“You never tried, you mean,” laughed Ned.
“I never tried, then. I guess I can ‘run’ though,” said Dan dryly.
“I guess you can too, though not in the way you mean. I don’t believe you know how to run away. Don’t you ever learn, either. But when it comes to running for something, that’s another story. I tell you, Dan, there’s nothing like it! When a half-dozen fellows are all bunched on the track and everyone is putting out every ounce of strength he’s got and the tape isn’t more than ten yards away and the fellows are all yelling like mad and you can feel that the sprinter from the High School or the Military Academy is right on your heels, even when you don’t, for the life of you, dare to look behind you—why, I’m telling you, Dan Richards, there are mighty few things in life to be compared with it! I think I’m a fairly good sprinter. I can do the hundred in ten-three. But I believe you can do better than that. You’re just built for a runner.”
“Didn’t I tell you I could ‘run’?” asked Dan dryly.
“That’s all right,” replied Ned lightly. “I know what you mean.”
“Well, I’m glad you do,” said Dan soberly. “I’m not at all sure that I do.”
“You just keep on sawing wood, that’s all you have to do.”
“Or calling ‘co, boss,’” said Dan a little bitterly as he saw Gus Kiggins rise from his seat.
“Don’t think of it. That pork chop isn’t worth wasting your time on! Just leave him alone.”