"He has the reputation of never having allowed a fraction to be stolen on his pistol," remarked the Colonel.
"Let him watch Blount to-day then," I said.
The Colonel ran his finger down the list. "Nine contests in all. One of strength, three of endurance, two of speed, two of activity, and the 'quarter' only is left where speed and bottom are both needed. How will they come out?" he asked.
"About five to four," I answered, "but I cannot name the winner. On form Old England should pull off the 'broad jump,' the 'mile' and 'three miles,' and New England is quite sure of the 'hammer' and 'high jump.' This leaves the 'hundred' and 'hurdles,' the 'quarter' and 'half' to be fought out, although of course nothing is sure but death and taxes."
"I suppose it will be easy to distinguish the men by their style and manner," said the Colonel.
"You will not see much difference," I replied. "The Americans wear the colors more conspicuously, Harvard showing crimson, and Yale dark blue. 'Tis the same shade as Oxford's. The Americans have also the letters 'H' and 'Y' marked plainly on the breasts of their jerseys. There are some of the contestants arriving now," I remarked, pointing across the track; "would you like to see them before they strip?"
"I certainly would," he answered; and we slipped out of our seats and around the track to the Members' Pavilion, in front of which they stood. Just before we reached them, however, we met Furness, Harding, and Gardiner, the former holding a little chap about ten years old by the hand, who was evidently his "sire's son," for his eyes were big with excitement and pleasure.
"Which are they?" inquired the Colonel, a little doubtfully. "That chap in front is an English lad or I miss my guess," looking admiringly at a young giant apparently not more than twenty years old, and perhaps the finest-looking one of the lot. His hat was in his hand, his eyes were bright, and skin clear, with a color that only perfect condition brings.
"No," I answered, rather pleased at his mistake; "that is a Harvard Freshman, though he bears a good old English name. Since Tom of Rugby, the Browns have had a name or two in about every good sporting event on earth. Would you like to know him?" I asked, for just then the young fellow spied me out and came forward to meet me with a smile of recognition. I was quite willing to introduce H. J. Brown to the Colonel, although it was hardly fair to present him as a sample of an American boy. As Tom would have said, it was showing the top of a "deaconed" barrel of apples.
The young fellow shook the Colonel's hand with an easy self-possession, coloring a little under his brown skin at the older man's close scrutiny, who said a quiet word concerning the games, and asked him if he felt "fit."