CHAPTER XIII

IN TRAINING

“Candidates for the track team report to Professor Beck, at the gymnasium, at 3.45 P. M., Saturday, February 12th.

“DONALD CUNNINGHAM, _Captain_.”

This notice was posted on the bulletin board in Academy Building one morning, and fellows on their way to recitations read it and became suddenly aware that, from an athletic standpoint at least, spring had begun. From that same standpoint winter is a short-lived season in Hillton--a mere ten weeks between the last football game and the call for track team candidates; a brief space in which the hockey players pose as heroes, the Hillton and St. Eustace chess clubs prepare for and hold their annual contest, the debating club membership grows, the school librarian is for once busy all day long, and the juniors conduct mimic battles and sieges on the green, their citadels and ammunition both constructed of snow. And then some morning while the mercury still lingers affectionately about the zero mark a little square of paper appears on the bulletin board, and, officially at least, the vernal season is ushered in.

This year, as usual, with the appearance of the call for track team candidates a veritable epidemic of athletic enthusiasm swept over the Academy. The crew candidates, who for weeks past had been quietly exercising with chest weights and dumb-bells and running around the track without occasioning any particular notice, now went to work on the rowing machines and were daily viewed by a throng of their fellows. The baseball players congregated in the cage and pitched and batted and slid about on the canvas to an accompaniment of low-voiced criticism from chaps who pressed their noses through the wire meshes for a half-hour at a time. Golfers polished up their clubs, bought brand new books on the sport, and were to be found practicing putting in the dormitory halls. A few lads flocked together in warm studies and talked of wickets and overs and bowls, and tried hard to convince themselves and each other that they were enthusiastic cricketers. And all the while the ice on the river was thick and hard, the wind swept across the green in wintry gusts, and the snow was piled high on either side of the walks.

But if the green and the campus and the frozen paths were deserted, the gymnasium, especially after two o’clock in the afternoon, was a busy scene. Of the fifty-odd boys who reported for the track team, forty-two were put to training. With most of them the new work was disappointingly similar to that gone through with all winter. The chest weights banged up and down, the rings swung about under the high roof, the ladders creaked and bent between their braces, and the dumb-bells and Indian clubs swung faster than ever. But many of the candidates were put to work on the wooden track in the hour when twilight filled the gymnasium with strange and grotesque shadows, and now and then some candidate for honors with the sixteen-pound shot was allowed to toss a leather-covered sphere about the place, to the imminent danger of everybody’s toes.

Professor Beck, from a quiet, even-voiced, little gentleman, suddenly became a commanding figure, who was here, there, and everywhere, and whose least word was like a trumpet sound. Boys who were not candidates for the track team or the baseball team or the crew or something--and there appeared to be few of them in those days--were not admitted to the floor of the gymnasium after a certain hour in the afternoon, and so congregated at the little walled-off inclosure by the entrance and scoffed or praised, envied or admired, to their heart’s content and to the despair of the performers.

One afternoon, a few days subsequent to the beginning of the track candidates’ training, the gymnasium was more than usually full and noisy. The crew was hard at work in the rowing room, a half dozen fellows were trotting about the track, and the boys under Don were putting in a preliminary ten minutes at the weights. Taken as a whole they were a fine-looking lot, though to the uninitiated many would have appeared too slight in build for athletic success. These were the sprinters and hurdlers and those of the new candidates who were desirous of becoming such. They showed speed rather than strength and were in some cases slender to a degree. It was not difficult to distinguish the new candidates from the experienced, even when they were in gymnasium attire; the matter of chest development alone afforded unmistakable proof. In the same way the jumpers and pole vaulters could be picked out. A greater development of the chest muscles was noticeable, resultant on the short, sharp effort required in their work. Of the several boys present who had been members of the last year’s team as long-distance runners, three at least indicated their specialty by their build. Their chests were quite as highly developed as those of the jumpers, but the development was more general; their tasks required staying power as well as strength of lung. Of the performers with the heavy weights, Dave Merton was a fair example. Both the twelve-pound hammer and the shot belong of right to athletes who have weight in their favor, since it is only by putting their weight into the effort that success with hammer or shot may be hoped for. The exercise brings into play the muscles of the back and loins, widens the body across the shoulders, and gives plenty of room to the heart and lungs. To a less extent the legs are benefited and the entire muscular system gains in elasticity.

Professor Beck emerged from the rowing room and cast his gaze over the gymnasium floor, letting his eyes rest first on one and then another of the exercisers at the weights.

“That will do at the weights, boys,” he announced presently. He referred to a book which he took from his pocket. “Morris and Graham and Gordon, to the running track and do a half mile; and by the way, Graham, don’t labor under the impression that you’re trying to catch a train; take your pace from Morris. You too, Gordon; you run too fast. Jumpers and sprinters had better get in some work with the dumb-bells. I’ll have a look at you presently. The rest of you know your work, I think.”

He turned to Don, and the two discussed the candidates for some time, while Wayne joined the men on the track and proceeded to put twelve laps behind him at a moderate pace. Wayne’s presence among the track team candidates requires some explanation. Continued study with but little outdoor recreation had begun to create a listlessness that had surprised and worried him. Don, when consulted, explained the matter in very few words.

“You’ve been cooped up indoors and have had no exercise; what can you expect? Staying indoors makes a chap’s brain sluggish. The sooner you take up some exercise that’ll interest you, the sooner you’ll be able to study well again.”

“But what is there to do?” asked Wayne.

“Why, report on Saturday and try for the track team. You half promised, anyhow, you know.”

“More dumb-bells?” growled Wayne.

“At first, yes. But when we get outdoors you’ll be glad that you went in for the team. You’ll like it after the first week, Wayne. Besides, as a favor to me, you know!”

“Oh, well, I just as leave. I don’t mind those chest weights any more. And I dare say it’ll give me something to do in spring. And I reckon it _would_ make my lessons come easier.”

So the name of Wayne Gordon was entered in the list of candidates for the track team, and he underwent an examination which appeared satisfactory to Professor Beck and began training. He was already enjoying the work. There was a definite object ahead to lend encouragement at the most trying moments, and even the dumb-bells were not so monotonous as formerly. Gymnasium work had already made a perceptible change in the lad. He had got rid of not a little superfluous flesh since the cross-country race, and his muscles were firmer, his complexion was clearer, and he felt better. He even acknowledged this, somewhat grudgingly, to Don.

“They’re pretty good things--chest weights and dumb-bells and single sticks--after you get used to ’em,” he said.

To-day was his second appearance on the running track. He had discovered the day before, greatly to his surprise, that he was not expected to race around the building as fast as his legs would carry him, but that a jog trot was what pleased Professor Beck best.

“I don’t want you to make any records up there, Gordon,” the professor had informed him. “If you’re to make a success at long-distance running you must get off some of that fat, breathe properly, and learn endurance. Just put your head back, take long breaths, and jog around at an even gait. Never mind style; we’ll take that up later.”

So Wayne jogged. He rather liked it to-day. There was something soothing in the pat-pat of the runners’ shoes on the floor. His breath came easily, and as he went around he could look down occasionally upon the heads of the fellows below: at Dave who was going through the most extraordinary antics with a leather-covered shot (Dave always had recourse to the shot when he could not lay hold of a hammer); at Don and Professor Beck, the former emphasizing his words by digging the toe of his gymnasium shoe into the mattress in front of the vaulting standard; at a string of fellows at the far side of the building and under the track who were exercising with the wooden dumb-bells; at the little group of idle boys at the doorway; and as he made the turns he could glance through the high and broad windows and catch glimpses of the frozen river and far-stretching snow-covered marshes.

Presently Professor Beck and Don parted company, the latter joining the squad at dumb-bell exercise and the former fixing the standard for the pole vaulters, two of whom were soon at work taking low flights. There was something very attractive about the way in which the two white-clad and lithe-bodied youngsters gripped the long poles and rose gracefully into the air to drop noiselessly to the mattress beyond the crossbar, and Wayne became so interested in the performance that he forgot to run and had to be recalled to a recollection of his duty by Morris, who gave him a playful kick as he jogged by.

But the half mile was soon finished, and Wayne left the track, descended the stairs, and sought the director, who was busy instructing Dave and two others in the matter of holding the shot. After a moment he turned to Wayne.

“How do you feel, Gordon?”

“Fine, sir.”

“Think you could run another half-mile?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Good; but don’t try it. I guess you’ve done enough for to-day. Take a tepid shower now and rub yourself down well with your hands before drying. And, by the way, let me tell you what I mean by a shower. I don’t mean that you must turn on the water and stand under it until your teeth chatter; but get under it and get out again--slip through it, as it were. Remember that as long as you’re in training, Gordon. Too much bathing is worse than none for weakening you. I don’t mind telling you that we are going to have need of just such a runner as I hope you will turn out to be. You’ve got a little work ahead of you, and there are certain regulations which may seem a trifle irksome at first; but I hope you’ll persevere; you’ve got a good incentive to train hard and conscientiously. And when you get tired or out of sorts, why, take a rest. You can’t rest too much when you’re training; only make sure that you are resting and not loafing. Both Cunningham and I expect a good deal from you, Gordon; hope you won’t disappoint us.”

“I’ll try not to, sir, although I haven’t much faith in myself as an athlete, you know.”

“That’ll come after you’ve done something; of course it’s all new to you yet, and there’s a good bit to learn, but I’m sure you’ll make a go of it. And you’ll like it better when you can get out of doors. Meanwhile don’t overeat, get a good nine hours of sleep, and don’t let yourself get tired. And if you want to ask any questions you’ll find me here, you know.”

Wayne thanked him and disappeared in the direction of the bathroom. Professor Beck looked after him thoughtfully.

“A good back for running, and endurance written all over him; and obstinacy, too. It may be,” he mused, “that we can make use of that obstinacy for a good purpose. But I hope he doesn’t shy at something or get balky.”