CHAPTER XX

TRACK AND FIELD

The class games were notable that spring merely because they brought into sudden prominence a new and promising candidate in the shot-putting event, one Peter Burley, ’07, of Blackwater, Colo. To be sure, Pete didn’t break any records, nor did he come out first, but he contributed one point to the scant sum of the freshman class total by taking third place with a put of thirty-nine feet, four and one-half inches. Pete’s appearance in athletic circles was a surprise to the college at large, and those who remembered his prowess at football and took his size and apparent strength into consideration jumped to the conclusion that here was a “dark horse” that was going to carry everything before him and break the college record into minute particles. Personally, Pete viewed his participation as a good joke, but he wasn’t quite certain whom the joke was on.

It was evident that he had it in him to become a first-rate man at the weights, and Kernahan viewed his “find” with much satisfaction. Erskine had for two years past been rather weak in that line of athletics, and Billy had visions of developing the big Westerner into a phenomenal shot-putter and hammer-thrower; though, for the present, at least, he said nothing to Pete about the hammer, for fear the latter would mutiny. Pete had had only three days of practise under Billy’s instruction prior to the class games, but in that time he had mastered one or two of the principal points and had thereby added seven feet to his best performance of Monday.

Billy was more than satisfied, the rival shot men, who had viewed Pete’s appearance among them at first with amused indifference, were worried, and Pete was-- But truly it is hard to say what Pete was. The whole thing was something of a joke to him, and possibly mild amusement was his principal sensation, although he was probably glad to be able to please the trainer, who had taken a good deal of trouble with him, and to add a point to the tally of his class.

But after the class games amusement gave place to surprise and dismay, for Billy informed him that the spring meeting would take place a week later, and that by diligent practise meanwhile he ought to be able to add another two feet to his record. Pete had been laboring under the impression that his troubles were over with the class games, and he promptly rebelled. But rebellion didn’t work with Billy; he was used to it. He had a method of getting his own way in things that was a marvel of quiet effectiveness; and so Pete concluded when, on the next Monday, he was once more out on the field “tossing the cannon ball,” as he sarcastically called it.

All that week, up to the very morning of the spring track meeting, he stood daily in the seven-foot circle and practised with the shot, while Kernahan patiently coached him. Pete had the height, build and strength for the work, but it was the hardest kind of a task for him to grasp the subtleties of the hop and the change of feet. I am inclined to think that Billy’s oft-repeated explanations went for little, and that in the end--but this was not until he had been at practise for almost a month--he learned the tricks himself by constant experimenting.

The actual putting was very soon mastered, but for weeks Pete’s best efforts were spoiled because he either overstepped the ring or left himself too far from the front of it. But when the spring meeting came he climbed to second place, Monroe alone keeping ahead of him. The latter’s best put was forty-three feet ten inches, and Pete’s forty-one feet three inches.

Monroe seemed to Pete to view the latter’s efforts as beneath notice, and Pete resented that from the first. As was to be expected by any one knowing Pete, Monroe’s attitude was accepted as a challenge, and Pete vowed he would beat the college crack if he had to work all night to do it. From that time on Billy found no necessity for pleading; Pete was always on hand when half past four came around, and none was more earnest than he, none worked so hard. Pete had found his interest.

Meanwhile Allan had done fairly well in both meets. In the class games he had entered for the two miles and the mile, had won the first by a bare yard from Rindgely and in the latter had finished third behind Hooker and Harris. At Billy’s advice he relinquished the mile event thereafter and became a two-miler pure and simple. As Billy pointed out, either Rindgely or Hooker--and possibly Harris, who was coming on fast--was capable of beating Robinson at the mile, and it was better for Allan to put all efforts into the two miles, in which, so far as was known, Robinson at present excelled. Allan had hard luck at the spring meeting, getting away badly in the first place and taking a tumble in the next to the last lap that put him out of the race so far as the places were concerned. Conroy staggered in ten yards ahead of Rindgely, Harris securing third place, and Allan finishing a poor fourth.

By this time the training table was started, and Pete, much to his delight, temporarily deserted the freshman club table up-stairs and moved to the first-floor front room, where Allan, Rindgely, Hooker, Harris, Conroy, Stearns, Thatcher, Poor, Leroy, Monroe, Long, and several others whose names we have not heard, were congregated under the vigilant eyes of Billy Kernahan. I don’t think Pete was properly impressed with the honor conferred upon him by his admission to the training table, but he was glad to be with Allan again and rather enjoyed the novelty of having his meals arranged for him. If it had not been that training required the relinquishment of his beloved corn-cob pipe, I think Pete in those days would have been perfectly happy.

Meanwhile, at another training table farther around the bend of Elm Street, Hal was one of the stars of the freshman nine. Of the quartet, Tommy only was not head over ears in athletics, but the fact didn’t trouble him a scrap. He had all he could do--and a trifle more--and was laboring, besides, under the harmless delusion that the college’s success on diamond, track, and river depended largely upon his supervision and advice. Whenever he had time, which wasn’t very often, he delighted to stand beside the lime-marked ring and offer gems of instruction in the art of putting the shot to Pete. And Pete, who was miserable without companionship, stood it smilingly for the sake of Tommy’s presence. In the evenings Tommy frequently found a moment or two in which to look up Allan or Hal and give them the benefit of his advice regarding playing second base or running the two miles. But those young gentlemen exhibited a strange and lamentable impatience, and Tommy quite often left their presence under compulsion or just ahead of a flying boot.

Meanwhile the spring vacation came and went. Of the quartet, Hal and Tommy went home, and Allan and Pete stayed at college, Allan from motives of economy and Pete because nothing better offered.

After recess baseball held the boards and the varsity team was half-way through its schedule by the first week in May, and had but two defeats behind it. On the track the candidates were put through their paces six days a week. Erskine was almost sure of victories in the sprints, equally certain of defeats in the middle distances, expected to win the mile, was in grave doubt as to the two miles, and hoped to share the hurdles with her opponent. In the field events, the high jump alone was certain to yield a first to the Purple. The pole vault, broad jump, and both weight events were of doubtful outcome. As Tommy figured it out in the columns of “his” paper about this time, Erskine had a chance of winning by seven points. But as second and third places were almost impossible to apportion with any accuracy, this forecast was not of much value. The dual games with Robinson came on May 28th. A fortnight before that Allan’s work was stretched over six days, as follows:

Monday, a two-mile run at an easy pace.

Tuesday, a fast mile, followed by an easy three-quarters.

Wednesday, a hard, fast mile.

Thursday, two miles and a half in easy time.

Friday, a mile and a half at medium speed.

Saturday, a time trial over the two miles.

This was hard work and lots of it, but Allan’s physical condition could scarcely have been bettered, and never, from the beginning of outdoor practise until the big event was over with, did he go “fine” for a moment. Twelve days before the meet Allan had his last trial, and when, still running strongly, he crossed the finish line, Billy’s watch clicked at 9:53⅝.

Billy smiled cheerfully enough, but down in his heart he was disappointed. He had expected better things.