The next afternoon Wayne did a half mile in good time with his hands and arms where they belonged, and after that for the rest of the week the training went on as theretofore, save that he was put over numerous short distances to develop his speed and substituted three-mile walks for the usual runs across country. He made progress almost at once; on Wednesday he covered the four hundred and forty yards in 0.56⅗, and began to consider himself something of a sprinter, even though the first man in the race reached the tape in 0.52⅕. He was on the track every day that week except Thursday and Saturday; on Thursday he was ordered off by Professor Beck and told to rest, and on Saturday he went over the road for a stiff walk with several other long-distance men.
It was while he was crossing the green to the gymnasium after that walk that Dave lumbered across the turf toward him, swinging his sweater excitedly around his head.
“One hundred and forty-six!” he yelled exultantly.
“Who? What?” asked Wayne.
“Me! The hammer!” answered Dave, smiting the other joyfully on the back with a force that nearly upset him. “I threw it!”
“Really? I’m awfully glad. How’d it happen?”
“Why, you see—well, I don’t quite know. But Remsen’s been coaching us every day since Monday, as you know. He’s told me all along that there was something wrong with my swing, but he couldn’t tell what. But to-day he grabbed the hammer away from me, told me to watch it, and sent it spinning. Well, I noticed that he did one thing that I didn’t: when he let go he gave a peculiar jerk to his body. Of course, I’ve known about it—they call it ‘putting the devil into the swing’—but somehow I never could manage it right. But to-day I saw how it was done—it’s in the way you manage your feet—and I yelled: ‘I see, I see! Let me have it!’ At first I couldn’t do it at all. When I tried to bring my right foot round after the third swing I forgot to let go at the right moment. But the next time I did it, and threw a hundred and forty-two. Then Remsen swung again and I watched. And the next time I piled two feet six inches on to it; and the next throw was a hundred and forty-six and a fraction. I’d be throwing yet if Remsen hadn’t taken the hammer away and sent me home.” Dave laughed happily. “You wait until to-morrow, Wayne. Why, now that I’ve learned that little trick I bet I can beat Hardy by two feet!”
“Well, I’m awfully glad,” said Wayne, “and I hope you will. Does Don know?”
“No; he and Beck went off together just before.”
“Let’s go up to the room; perhaps he’s there.”