "inpresent company. I don't believe Mr. McDonald would see much hope forme."

  McDonald eyed him critically. "Well, I 'don't know about that," hesaid at length. "You've a good build for an all-around man. We allhave to make a start. No one gets to be a champion all at once. By andby, if you like, we'll walk over to the field; I'll lend you a pair ofspikes and we'll see what you can do. How would you like that?"

  Dick's face was sufficient answer. "That would be fine," he replied."You're mighty kind to offer to do it."

  "Yes, indeed," chimed in Brewster, "it might make a big difference toour chances. We'd like nothing better;" and then, suddenly changingthe subject, "Mr. McDonald," he asked, "if it isn't an impertinentquestion, why did you give up athletics? You're not old yet; you mustbe as good as you ever were. And I should think working in a millwould seem awfully slow, after all the fun you've had."

  McDonald smiled. "Well, now, I know how it seems to you boys," heanswered. "I can remember just how it looked to me when I was yourage. But I'll tell you the honest truth. Athletics are a thing youwant to go into for fun, and not for money. If I had my life overagain, as the saying is, I'd stop right short where I turnedprofessional, and take up some good trade instead. But of course Icouldn't see it then. I was crazy about the game, and I had no moneyto speak of, so it seemed to be a choice between quitting athletics,or turning 'pro.' And I turned. But I've regretted it ever since. Itisn't a sensible profession, you see. It's a job where you're bestwhen you're young, and with every year that's added to your age,there's so much of your capital gone. No, professional athletics don'tpay."

  The boys looked only half convinced. "But think," said Allen, "of allyou've done; and all the places you've seen. If I'd won championshipsin half a dozen different countries I don't believe I'd swap with anyone."

  McDonald smiled again. "Oh, I did have a good time, when I was anamateur," he replied, "but all the enjoyment that a fellow gets fromlooking back on pleasant memories stops right there. After you'veturned pro, and are out for the stuff, the good sporting spirit isknocked right out of the thing. You think every man who's competingagainst you is a robber who's trying to take away your bread andbutter, and that spoils most of the fun, to start with. And then a mancan hardly make a living if he stays right on the square. There'salways a cheap crowd of betting men who keep after a fellow, trying toget him to come in on some game that isn't quite on the level. They'vepulled off some funny things, too, first and last.

  "I remember one chap I knew who was a corking good shot-putter. Hejoined forces with a couple of betting men and they certainly riggedup a good plant. It was at a big fair in Canada. The two betting mendressed as farmers, and then they fixed this fellow up in a bluesmock, and had him drive a cow into the fair. Oh, they staged thething fine; and when the shot-putting came off this fellow makes a lotof talk about what he can do, and picks up the shot, and puts itaround thirty-three or four feet. Then the two betting men make aholler, and work off a lot of farmer talk about 'that there fellerwith the caow'--oh, they do it slick, all right--and that begins tomake fun, and pretty soon there's an argument started, and the twofarmers get excited and fumble around in their pockets and pull outsome old, dirty bills; and finally, there are so many wise guys in thecrowd looking to make an easy dollar, the money's all put up andcovered.

  "The farmers breathe much easier after that--the rest of it is just aslaughter. The shot man plays the part, though, just to amuse himself.He gets into the finals--they're putting around thirty-seven feet orso--and then he makes a great holler about spiked shoes, 'them shoeswith nails in the bottoms of 'em' he says, and at last he pretends toborrow a pair--which are really his own, that he has given to anotherof the gang to keep for him--and he stamps around in those, and spitson his hands, and goes though a lot of foolishness, and then stepsinto the circle and drives her out. Forty-four, ten! And then there'san awful silence in the crowd among the fellows who've bet their moneyagainst the man with the cow, and they sneak away kind of quietly, andhere and there you'll hear one of them murmur to himself, 'Stung!' Andthat's professional athletics for you."

  The boys had listened breathlessly. "Well," cried Allen, "that was apretty dirty trick, all right, and yet," he added with a chuckle,"there's something funny about it, too. It isn't like taking ininnocent people. The other fellows were out to do the crowd theythought were farmers, and they got about what was coming to them."

  McDonald nodded. "Oh, yes, it's diamond cut diamond," he said. "If youbet on anything in this world, it's a good idea to get used to beingsurprised. But the trouble comes in mixing up a nice, clean game likeathletics with such dirty business as that." He hesitated a moment,and then went on, "But it's mighty little right I've got to preach.I've done some things that I regret, and that I'd give a good deal tohave undone, if I could. Because when you're right square up againstit for your next dollar, or maybe your next dime, it beats all how aman will juggle with his conscience to make a scheme seem right. I'lltell you what I did once, away out west, if you care to hear."

  The boys' faces, without their eager assent, would have been enough totell him that he was speaking to listeners who could talk athletics bythe hour, with never a sign of weariness. And presently he began."This happened a good long time ago. It was in the fall of the year. Iwas quite a ways from home, and I was discouraged. I'd madeapplication for a training job for the winter in three differentcolleges, and I'd been turned down, for one reason or another, in allthree. It was early in September, just the time for the big fairs, andthough the weather was beautiful, there was a kind of frostiness aboutthe mornings that made me think of a cold winter coming back home, andreminded me that I had just two hundred dollars in my clothes, and notanother cent in the whole wide world. It certainly seemed to be up tome to make some sort of a play, and to make it quick, while I had thechance.

  "There were three or four pretty good men around at these games, and alot of others not so good, but I wasn't particularly afraid of any ofthem. I didn't have any great reputation then, to speak of; I'd onlyturned pro a little while before; and I'd grown a mustache, and no oneknew me by sight or name. But I had been training all summer, and Iwas right at the stage where any athlete, amateur or pro, has thechance of his life to make a killing; when he knows just how good heis, and nobody else in the world except himself does know. Well, Iworked things about as well as I could. I went into two good-sizedmeets, under the name of Alan Stewart, and never won so much as athird place. I managed to finish just short of the money in everyevent I entered, and then, afterward, I mixed with the betting crowd,and took pains to do a lot of cheap talking. I told them that when Iwas really in form I was the greatest athlete who ever wore a shoe,and that as soon as I got some money from home I was willing to backup what I said.

  "Well, I contrived to make the crowd pretty tired. One of the leadinggamblers, a shrewd, wiry little chap, called me down one day in frontof the whole bunch. 'Young man,' he said, 'you talk a good deal, andit wearies me. Don't you think, if you kept that mouth of yours shutuntil you'd earned a dollar
to bet on yourself, it would be a goodthing for every one, and make the town a pleasanter place to live in?'That pleased the boys, but I pretended to get mad over it, and shookmy fist in his face. 'You think,' I said, 'that you can insult me,because you've got money and I haven't; but you just wait; I've wiredhome to San Francisco for some cash and I'll have it for theAtlasville meet, and then my money'll talk as good as anybody else's.'That didn't rattle him a mite. 'Well,' he came back, 'if it talks halfas loud as you do they'll know you're betting, away over in China,'and that pleased the crowd more than ever. So, altogether, I had notrouble in making a reputation as a conceited young fool--I'vethought sometimes, since then, that wasn't such a strange thing, afterall--and I kept under cover, and lay low for Atlasville.

  "It was a nice affair all right. There was a local weight man, afellow named Brown, who was really good; and Harry King, the highjumper, who was making a regular circuit of the western meets, soaltogether it was a pretty classy field, and I had every chance in theworld to back my good opinion of myself. It was an old game, ofcourse, but I worked it for all it was worth. As I say, when it's winout or bust, a man's wits are apt to move quicker than they do othertimes. Among my different bluffs, I struck up a great friendship witha fellow whom I knew to be hand and glove with the betting crowd. Iwas sure he'd keep them posted on everything that happened, so I madehim my confidential friend--had him come out to watch me practice, andtold him what a wonder I was, and how I was going to get square withthe betting gang for giving me the laugh, and all that sort of thing.Only everything that he saw me do, and everything I told him I coulddo, was on sort of a mark-down scale. I told him, for instance, that Iwas going to put the shot forty feet, and high jump five feet, eight,and do the other events in proportion, and that I knew the rest of themen couldn't come near those marks; and all the time I could see howhe was jollying me along, and laughing at me up his sleeve, for heknew, of course, just what the other chaps _could_ do, on a pinch, andit was bully fun for him to hear me go on about wiring for money andbetting on myself, and cleaning out the crowd, and such talk as that,when he supposed, all the time, that separating me from my roll wasjust like taking candy from a child.

  "So the time went by. Presently my money arrived, or I pretended tohave it arrive--as a matter of fact, I fished it out of my insidepocket; and then I went out on a hunt for my gambling friends. Icouldn't get quite the odds I wanted--I still had to make a bluff atbeing awfully confident of myself--but I did pretty well, on thewhole, for there were so many of them anxious to get a chance at methat it wasn't a hard job, after all. I put the bulk of the money onthe shot and the high jump--I happened to be right at my best in bothof those events just then--but I had five or ten dollars on abouteverything, and some of it at mighty long odds. Well, the day came. Ishall never forget it, one of those perfect autumn days, warm withoutbeing hot, cool without being cold, if that doesn't sound like a foolway of trying to describe it, and the whole county was at the games.Oh, what wouldn't I have given for a thousand dollars, to keep companywith my two hundred, but I didn't know a soul in the place, and Iwasn't looking for any free advertising, either. So I let it go at thetwo hundred.

  "I've had days before and since when I've felt good, but thatday--well, I was fit to compete for my life. I began the fun with thehammer and broad jump; I kept it up with the pole vault, the caber andthe fifty-six; and I finished it with the high jump and the shot-put.I'll never forget the look on my gambler's face when I got down towork on my first try in the shot, and the man at the other end of thetape called out, 'Forty-five eight and a half.' It was a study. Andthe high jump. They couldn't believe, out that way, that there was aman on earth who could trim Harry King. And he was jumping good, too.We kept together up to six feet, but at six, one and a half, he failedand I got over, on my second try.

  "Well, I raked in my prize money, and my bets--I'd cleaned up betweenseven and eight hundred dollars, all told--and the next day I startedeast. I was feeling pretty good till I'd got about ten miles fromtown, and then I took the local paper out of my pocket and started toread the sporting news. Right there was where my good opinion ofmyself experienced a shock. For what should I find but a very nicewrite-up on Mr. Alan Stewart, describing him as the most promisingyoung athlete yet seen in the West, and going on to say that as amatter of local pride, it would be an interesting thing to see Mr.Stewart matched for a series of events with Mr. Duncan McDonald, theeastern champion. Just at first I laughed, and then I stopped andbegan to think. And the more I thought, the less I seemed to fancymyself. I never did a thing like that again, and I can tell you, boys,once more, the pro game in athletics is no good."

  His audience had sat listening with the keenest interest. There was alittle pause and then Allen spoke. "Well," he said, "it was the sameprinciple, of course, as the man with the cow. But, somehow, I don'tthink that was such a terrible thing to do. You weren't deceivinginnocent people. You were up against a crowd of gamblers who wouldn'thave had any scruples about doing you out of your money, and yourelieved them of theirs, instead. And I think," he added, "that thepart about matching you against McDonald was great. I call that reallyhumorous."

  McDonald nodded assent. "It did have kind of a funny side," headmitted. "And I don't mean I felt ashamed of myself because Iconsidered it really a wicked thing to do, because I didn't. But lookhere--well, it's hard to express--those two medals I gave you boysto-day were won when I was an amateur, good and straight. There's notaint to them. I was in the game then for the fun of it. And Icertainly liked athletics. I don't believe any man who ever livedliked them better than I did. And so, to get mixed up in the progame, well, I felt the way I did once about a man I knew--a big,fine-looking chap, brave as a lion--who served in the British army. Hegot into trouble, no matter how, and disappeared, and I never heard ofhim again for years, until a friend of mine ran across him down inSouth America--a soldier of fortune, waiting for some little tuppennyrebellion to come along, to put a job in his way. Well, you know, thatseemed bad to me--I didn't like to hear it--and so, about myself, Ifelt as if getting into this betting game, and all that, I was kind ofdisgracing my colors--you know what I mean--"

  The boys nodded in quick sympathy. McDonald rose. "Well, I'm gettingto be a regular old woman," he said apologetically. "My tongue'srunning away with me. Let's step over to the field and try a littleathletics, for a change. Here's my outfit, in here."

  He threw open a closet door, disclosing upon the floor three or fourshots, two hammers, a fifty-six pound weight, several pairs of spikedshoes--clear evidence that he still retained, as he had said, hisnative love of the game. "Now, then," he said, "if one of you willtake a shot, I'll take the light hammer, and Randall here can pick outa pair of shoes; then we'll be all right to start. Hullo, here's Joe."

  As he spoke, the door opened, and a little boy of nine or ten, darkand swarthy, with big, wide-open, black eyes, peered into the room;then, seeing the visitors, promptly dodged out again. McDonaldlaughed. "That's the little fellow you heard yelling for help thatnight," he explained. "No one seemed to want him, and his fatherhasn't been heard from since, so I've kind of adopted him, for thepresent. He's a good little chap, and smart as a steel-trap. But shyas a squirrel when he sees strangers around."

  Once arrived at the field, McDonald proceeded to put Dick through hispaces. He watched him high-jump with great approval. "Good, man,good!" he cried. "You've got an elegant spring, and a very nice style,besides. I'll have you jumping fine, by next May." But over Dick'sshot-putting he was not so enthusiastic, and at the hammer-throwing heshook his head. "No, no," he cried, "you haven't got the firstprinciples. You stand wrong. Your weight is wrong. You swing wrong.You do everything wrong. Here, let me show you. I wish I dared throw,myself, but I suppose I'd rip my shoulder open. Now look--"

  For ten minutes he explained, illustrated, had Dick throw, again andagain. And finally he good-humoredly gave it up. "I can show you," hesaid. "But you've thrown the wrong way so long that it's going to be ajob. Le
t the hammer go, for the next month or two, and when springcomes we'll go at it. I'll have you so you'll be throwing a hundredand seventy feet. No reason in the world why you shouldn't. It's likeall the other things. It's knack--knack--knack--that counts. You'vegot weight and size enough to throw it, and when I get the double turndrilled into you we'll surprise some of these boys from the otherschools. You see if we don't."

  The afternoon shadows were lengthening across the fields as the boysstarted on their homeward way. And all through the tramp their tongueswagged ceaselessly of their new friend, his accomplishments, hisinterest, the medals he had given his rescuers, and most of all, howmuch his knowledge might mean to them, and to their chances incarrying off in triumph the coveted cup. Truly, it had been aneventful day.