“Oh, yes, sir! He trains at the Y. M. C. A., you know.”
Mr. Addicks smiled. “Well, that ought to be conclusive, Perry! But let me ask you something now. Who taught you how to run?”
“Why, he did; he and Lanny. Lanny coaches the sprinters sometimes.”
“White, you mean? Well, did either of them ever tell you that you ought to use your arms in running?”
“My arms? No, sir, I don’t think so. Skeet told me I wasn’t to let my arms get behind me.”
“That was clever of him,” said Mr. Addicks dryly. “Have you ever watched your friend White run?”
“Yes, lots of times.”
“Ever notice what he does with his arms?”
Perry hesitated. “I don’t think so, particularly.”
“Well, you should. Look here, Perry, you’re not really running, my boy. You made a nice start to-day in the two-twenty and you used a nice stride when you found it, which wasn’t until you were pretty nearly to the tape, but you waved your arms all over the lot and never once used them to help your running. Now if you’re ever going to do anything in the sprints, or in the distances, either, you’ve got to learn how to use your arms. A sprinter runs with three things, Perry; his legs, his arms and his head. You use your legs fairly well, although you’re trying to get too long a stride for a chap with legs the length yours are; and I guess you’ll learn to use your head well enough when you’ve been in a few races; but you aren’t getting anything out of your arms; in fact, you’re slowing yourself up, the way you’re beating the air with them.” Mr. Addicks slid off the table. “Suppose I wave my arms like this when I’m running. Think that’s any help to me? Not a bit, old scout. Get your arm action and leg action together. Rip them forward, like this; left leg, right arm, right leg, left arm. That way you’re pulling yourself along. But don’t just hold them out and paddle your hands, or trail them behind your hips or hug your chest with them the way one of you chaps did to-day. See what I mean at all?”