FROM COAST TO COAST
The next few days flew by with magical swiftness. There were a thousand
things to be done, and Bert found himself wishing that each day had a
hundred hours instead of twenty-four. The term examinations were on, and
he buckled down to them manfully. He had never neglected his class work
in favor of athletic sports and his standing had always been high. He
worked as hard as he played, and in both study and games was up in the
front rank.
But when these ordeals were over and he had passed triumphantly, every
spare moment was devoted to the coming race. He put into his preparation
all his heart and soul. And in this, he was ably aided and abetted by
Reddy, the college trainer.
"Reddy," as he was called from the flaming mop of hair that adorned his
far from classic brow, was a character. For many years he had been in
complete control of the football, baseball and general track teams of
the college. He had formerly been a crack second baseman in a major
league, but an injured ankle had forced his withdrawal from the active
playing ranks. He had a shrewd, though uneducated, mind, and his
knowledge of sports and ability as a trainer had made him famous in the
athletic world. His dry wit and genial disposition made him a great
favorite with the boys, though he ruled with an iron hand when
discipline was needed.
He was especially proud and fond of Bert for two reasons. In the first
place, his trainers' soul rejoiced in having such a superb physical
specimen to develop into a winner. He had so often been called upon to
"make bricks without straw," that he exulted in this splendid material
ready to his hand. And when his faith had been justified by the great
victories that Bert had won, Reddy felt that it was, in part, his own
personal triumph.
Then, too, Bert had never shirked or broken training. His sense of honor
was high and fine, and he kept as rigidly to his work in the trainer's
absence as in his presence. Reddy had never had to put detectives on his
track or search him out in the poolrooms and saloons of the town. He was
true to himself, true to his team, true to his college, and could always
be counted on to be in first-class condition.
So that, although this was not a college event, Reddy took a keen
personal interest in the coming contest. Every afternoon, he held the
watch while Bert circled the track, and he personally superintended the
bath and rubdown, after the test was over. He knew the exact weight at
which his charge was most effective, and he took off the superfluous
flesh just fast enough not to weaken him. And his Irish blue eyes
twinkled with satisfaction, as he noted that just now he had never seen
him in better shape for the task that lay before him.
"Ye'll do," he said, with an air of finality, two days before the race,
as he snapped his split-second chronometer, after a whirlwind sprint.
"I'll not tell ye jist the time ye made for that last five miles, as I
don't want ye to get the swelled head. But, my word for it, ye're on
edge, and I don't want ye to touch that machine again until ye face the
starter. Ye're down fine enough and I don't want ye to go stale before
the race begins. I've left jist enough beef on ye to give ye a wee bit
of a margin to work off. The rest is solid bone and muscle, and, if the
machine is as good as yerself, ye'll get to the coast first with
something to spare."
"Well," said Bert warmly, "it will be your victory as well as mine if I
do. You're my 'one best bet' when it comes to getting into form. I
wouldn't have had half a chance to pull off any of the stunts I have, if
it hadn't been for you."
But Reddy tossed this lightly aside.
"Not a bit of it," he protested, "'tis yersilf has done the work, and
yersilf should get the credit. And ye've done it too in the face of
accident and hard luck. This time I'm hoping that luck will be on yer
side. And to make sure," he grinned, "I'm going to give yer a sprig of
four-leaved shamrock that came to me from the folks at home, last
seventeenth of March. 'Twill not be hurting ye any to have it along with
yer."
"Sure thing," laughed Bert. "I'll slip it in the tool box and carry it
every foot of the way."
And as Reddy had groomed Bert, so Bert groomed his machine. Every nut
and bolt, valve and spring was gone over again and again, until even his
critical judgment was satisfied. It was to carry not only his fortune
but perhaps his life, and he did not rest until he was convinced that
nothing could add to its perfection. It had become almost a part of
himself, and it was with a feeling of reluctance that at last he had it
carefully crated and sent on to the starting point, to await his coming
forty-eight hours later.
That evening, as he returned from the post office, he met Tom and Dick
at the foot of the steps leading to their dormitory. He waved at them an
open letter that he had been reading.
"It's from the Committee," he explained. "It gives the route and final
instructions. Come up to the rooms and we'll go over it together."
A bond of friendship, far from common, united these three comrades--the
"Three Guardsmen," as they were jokingly called, because they were so
constantly together. They had first met at a summer camp, some years
before, and a strong similarity of character and tastes had drawn them
to each other at once. From that time on, it had been "one for three and
three for one."
Full to the brim as they were of high spirits and love of adventure,
they often got into scrapes from which it required all their nerve and
ingenuity to emerge with a whole skin. Their supreme confidence in
themselves often led them to take chances from which older and wiser
heads would have shrunk. And the various exploits in which they had
indulged had taught each how fully and absolutely he might rely on the
others. On more than one occasion, death itself had been among the
possibilities, but even that supreme test had been met without
flinching.
Only a few months before, when, on their journey through Mexico, Dick
had fallen into the hands of El Tigre, the dreaded leader of guerillas,
Bert and Tom had taken the trail at once, and after a most exciting
chase, had rescued him from the bandit's clutches. During a trip to the
Adirondacks, Tom had been bitten by a rattler and would have perished,
had it not been for Bert's quickness of mind and swiftness of foot. And
Bert himself never expected to come closer to death than that day on the
San Francisco wharf, when Dick had grasped the knife hand of the Malay
running amuck, just as it was upraised to strike.
Any man or any danger that threatened one would have to count on
tackling three. Each knew that in a pinch the others would stick at
nothing in the effort to back him up. And this conviction, growing
stronger with every new experience, had cemented their friendship beyond
all possibility of breaking.
Their early ties had ripened and broadened under the influence of their
college life. Dick had entered a year before the other two, and it was
this that had moved them to choose the same Alma Mater. Dick and Tom
were studying to be civil engineers, while Bert was more strongly drawn
toward the field of electricity and wireless telegraphy. Their keen
intelligence had won them high honors in scholarship, and their brawn
and muscle had achieved an enviable distinction in athletics. On the
pennant winning team of the year before, Bert's brilliant pitching had
been ably supported by the star work of Tom at third, while Dick, beside
being the champion slugger of the team, had held down first base like a
veteran. All were immensely popular with the student body in general,
not only for their prowess, but because of the qualities of mind and
heart that would have singled them out anywhere as splendid specimens of
young American manhood.
Bert and Dick roomed together, while Tom's quarters were on the floor
below. Now, as it was nearer, they all piled into Tom's sitting-room,
eager to discuss the contents of the official letter.
"Here it is," said Bert, as he tossed it over to the others. "You see, I
have the southern route."
"O, thunder," groaned Tom, "the toughest of the lot. You'll fairly melt
down there at this time of year."
"It _is_ rough," said Dick. "The roads there are something fierce. The
northern or central route would have been ten times better."
"Yes," agreed Bert, "it certainly is a handicap. If I'd been left to
choose, myself, I wouldn't have dreamed of going that way. Still, it's
all a matter of lot, and I've got no kick coming. Somebody would have
had to draw it, and I might as well be the victim as any one else."
"Spoken like a sport, all right," grumbled Tom. "But it makes me sore at
fate. You'll need something more than Reddy's shamrock to make up for
it."
"You might hunt me up the hind foot of a rabbit, shot by a cross-eyed
coon in a graveyard, in the 'dark of the moon,' if you want to make sure
of my winning," jested Bert. "But, seriously, fellows, I'm not going to
let that rattle me a little bit. It may be harder, but if I do come in
first, there'll be all the more credit in winning. As for the heat,
I'll make my own breeze as I go along, and I'll take my chances on the
roads."
"Well, I suppose there's no use growling," admitted Tom, grudgingly. "At
any rate, we'll see a section of the country we've never seen before."
"_We_," cried Bert. "What do you mean by that?"
"Just what I say," answered Tom, looking a little guiltily at Dick.
"What," yelled Bert, leaping to his feet. "Are you two rascals going
along?"
"Surest thing you know," said Dick, calmly. "Did you think for a minute
that Tom and I would miss the fun of seeing you scoot across the
continent and win that ten thousand dollars? Not on your life. We were
going to surprise you, but since this dub has let the cat out of the
bag, we might as well own up. There's nothing to do, now that we know
the route but to go out and get the tickets."
"Well, you're a pair of bricks," gasped Bert. "The finest pals a fellow
ever had. That's the best news I've had 'since Hector was a pup.' I
didn't know that I'd see a friend's face from the start to the finish.
Talk about shamrocks and rabbit's feet! This news has got them skinned
to death. It won't be any trick at all to toss off a few hundred miles,
if I can figure on seeing you fellows when I turn in for the night.
Say, fellows, I can't put it into words, but you know how I feel."
"Pure selfishness on our part," said Dick, airily, to mask his own deep
feeling. "We want to see the San Francisco Fair, and figured that we'd
never have a better chance."
"Yes," mocked Bert, delightedly, "I size up that selfishness all right.
But now let's study the route and figure out the schedule. Then you gay
deceivers can get through tickets with stopover privileges, and I'll
know just where to find you along the way."
"You see," explained Tom, "we figured that we could get into the big
towns ahead of you and act as a sort of base of supplies. You can keep
tab on the way the 'Blue Streak' is running, and if anything goes
wrong--if a tire bursts or a fork breaks or you have engine trouble--you
can wire ahead and we'll have everything ready for you to make a
lightning change the minute you heave in sight. Of course, you may have
to do some temporary patching and tinkering along the way, but in really
big things we may come in handy. But now let's cut out the hallelujahs
and get down to brass tacks."
Which they did to such good effect that before they turned in for the
night, they had outlined a plan that covered every probable contingency.
Of course there was no such precision possible as in the case of a
railroad schedule. A hundred things might happen to cause a change here,
a delay there, but, between certain elastic limits, the route and time
were carefully worked out. If they should have to revise it, as they
doubtless would, the telegraph and long distance telephone could be
depended on to help them out.
Starting from New York, Bert figured that the first leg of the journey
would take him as far as Philadelphia. This, of course, would not be
typical of the regular distance he would have to cover each day, in
order to beat the time record. But the race was not to start until noon,
so that a half day was all that would be left the riders. And that half
day would be slower than the average, because they would have to thread
the streets of the greater city with all its hindrances and speed
regulations, and would have bridges and ferries to cross before they
could fairly let themselves out. Of course this would not count for a
day in the timing, as they would be allowed a half day at the end of the
journey to make up for it. In other words, the day ran from noon to
noon, instead of from midnight to midnight.
From Philadelphia the route would lead to Baltimore and Washington. Then
he proposed to strike down through West Virginia and into the famous
Blue Grass region of Kentucky and thence swing down toward Little Rock,
Arkansas, which would mark the extreme southern point of the journey.
After that, he would be going almost directly west, with a slight trend
to the north. He would cut through Oklahoma on a direct horizontal, and
then for a short time traverse the upper part of Texas. Leaving the Lone
Star State, he would strike in succession Santa Fé, New Mexico, and
Flagstaff, Arizona. Then, at last, he would be in California, getting a
glimpse of the sea at Santa Barbara, and then sweeping up the valley to
San Francisco.
The record he had to beat was twenty days. He planned to do it in
fifteen. That is, he was confident that as far as mere time were
concerned, he could reel off enough miles every day to take him over the
route within that limit. But that was assuming that everything went
smoothly, and, in a trip of this length, he knew that such an assumption
was absurd. He gave himself three days for accidents and delays. This,
added to the fifteen of actual running time, would still give him a
comfortable margin of forty-eight hours. But, on the average, despite
accident or breakdown, wind or rain, sickness or health, mistaken roads
or dangerous spills, flood or freshet or tempest, he must make from two
to three hundred miles every day. Not only he must be in shape to do it,
but the "Blue Streak" also. There were two machines that had to take
all the chances of wear and tear and mishap--the physical machine above
the saddle, and the steel and rubber machine below it.
He wanted to make the most of the good roads that he would have at the
very beginning of the trip. The first three days would be the best ones,
as far as this feature was concerned. The Eastern and Northern States
were far ahead of the rest of the country in this respect. Their wealth
and population, as well as the vastly greater number of motor vehicles
in use, had early turned their attention to the value and necessity of
the best kind of roads that money could buy and science invent. After he
left Louisville, the going would be harder. While, at places, there
would be magnificent turnpikes along the main arteries of travel, these
would be more than counterbalanced by roads where clay and sand
predominated. But, to make up for this, would be the fact that for long
distances the roads would be clearer and the speed regulations less
stringent. And, on these stretches, Bert promised himself to "hit it up"
hard enough to compensate for the inferior quality of the road. It was
"all in the game," and, in the long run, things would about even up.
"It's a good deal of a lottery, when all is said and done," was the way
he summed it up, as they rose from the maps and papers spread out before
them; "I may get knocked out on the first day, and then again I may
turn up smiling at the finish."
"Of course," assented Tom, "there's no telling what may happen before
the race is over. But I have a hunch that in this lottery you are going
to draw the capital prize."
"Well," laughed Bert, "if you're as good a prophet as you are a pal, I'd
be sure of it."