A HUSKY ANTAGONIST
The next day passed quietly, and the athletes spent it profitably in
unbroken training exercises, and Reddy felt that they were rounding into
form in a manner to suit even his critical eye. He watched the runners
circling the track, the jumpers practising, and last, but not least, the
discus and hammer throwers hurling the heavy weights from the stern of
the ship. His sharp eye watched Drake's performance with particular
care, but the latter showed no sign of concern over the coming contest,
and laughed and joked with the others as though nothing unusual were in
the wind. At his last attempt he gave an unusually savage heave to the
heavy disc, and it sailed far out over the shining, sparkling water. The
cord attached to it whizzed through the air, and when pulled in the
plate was found to have traveled one hundred and thirty-two feet flat.
"Good for you, Drake. That's the kind of stuff I want to see!" exclaimed
the trainer, and Drake flushed a little with pleasure. Reddy gave so
little praise that when he did speak well of any performance his words
had a double value. Which was perhaps his object. Who knows?
"Well, it wasn't so bad, I suppose," said Drake, "but I guess I'll rest
on my laurels now, and take it easy the rest of the day. I'll bet any
money that before we get to Berlin I'll be crowding the record for all
its worth, though."
"Maybe so, maybe so," growled Reddy, who seemed to regret his praise,
"but you've got to keep plugging, and plugging hard, if you expect to do
it. That's the trouble with a lot of athletes, and a good many others
who aren't athletes; they quit just when the goal's in sight, and lose
all their effort for nothing. It's usually the last few yards of a race
that are the hardest, and it's then that the quitting streak shows up in
a lot of people."
"Well, I'm not going to quit," said Drake, a little resentfully.
"I know that, me boy," replied Reddy, in a softer voice. "Me little
sermon wasn't meant for you."
One of the hammer throwers created a diversion here, by getting his
string tangled in the bulwarks, and not noticing it until he had hurled
the heavy missile. Before it had traveled half its distance it reached
the end of the cord, which snapped like a cobweb under the weight.
"Good night," exclaimed the thrower, gazing ruefully at the frazzled
end of the cord as it whipped inboard, "there's a hammer gone to visit
Davy Jones, all right."
"Gee!" laughed Tom, who was sitting near, "I hope it doesn't hit the old
gentleman on the head. He may not appreciate the gift, if it did."
"I wouldn't blame him much for feeling peeved," said Dick, "it wouldn't
be the most comfortable thing in the world to have that drop in on you
unexpected-like. I think the old sport would have right on his side,
myself."
"I think you're right, Dick," said Bert, "and I think that to atone for
the insult we ought to throw old Snyder overboard. What do you think,
fellows? It might keep Dave from wreaking his vengeance on the whole
ship. A stitch in time saves nine, you know."
"Overboard with him," yelled the laughing group, but Drake held up his
hand in silence.
"You seem to forget, fellows," he said, in a solemn voice, "that as yet
we're not absolutely certain that the old gentleman has been hit. I
suggest, therefore, that we spare Snyder until Mr. Jones calls for him
in person. Then we will hand him over without protest, of course, in
fact, gladly."
"Oh, well, I suppose we might as well postpone the pleasure, seeing that
you suggest it," said Bert. "It's a big disappointment, though."
Accordingly the boys solemnly agreed to spare Snyder's life for the time
being, and the baited hammer thrower went forward to get a new hammer
from the reserve supply.
He soon returned, and this time was more careful of his string before
letting fly. He showed well in the practice, and Reddy was well pleased
with his work. "I guess he'll do," he thought to himself, "he's getting
slowly better all the time, and that's what I like to see. These
'phenoms' aren't all they're cracked up to be. They show up well for a
while, and then like as not they go all to pieces. I'll take a chance on
a good, steady, hard working man every time. They're the ones you can
count on in the pinches."
Practice went on without further interruption until lunch time, and
everybody did ample justice to the well cooked meal. The constant
exercise, combined with the invigorating sea air, gave them appetites
that it took much to satisfy, and which caused wondering comment in the
galley.
"Zey eat more zan I zink possible," the little French chef had exclaimed
at the beginning of the voyage, with uplifted hands. "I cook an' cook,
and still zey have not too much. Mon Dieu! Zey will drive me--wat you
call heem--bughouse. Eet is no wondaire zey are strong."
In one way the little cook was not displeased, however, for at any rate
he could complain of no lack of appreciation of his cooking.
After everything had been demolished the athletes repaired to the deck,
and did whatever pleased them for a couple of hours. Some played deck
games, while others were content to read or gaze out idly over the
sparkling blue ocean. The weather was ideal, and since the storm that
had wrecked the schooner hardly a cloud had appeared in the sky. Bingo
appreciated the fair weather immensely, and began to get his looks back,
which had suffered somewhat under his recent hardships. He was now
firmly intrenched in the affections of every athlete on board, and had
been accepted unreservedly as their mascot.
He was friendly with everybody, but his real affection seemed divided
between Bert, Tom and Dick. He always followed them around, and
evidently considered them his especial guardians, as they had been his
rescuers.
They in turn saw that he had plenty to eat, and made a great pet of him
generally. He seemed to take a deep interest in everything that went on,
and would watch the boys training with the wisest look imaginable on his
doggish face.
This particular afternoon he was not in sight, however, when Dick and
Bert went to hunt up Drake. They found him finally, stretched out in a
steamer chair, and reading a book as though he had nothing in the world
on his mind.
"Sit down, fellows, and take a load off your feet," he said, as Bert and
Dick came up, "what's the good word this afternoon?"
"Oh, there's nothing particular doing," replied Bert, as he took his
seat on the edge of the rail, balancing back and forth with the motion
of the ship at imminent risk of being spilled into the ocean, "it seems
like the calm preceding the storm."
"By storm meaning to-night, I suppose," said Drake smiling, "but I'm not
worrying about it, so why should you?"
"Well, I suppose we don't need to, in that case," replied Bert. "I'm
glad you feel so sure about it, though. Do you feel in good shape?"
"Never better in my life," replied Drake, with a tremendous yawn. "I'm
just debating in my mind whether to kill this audacious seaman or just
put him on the sick list for a week or two."
"Gee, you just about hate yourself, don't you Drake?" asked Bert, and
they all laughed.
"Just the same you want to be watching all the time," said Bert, "the
way this fellow is used to wrestling, everything goes, and you want to
look out for fouls. That's the thing that's worrying me."
"Never fear," replied Drake, "I used to take lessons from a man who
knew the game backward, fair tricks and foul. He taught me a lot while I
was with him, and I guess I'll know what to expect. And fore-warned is
fore-armed, you know."
"Well, that was all I was afraid of," said Bert. "I haven't a doubt in
the world that you are more than a match for him when it comes to
straight wrestling. I'm not so awfully flabby myself, but I know you
always manage to put me down."
"Oh, that's just because it's out of your line," replied Drake, "mere
brute strength doesn't count so very much in wrestling. It's like
boxing, or baseball, or anything else; it's head work that is the
deciding factor."
"All right, old sock, get to it then," said Bert, "don't be afraid to
eat plenty of beef steak for supper to-night. That's the stuff will pull
you through."
"Right you are!" returned Drake. "I'll be all right, all-right. There'll
be nothing to it, take it from me."
"Well, that's what we like to hear," said Bert, reassured as he and Dick
strolled away. They could talk of little else the rest of the afternoon,
and became more and more excited as the appointed time drew near. At
supper their usual appetites were not in evidence, and for the first
time since they left port they failed to give the excellent meal the
attention it deserved.
Supper despatched, they hunted up Drake, and together with Tom talked
with him until it was close to eight o'clock. Then they walked forward,
and descended to the seamen's quarters. At intervals other athletes, who
had been 'let in' on the secret, kept dropping in, until a goodly
company had arrived.
"Well, ye're on toime, Oi see," remarked Donahue, "and how do ye feel,
youngster?" addressing Drake. "Are ye ready to have yer back broke?"
"About the same as you are, I guess," replied Drake, nonchalantly, and
his companions grinned. It was evident that their candidate was without
fear, at any rate.
The preliminaries were soon arranged, and Drake and the sailor faced
each other at opposite extremities of a cleared space perhaps twenty
feet square. Bert had been selected to act as second for Drake, and a
big Swede, Olsen by name, had been nominated as Donahue's second. Both
Drake and the sailor were dressed in gray flannel shirts and short
athletic trunks, and under this thin covering their splendid physical
development could be plainly seen.
Donahue's muscles were knotted and bunched, while Drake's lay flatter
and were much less prominent. To the untrained eye the sailor seemed
much the stronger of the two, but Bert knew better. Otherwise they were
much the same height and weight, and there seemed little to choose
between them.
The referee gave the starting signal, and Drake and the seaman
approached each other warily, each stepping lightly as a cat. In spite
of their boasting before the contest, each man realized that he would
have all he could do to win, and they were careful accordingly. At first
they circled agilely round and round, each seeking for a favorable
opening. Suddenly Drake sprang in, but before he could secure the hold
he wanted, the nimble sailor had leaped aside, and for a few seconds
they stood looking at each other. Then the wary circling began again,
but this time it was Donahue who rushed in. He was more fortunate than
Drake, and secured a hold. Drake also got a good grip on him, however,
and for a moment they stood quiet, gathering their strength for the real
struggle. Then with a sudden giant heave Donahue sought to lift his
adversary off his feet, but Drake was as supple as a snake, and with a
convulsive movement tore himself out of the sailor's grasp and sprang
free. Donahue was after him in a trice, and again they grappled, but
this time it was Drake who got the better hold. With a heave and a
lunge he lifted his giant opponent entirely clear of the floor, and sent
him crashing down on his side. He followed up his advantage like a
flash, but in spite of his great bulk the sailor was very quick, and had
recovered somewhat, so that, try as he might, Drake was unable to put
him on his back. Finally he was forced to give up the attempt, and the
seaman sprang to his feet. They were about to engage again when the
referee stepped in and declared a short time for rest. Both men were
panting heavily, and were evidently in need of it.
They retired to their respective sides of the square, and Bert anxiously
asked Drake if he felt all right. "Sure thing," responded the latter,
"give me a minute to get my wind and I'll be as strong as ever. That
fellow is a mighty husky brute, though. I've certainly had my hands full
with him."
On his part, the big Irishman felt surprised that he had not ended the
contest before this, and so expressed himself to his second. "Begorry,"
he muttered. "The young felley knows all the tricks o' the game, and
then some. I went to jam me elbow into him when we were mixin' it up
there, and he blocked me as neat as ever you see. Curse me if the young
spalpheen didn't seem to be ixpictin' it."
"Yah, he bane foxy one, you bet," responded the Swede, "but you yust go
in an' smash him up now. He bane easy for you."
At this point the referee announced the recommencement of the contest,
and again the wrestlers fenced for a hold. Then they dashed in, grasped
each other, and for a moment stood motionless as though rooted to the
spot. Gradually, each began to exert his strength, ounce by ounce,
seeking by sheer brute force to bend the other backward. Their muscles
swelled and stood out under the skin, but at first neither seemed to
gain an advantage. Then, slowly, very slowly, the big sailor bent
backward--further and further--until he could stand it no longer. With a
yell he collapsed and went to the floor, with Drake on top of him. In a
second the athlete had the giant's shoulders touching the floor, and the
referee called a "down."
Then the contest should have been over, but the defeated man would not
have it so. With a hoarse shout of rage he sprang to his feet and rushed
straight at Drake. When the latter saw him coming he set himself for the
onslaught with a jerk, and a dangerous light burned in his eyes.
The Irishman dashed for him with the speed and force of a wild bull, and
Drake ducked slightly. Then as the man reached him he grasped him by the
wrists, and straightened up with a great heave. The sailor went flying
over his head and shot through the air like a projectile from a gun.
A cry went up from everybody there, for it seemed certain that he would
be killed. Fortunately, however, his momentum was so great that it
carried him clear to the wall, where he dove head first into a bunk. For
a moment he lay stunned, but then staggered weakly out, shaking his head
from side to side.
"Be all the saints," he gasped, "Oi've met me match this night and got
the lickin' of me life. The best man won, that's all Oi've got to say.
Shake hands before ye go, will ye, kid?"
"Sure," said Drake frankly, extending his hand. "You gave me a hard
tussle, and deserved to win. I hope I never have to stand up against you
again," he added, with a grin, "for you're certainly a dandy."
Then he and his followers filed out, and returned to the training
quarters. The first person they saw when they entered was Reddy, and he
grinned broadly as they came in. Bert had hinted pretty broadly at the
object of their visit to the forecastle, but had not told Reddy openly
what was in the wind, as in his official capacity the trainer would not
have felt in a position to sanction the affair. As it was, he awaited
news of the outcome with considerable anxiety, and seemed much relieved
when the whole contest was recounted to him and he learned of its
successful termination.
"Well, to bed with you now, you worthless spalpeens," he said at the end
of the recital. But as they were dispersing to their bunk he called,
"I'm mighty glad you won, Drake."
The next morning Drake was on deck and practising at the usual time,
feeling no ill effects from his strenuous experience other than a slight
stiffness, which bothered him very little. In a couple of days even this
wore off, and the next day but one from the date of the exciting contest
he broke the record for discus throwing by a matter of almost six
inches, thus justifying the trainer's judgment.
As for the crew, they treated Drake with marked respect, and from that
day forward nothing more was heard from them except praise concerning
"college athletes," and especially "plate-throwers."