“How’d they go, Dave?” asked Don.
“Rotten; I can’t throw a hammer. I used to think I could, but——” He shook his head sadly.
“Go on wid yer,” said Paddy. “Yez kin bate thim all if yez ’ud only think so.—But what in the name of goodness was the matter with you to-day?” he asked, turning to Wayne. Wayne smiled cheerfully and shook his head.
“Blest if I know, Paddy. I guess I’m like Dave; I used to think I could run, but——” He shook his head in mimicry of Dave and wiped an imaginary tear from his eye.
“Well, you’re all a sorry lot,” said Paddy in disgust. “All except Don, and he can’t help winning, hang him!” Further compliments were interrupted by the appearance of Professor Beck and the former football coach, Stephen Remsen. Paddy jumped to his feet.
“Now then, fellows,” he cried, facing the hall, “three times three for Remsen!” The cheers were given with a will and the recipient bowed his thanks smilingly. Then Professor Beck took the platform, and, after a few words of criticism on the day’s events, read the training table list. Sixteen fellows were selected to go to “Mother” Burke’s in the village, and twelve were named for a table in the school dining room. Wayne’s name was on neither list and he shot an inquiring glance at Don. The latter whispered:
“It’s all right. You’ll go to table later.”
Two of the graduates, fine, healthy-looking men, took their turns after the professor and pointed out some defects in the afternoon’s performances, spoke encouragingly to the fellows, and were cheered as they took their seats. Then Remsen arose and the little audience became on the instant as quiet as though made up of so many wax figures. Remsen was more than a Hillton graduate, more than a successful coach; he was a sort of school deity whom successive classes had long worshiped. In his school days he had been stroke in a winning crew, had excelled with the weights, and had been captain of the football eleven when it had devastated the surrounding country of laurels. These things are enough to place a man’s name high on the roster of fame and to earn him gratitude. But besides this Remsen had been football coach for three years, during which time the team had won two victories from and played a tie with St. Eustace; and always, ever since his graduation, he had labored unceasingly for the school and had done more than any other individual toward establishing its athletics on a firm, stable, and honest basis.
In appearance he was about thirty years of age, and “football man” was stamped all over his well-built frame. He was the kind of man for whom one would have predicted success in whatever undertaking he had entered. His face was handsome and manly; his eyes gray and clear; and his smile worth seeing. Hillton was proud of him, from its principal to its smallest junior, and he was proud of Hillton. When the fellows had stopped clapping he began to speak.
“I’ve been asked by your principal to say a few words to you this evening. I make this statement before I begin, so that if I bore you, you will know where to lay the blame. Mr. Kenyon and Mr. Barret have told you some things that it will be worth your while to remember and to profit by; because they know just what they are talking about. But if I undertook to criticise what I saw this afternoon—aside from the work of the fellows who scattered the hammers and shots around—I should be out of my depth; I wouldn’t know a hurdle from a stop-watch if I met them together. What little I know about weights I am willing to talk about. But I’ll do that to-morrow, when I hope to meet the weight men on the campus. And as to football, why, if there is anything that Mr. Gardiner has forgotten to say I’ll be glad to say it before I leave.