Accordingly Reddy “winked his other eye,” as the saying goes, and let the boys go on with their preparations unmolested.
[CHAPTER XIII]
A Husky Antagonist
The next day passed quietly, and the athletes spent it profitably in unbroken training exercises, and Reddy felt that they were rounding into form in a manner to suit even his critical eye. He watched the runners circling the track, the jumpers practising, and last, but not least, the discus and hammer throwers hurling the heavy weights from the stern of the ship. His sharp eye watched Drake’s performance with particular care, but the latter showed no sign of concern over the coming contest, and laughed and joked with the others as though nothing unusual were in the wind. At his last attempt he gave an unusually savage heave to the heavy disc, and it sailed far out over the shining, sparkling water. The cord attached to it whizzed through the air, and when pulled in the plate was found to have traveled one hundred and thirty-two feet flat.
“Good for you, Drake. That’s the kind of stuff I want to see!” exclaimed the trainer, and Drake flushed a little with pleasure. Reddy gave so little praise that when he did speak well of any performance his words had a double value. Which was perhaps his object. Who knows?
“Well, it wasn’t so bad, I suppose,” said Drake, “but I guess I’ll rest on my laurels now, and take it easy the rest of the day. I’ll bet any money that before we get to Berlin I’ll be crowding the record for all its worth, though.”
“Maybe so, maybe so,” growled Reddy, who seemed to regret his praise, “but you’ve got to keep plugging, and plugging hard, if you expect to do it. That’s the trouble with a lot of athletes, and a good many others who aren’t athletes; they quit just when the goal’s in sight, and lose all their effort for nothing. It’s usually the last few yards of a race that are the hardest, and it’s then that the quitting streak shows up in a lot of people.”
“Well, I’m not going to quit,” said Drake, a little resentfully.