Frank Armstrong at College

by Matthew M. Colton

"Gee whiz," said the Codfish as the big ship slipped swiftly down the bay, "I never thought of it before, but what if I should be seasick?"

"It doesn't make so much difference about you," said Frank heartlessly, "but what if I should? That's the question!"

Fortunately, the ocean was calm and none of the team suffered in the slightest from the dreaded sickness. With the first meal on the ship the athletes were seated together, and soon Yale and Harvard lines were forgotten. The men from the two universities fraternized with each other and the team was neither Harvard nor Yale, but an American team with only one object in view,—victory from their English cousins.

Training regulations were established at once, and while the routine was not so strict as on land, the trainers saw to it that their athletes retired not later than 10:30 and that they were up at 7 in the morning for a jog around the decks before the passengers were about. The long decks of the Olympic made a surprisingly good training ground. A training stunt which amused the passengers was dancing, not in the ordinary sense of the word, but "standstill sprinting" as the Codfish called it, on a cork mat, on which the runners got practically the same leg action as they would running on the open track. A large cork mat was spread on the boat deck, and relays of men, four at a time, pranced merrily, rested and pranced again. Then came a cold salt water shower and a rub-down. In the afternoon the dancing exercise would be repeated. Skipping the rope was another deck exercise which played a large part in keeping the men in good condition.

"Where do you keep yourself nowadays?" said Frank one evening after dinner. He had noticed that Gleason disappeared for long periods during the day.

"O, just sitting about and thinking. Can't think where you athletes are romping around. You make more noise than a bunch of magpies. I'm sick of athletic chatter, that so-and-so ought to do 10 seconds, and that Mr. Blinks of Harvard should win his half if he doesn't get too fast a pace in the first quarter, that Mr. Jenks of Yale is likely to pull a tendon, and so on and so on."

"So you sneak off and improve your mind?"

"Right-O, sonny. I'm doing that same."

But the next day Frank discovered the cause of the Codfish's long absences. The Codfish did not have his meals at the athletes' table but at a table nearby. Adjoining the table where he sat, Fate, in the person of the steward's assistant, had placed Mr. and Mrs. Mortimore Hasbrouck, their daughter Marjorie and son William. Fate went a step farther than the location of the Hasbrouck family and undoubtedly had a hand in the business of seating Marjorie at this table where her bright face was in range of the Codfish's roving eyes.

Now, Marjorie was fair to look upon as the Codfish admitted to himself when she made her appearance in the dining saloon the first night at sea. "But she's only a kid," he said to himself, "just fresh out of some boarding school if I dope that pin on her shoulder right."