“I should say not! I’m tuckered out. I’m going to try the two-twenty some day, though. I don’t think I’d care about hurdling.”
“You can’t tell,” murmured Fudge thoughtfully.
Later, when they had once more surmounted the fence and were heading toward B Street, Fudge, who had said little for many minutes, observed: “I wonder, Perry, if a fellow wouldn’t have more fun with the Track Team than with the Nine. I’ve a good mind to go in for it.”
“Why don’t you?” asked Perry, encouragingly eager. “What would you try? Running or—or what?” His gaze unconsciously strayed over his friend’s rotund figure.
“N-no,” replied Fudge hesitantly. “I don’t think so. I might go in for the mile, maybe. I don’t know yet. I’m just thinking of it. I’d have to study a bit. Perhaps the weights would be my line. Ever put the shot?” Perry shook his head. “Neither have I, but I’ll bet I could. All it takes is practice. Say, wouldn’t it be funny if you and I both made the team?”
“It would be dandy,” declared Perry. “Do you suppose there’d be any chance of it?”
“Why not?” asked Fudge cheerfully.