“Well, isn’t that pretty good?”
“Y-yes, but I’ll bet I could do it pretty near that.”
“Bet you couldn’t!” replied Arthur, laughingly. “Not yet awhile. Why, Maury’s nineteen, I guess; eighteen, anyhow.”
“Well, I’m sixteen,” answered Gerald, stoutly. “And, besides, age hasn’t got much to do with it, anyway.”
“Yes it has, Gerald. You’re stronger at eighteen than you are at sixteen, and strength means endurance; and I guess you’ve got to have a heap of that to make good in the mile run.”
“I read in a book,” said Gerald, “that all you have to do to become a good distance runner is to practice. And Andy won’t let me do that. I guess I’ll try for something else. Think I could learn to pole vault?”
“Maybe. But I’d stick to the mile if I were you, Gerald. You’d have to begin all over if you went in for the pole.”
“Yes, I suppose I should,” answered Gerald, dispiritedly.
Arthur slapped him on the back.