When he told Neil that evening the latter was clearly puzzled. “Why,” he said doubtfully, “I dare say you’ll get some fun out of it, Stuart, but you’ll find yourself in pretty punk condition, I’m afraid. And there’s only a few days left for practice.”
“Oh, I don’t expect to do anything,” answered the other. “I’ll probably last about two laps in the mile and finish last in the other, but I’m not doing anything just now, and a fellow ought to keep in some sort of condition. I may go in for basket ball after recess. Or maybe hockey. I wonder where those running shoes of mine got to.”
The next afternoon he was out on the track. The Laird, who found time from duties with the football team to give a few minutes daily to the track men, viewed his appearance with surprised approval and warned him against overwork. Stuart dryly assured him that he had no reason for uneasiness, and The Laird puckered his brows and nodded. Evidently the new candidate for track honors wasn’t to be considered very seriously. Mr. Dodge, however, appeared to entertain no doubts on the subject of Stuart’s earnestness and, when he arrived to look after the candidates, displayed an embarrassing and even annoying interest in the newcomer. If only to keep from disappointing Mr. Dodge, Stuart was forced for several succeeding afternoons to make a plausible pretense of training, something that rather interfered with his observation of the first team practice. Of course, he found himself hideously out of form and suspected that some of the other candidates were viewing his presence on the track with a mixture of sympathy and amusement. But he didn’t mind that so very much. What he would have minded was the knowledge that Coach Haynes and the football fellows were suspecting the real reason for his proximity to the first team gridiron. But it is scarcely likely that any of them, unless, possibly, it was Jack, gave any thought to the matter.
After the third day on the cinders Stuart found that a little of his former speed and stamina had returned to him, although he still doubted his ability to give any of his competitors a real race in either of the events for which he was entered, even if he had been inclined to. Judging, however, by the time he spent on the track and beside it, you would have thought him a most determined candidate, for he was always one of the first to arrive and he never left until after the football men had gone from the gridiron. If he spent most of his time sitting around in his bathrobe and looking across the field, that was his own affair. Hadn’t The Laird warned him against overwork?
CHAPTER X
THE HANDICAPS
The Fall Handicap Meet took place on a Thursday afternoon, and practically the whole school turned out in the rôle of contestant, official or onlooker. Of course there were some not present; the baseball players, who were drawing to the end of fall practice; a few tennis enthusiasts; a few others who preferred the river to the grand stand; and the football men. But of the latter not all remained away, for a handful had been given leave to take part in the events. Le Gette and Leonard were there to toy with the shot and hammer, Earnest Lowe was on hand to compete in both the pole vault and the sprints, and there were as many others who had changed canvas for “shorts.” Over fifty lads had entered, the Junior Class being rather better represented than any of the others. Some thirty more fellows were on hand in various official capacities, and among these was Neil Orr who, as usual on such occasions, was one of the timers. Naturally, there weren’t very many left to act as audience.
The afternoon was clear and there was warmth in the sunlight, but a cool breeze blew down the stretch and kept the gaudily colored bathrobes of the entrants wrapped tightly about lightly-clothed bodies. When Stuart reached the track a little after three the field events were already under way, and lithe, white-clad figures were busy at the vaulting and jumping standards. He could see, too, the big form of Steve Le Gette poised momentarily like a statue ere he sent the shot away. Stuart’s first event was the half mile, and that was set for three-forty, and so, clutching his robe closely about his bare legs, he seated himself on the turf beside Tom Hanson. Tom, excused from football work for the afternoon, was entered for the 100 and 220 events. Half a dozen other contestants were in the group, watching the trials of the 100-yards hurdles which had just started.
“Didn’t know you were in this game,” observed Hanson as Stuart joined the group. “What’s yours, Cap? Quarter mile?”