“Yes, I think so. I never knew about that, though.”
“Of course you didn’t if no one told you. Not one of you fellows except White ran in decent form to-day; and if someone would tell him not to throw his head back as far as he does he’d do better yet. What the dickens does this Skeet fellow think? That you kids can find out all these things without being told? Why, great, jumping Geewhillikins, there are all sorts of things to be learned if you’re going to be a real sprinter! It isn’t just getting off the mark quick and running as hard as you know how to the tape. There’s science in it, old scout, a heap of science!”
“I suppose there is,” replied Perry a trifle dejectedly. “And I don’t suppose I’ll ever be real good at it.”
“Why not? Don’t expect to be a ten-flat hundred-yard man yet, though. You’re too young and your legs are too short and your lungs aren’t big enough. For two or three years the two-twenty will be your best distance. You can’t hustle into your stride and move fast enough to compete with older fellows in the hundred. But, if you’ll realize that in the two-twenty you can’t push all the way, you may make a good performer. You have a pretty fair style, Perry. I like the way you throw your heels without ‘dragging,’ for one thing. But what I’ve just said about trying all the way through the two-twenty is so. It can’t be done; at least, it can’t be done by the average sprinter. Get your stride as soon as you can after you’re off the mark, then let your legs carry you a while; I mean by that don’t put all your strength into the going; save something for the last thirty yards or so. Then let yourself out! Remember that the hundred-yards is a hustle all the way, but the two-twenty is just a hundred and twenty yards longer and the fellow who tries to win in the first half of the race dies at the finish. Of course, it all comes by trying and learning. Experience brings judgment, and judgment is what a sprinter has to have. You’ll soon find out just about how much power you can spend in getting away and how much you can use in the first twenty seconds and how much you’ll need for the final spurt. Only, until you have learned that, play it safe and don’t try all the way. If you do you’ll finish tied up in a hard knot! See what I mean?”
“Yes, sir, thanks.”
“Try it and see if I’m not right.” Mr. Addicks perched himself on the table again and swung a foot thoughtfully. “I wish I had the coaching of you for a couple of weeks,” he said. “I’d make a two-twenty man out of you or I miss my guess!”
“I wish you had,” replied Perry wistfully. “No one told me all that, Mr. Addicks. Couldn’t you—I mean, I don’t suppose you’d have time to show me, would you?”
“I’m afraid not.” Mr. Addicks shook his head. “I’d like to, though. I guess the trouble with this Skeet fellow is that he’s got so much on his hands he can’t give thorough attention to any one thing. Still, I should think he’d see that his sprinters are making a mess of it. White ought to savvy it, anyway.” He was silent a minute. Then: “Look here,” he said abruptly, “what time do you get up in the morning?”
“About seven, usually. Sometimes a little before.”