Stephen Remsen looked for a moment into the dozens of earnest faces before him. Then: “God send we can keep that pledge!” he said soberly.
Whereupon “Pigeon” Wallace leaped on to a chair and the cheering began.
[CHAPTER XXII]
DAVE IS MADE HAPPY
On Monday Wayne went to the track at three o’clock and found Professor Beck instructing the broad jumpers who were tearing up the newly turned loam with great gusto. A freckled-faced boy came hurtling through the air and plumped ankle-deep in the brown soil, and the professor held the end of the tape to the heel mark.
“Twenty-one feet seven and a half, Gaffney,” he announced. “That will do for to-day. Take your run on the track, and don’t let yourself get stiff.” He moved the rake which he held over the loam, obliterating the marks, and turned to Wayne.
“Well, my boy, Cunningham tells me that you’re not satisfied with Saturday’s results. You think you can do considerably better if you keep on, do you?”
“Yes, sir, I’m sure of it.”
“Very well. I’ll tell you what we’ve decided to do. We’ll go ahead as before, except that we’ll give more attention to short distances, and a week from Wednesday I’ll give you a trial over the mile. If you can do it in 5.15 we’ll send you to training table, and if you continue to improve you’ll go with the team. But first you’ve got to go around the track six times with your arms swinging; after you have got so that you can do that and do it with a decent amount of speed we’ll go on. Does that satisfy you?”