“No, but Andy knows. He says I mustn’t think I’ve got anything to do with the team, though.”
Tom chuckled.
“He’s a foxy codger, Andy is. You come back to the room with me and we’ll look that book up and see where it’s published. It isn’t likely you can find it nearer than New York. We’ll write and send for it, Gerald. I suppose Andy won’t time you; anyway, he won’t tell you what your time is, and you’d ought to know what you’re doing. So I’ll let you take my stopwatch, Gerald. You can run a string in it and sling it around your neck; or you might just carry it in your hand instead of a grip.”
“That would be fine,” said Gerald. “I’ll wait for you, Tom.”
“All right. Hey, you Stevenson! That’s my bath! I won’t be long, Gerald.”
The next afternoon Gerald appeared at the track in running attire. Captain Maury caught sight of him at once, and hurried up to him.
“Have they let you off, Pennimore?” he asked, eagerly. “That’s fine!”
“No,” Gerald explained, “but Collins said I could exercise here, and so I thought I’d just keep in training on my own hook. You know they may let me off in time for the Duals.”
“Oh,” said Maury, disappointedly. “Well, that’s all right. Better keep out of the way of the fellows, though, Pennimore; stay on the outside of the track as much as you can. I wouldn’t expect to get back on the squad, you know, because even if faculty does let you off in time, you’re bound to be sort of stale.”
“But I’m not going to be,” protested Gerald. “I’m going to run almost every day, Maury.”