There was a cool assurance about the fellow that impressed Frank against him. It was not that he felt the utmost confidence in himself, for that is no crime; but he acted as though treating the others with disdain.
Frank did not like the face he saw. There was a sly, crafty expression on it, he believed. To his mind, then, this new Clifford hope, Larry Parker, would not hesitate about descending to trickery, if by means of it he might increase his chances for winning his race. The means did not count in such a fellow’s mind, only what lay at the end. And in this case the handsome prize offered was a gold watch, surely worth exerting one’s very best powers in the hope of winning.
Another thing Frank noticed, for he was quick to discover little items that might stand for a great deal.
“Um! a cigarette smoker, eh?” was what he said to himself, as he saw that the first and second fingers of the other’s hand were stained yellow; and Frank knew just what that meant. “Chances are, that if he’s a good runner now, he won’t be a year from to-day. And I’d like to wager a good deal that he falls down in the last part of this ten-mile race. So this is the chap who never turns a hair after he’s clipped off his cool ten, is it? I guess he won’t win against a clean fellow like Lanky, with no bad habits to weaken him for the strain.”
Frank knew that Larry Parker had only come across from the Clifford benches to size them up at close quarters. He was doubtless trying to discover some signs of weakness about them. Besides, it might pay him to know two of the contestants before the race was called.
He stood there, and chatted for a little while, laughing at some of the accidents that accompanied the next few events. One fellow from Bellport, who tried to beat Jack Comfort’s throw of the weight, forgot to let go; and was whirled around like a teetotum, or a dancing dervish as seen over in Northern Africa. They took him off the field with a dislocated shoulder, so that he needed the attention of a doctor.
Frank did not like the way Larry Parker seemed to enjoy a thing like this. On his part he felt genuinely sorry for the poor chap; but the Clifford newcomer looked on it as extremely funny.
Watching his hands after this, Frank noticed that they seemed to tremble constantly, which was a rather strange thing in a mere lad.
“That’s what they say excessive cigarette smoking will do for a fellow, Lanky,” he managed to whisper in the ear of his chum a little later on; for be it told, Lanky at several times had been known to indulge in a smoke of the “coffin nail,” as he scoffingly called it. “Watch his hands, and see them flutter. It acts on his heart. If he keeps it up, a year from now he’ll never be able to run at all.”
Lanky gave a grunt, and turned a little red; but immediately looked away. It was apparently more satisfactory to turn his eyes toward that corner of the stand where a certain little rosy-cheeked girl sat, waving her Columbia flag every time he looked that way. And doubtless the sight of Dora Baxter inspired Lanky with more and more determination to do himself proud on this day.