"It's the same, of course, with the other events, so you could make a total of five hundred; theoretically, I mean. Of course, really, no man ever lived--I don't suppose a man ever will live--who could be fast enough to be a champion sprinter and hurdler, and strong enough to be a champion weight man, and springy enough to be a champion high-jumper--all at the same time. Johnson made the record last spring--two hundred and eighty points--and that's awfully good for a schoolboy. He isn't such a big fellow, either; I don't believe he weighs much over a hundred and fifty; but he's fast--he can do a hundred in ten-two, all right--and he's a good hurdler and jumper, but he's not quite heavy enough for the weights. Still, Dave's got his job cut out for him; there's no doubt about that. Well, here we are; and, by gracious, we're late, too."
CHAPTER II
[DAVE ELLIS BREAKS A RECORD]
While Allen had been speaking, they had reached the entrance to the field; and as they passed the gateway in the high wooden fence they could see Ellis, on the other side of the track, just getting on his marks for the hundred yards. Ned Brewster, the captain of the track team, stood behind him, pistol in hand. Farther up the track, at the finish, were the three timers: Mr. Fenton, Doctor Hartman, the physical director of the school, and Jim Putnam, the captain of the crew. "Come on," cried Allen, and breaking into a quick run they reached 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 on sheer strength, paying little attention to form. As he flew past them, Dick, gazing at him open-mouthed, was dimly conscious of a number of things. He noticed that Ellis' face was contorted with the effort he was making, and heard his breath coming in short, agonized grunts, "ugh--ugh--ugh--" as he strove to increase his speed. The cinders crunched sharply under his flying feet, and with a thrill of envy Dick saw on his crimson jersey the big white "F" of the school. He felt that Ellis was indeed a hero. "Golly," he said half aloud, "if I could only run like that!"
Allen, more skilled in estimating a runner's speed, and more critical as well, showed little enthusiasm as Ellis, with a final effort, breasted the tape. "I guess that wasn't much," he observed. "I don't believe Johnson would worry a great deal if he saw that. Not better than eleven, anyway, and I don't believe as good. Speed was never Dave's strong point, you know. Let's find out how fast it was."
They walked up to the timers. Ellis, jogging slowly back, shook his head as he neared the group. "Slow," he said. "I knew it, all the way down. 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 the runner. "Why, it wasn't bad, Dave," he said cheerfully enough, "it's a cold day for good time. No one could expect to do much on an afternoon like this. You made it in eleven and two-fifths; all three watches were the same. And that's not bad at all; it gives you sixty-six points, to start with. Take your five minutes' rest now, and we'll try the shot."
Ellis nodded, and walked away into the dressing-room to change his light sprinting shoes for the heavier ones, with extra spikes in the heel, to be used in the shot put and high jump. Five minutes later he came out again and walked across the field to the whitewashed circle, took an easy practice put or two, and then made ready for his first try. The doctor and Putnam stood by to act as measurers, with the tape unrolled along the ground. Mr. Fenton stood near the circle, as judge. "Remember now, Dave," he said, "only three tries. Make the first one safe and sure, and don't forget to walk out the rear half of the circle, or I shall have to call a foul."
Ellis nodded, and at once made ready to put. Dick watched him admiringly, as he stood motionless, his weight thrown well back on his right leg, the toe of his left foot just touching the ground, the big iron shot resting easily against his shoulder. All at once he raised his left leg, balanced for a moment, and then sprang forward. The instant his right foot touched the ground he brought his body around like lightning, his right arm shot forward, and the big iron ball went hurtling through the air, landing a good six feet beyond his practice marks. 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 critically down 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."