“What’s the good of doing that, Larry?” he asked, disgustedly. “That wasn’t a race.”
“Oh, I just wanted to liven it up a bit,” answered Rindgely, grinning. “What time did I make, Billy?”
“I didn’t take you,” answered the trainer, shortly. “That’s enough for to-day.”
Allan turned away with the others, but Billy called him back.
“What was the matter?” he asked. “Pace too hot for you?”
“I suppose so; I couldn’t stand that spurt.”
“Well, that was some of Larry’s nonsense; he’d no business cutting up tricks.” He was silent a moment, looking across to where the second eleven was trying vainly to keep the varsity from pushing over her goal-line. Then, “Ever try the two miles?” he asked. Allan shook his head.
“I don’t believe I’d be any good at it,” he answered. “Not that I’m any good at the mile, either,” he added, somewhat discouraged at the outcome of the trial.
“What’s the best you ever did at the mile?”
“About four minutes forty-five seconds.”