THE TRY-OUTS
There must have been rather a strenuous time between Dr. Churchill and
Proctor Zane early the next morning--a discussion concerning college
ethics that, as Tom learned later, had a bearing on his own case. But
nothing came of it, and though at chapel Dr. Churchill spoke rather
solemnly on “duty” he made no direct reference to anyone.
Tom was not summoned to the proctor’s office, for which he was duly
thankful, not that he felt that he would have betrayed Shambler, but he
did not like to be cross-questioned.
Just how the news leaked out no one could say, but such things do become
known, more or less, in all colleges, and it was common rumor that the
proctor and the president had differed materially on the point of making
Tom tell. But Dr. Churchill won his contention, and the episode became a
closed one.
As the days of Spring wore on, with the grass growing greener, and the
weather more and more mild, there came over all a spirit of unrest, and
yet not so much unrest as it was a desire to be up and doing.
The diamond was being put in shape. The line-up of the nine was already
much talked of, but, overshadowing all this, was the prospect of the
track games. Several meetings had been held of the committees in charge
of the proposed big meet, and final details were being gradually worked
out.
It had been practically decided that the affair would be held in Tonoka
Park. This was a sort of summer resort near Tonoka Lake, which gave the
name to the football and baseball leagues, of which I have written
elsewhere.
Exter, the new member of the league, showed a disposition to have the
meet held on their own athletic grounds, which a millionaire had
presented to the institution, with much display of black type in the
newspapers. But the contentions of Randall, Boxer Hall and Fairview were
heeded. They were to the effect that a neutral field was fairer for all
concerned.
But there was much else to be done. While, naturally, I have dwelt
mostly on the doings at Randall in this volume, of course much the same
things were being done at the other three institutions.
There was practice, practice and still more practice, on all sides.
Trainers and coachers were busy at each college, and the gymnasiums and
fields presented animated scenes every day. Everyone was training hard,
for this was the first holding of the quadruple meet, and each college
wanted to win.
It had been decided that the total number of points scored should decide
the winner. And, to this end, the rules of the Amateur Athletic Union
had been adopted.
“How many events are going to be run off?” asked Tom one afternoon, as
Holly Cross and Kindlings were holding a consultation. “When are we
going to know ’em?”
“We can tell you now what events will likely be the main ones,” answered
Holly. “Of course, more may be added after we have the final try-outs
and pick those who are to hold up the honor of Randall.
“There’ll be a mile run, a hurdle race, high jumping, broad jumping,
putting the fifty-six pound weight, the sixteen pound shot, and the
hammer-throw. Then there’ll be a pole-vaulting contest, and probably a
hundred-yard dash. Oh, there’s to be honor and glory enough for all who
make good.”
“And the try-outs?” asked Sid. “I’d like to know if I’ve got to train to
the minute.”
“We all have!” exclaimed Holly. “Not a man at Randall can afford to grow
stale. Hello, there comes Shambler. I’m hoping a lot from him. If he
pulls down the mile run for us it will help a lot. Then we’re depending
on Dutch in the weight contest, and--well, but what’s the use of
talking--we’re counting on every man in Randall. We want to win all the
events if we can.”
“And we’ll be there with the goods!” declared Frank Simpson.
“Well, everybody on his mark!” went on Holly. “I think the final
try-outs will be held in a few days, and then we’ll know who we’ll have
to depend on specially. Of course there may be changes later on, but we
want to get a line on where we stand.”
For the next few days practice went on unceasingly. From early morning
until dusk fell some of the boys were out on the field, running,
leaping, springing, using the pole, testing themselves in the broad or
high jump, taking hurdles or throwing weights or hammers. And the four
inseparables did their share.
Shambler, too, was active. He was rapidly forging to the front as one of
the best athletes that had ever worn the “R” of Randall, and though many
did not care much for him, even his enemies had to admit that he was
likely to bring honor to the college.
“That was mighty white of you, old man, not to give me away,” he said to
Tom, one day, after the rumor of the demand made by the proctor had
become quite well known. “I’ll not forget it, either, I assure you.”
“All right--don’t get caught--that’s all,” was Tom’s not very gracious
reply.
“No more chances for me,” declared Shambler. “Too much depends on it.”
Tom wondered whether he meant his own fortunes, or those of Randall, and
he could not help thinking of the shabby man who had been so eager to
get money from the new student.
“Come on! Come on! Everybody on the job!” cried Holly Cross one fine
afternoon. “This is the last chance! Final try-outs this afternoon!”
The crowd of athletes poured from the gymnasium, where the notice had
been posted for some time, and flocked out on the field, ready to do
their best to win the coveted places of defending the honor of Randall.
“We’ll have the mile run first,” decided Kindlings, after a talk with
Holly. “We’ll pick the three best men to go in the games against Boxer
Hall, Fairview and Exter. Come on now, you fellows who are going to
run.”
An eager crowd watched the preparations and warm-up practice. Then came
the crack of the pistol, and the field was off.
It is not my purpose here to describe the preliminary trials in detail,
so I will merely state that Shambler came out first in the mile run,
with Tom Parsons second and Jerry Jackson third.
“They’ll go in for Randall,” announced Holly, as he jotted down the
names. “Now for the broad jump.”
In this Frank Simpson came out ahead, with Sid Henderson second and Pete
Backus third.
“But I’m going to win when it comes to the final,” declared Pete
earnestly. “I haven’t had enough practice yet.”
“And you’ll never get it, I’m afraid,” said Kindlings under his breath.
Still he could not help but admire the persistency of “the grasshopper.”
There was much interest in the one hundred and twenty yard hurdle race,
and this promised to be one of the best events on the card.
The new pieces of apparatus were used, and worked well. Phil Clinton
came out ahead, but Joe Jackson was a close second. When it came to
picking third there was hard work, for Sam Looper, Dan Woodhouse,
Kindlings and Sid Henderson were so well bunched that it was hard to
decide, and the six were put down as possible starters against the rival
colleges.
In the high jump Berry Foster was first, with Jim Weston second and Paul
Hughes third. Dutch Housenlager, with his big bunches of muscles easily
won the palm at throwing the fifty-six pound weight, Dan Woodhouse being
second and Bean Perkins, who said it would not interfere with his
shouting abilities, coming out third.
Phil Clinton easily distanced the others at the pole vaulting contest,
Red Warren being second and Holly Cross third; while at putting the
sixteen pound shot, Dan Woodhouse won, with Frank Simpson second and Sid
as a good third.
“Now that we’ve got this much settled we can come somewhere knowing
where we’re at,” declared Holly, after the final try-outs. “This doesn’t
mean that none of you fellows haven’t a chance,” he hastened to add,
“for we may need any one of you yet, so keep in training.”
“Well, I’m glad this much is over,” remarked Tom, as he joined his three
chums, who were walking toward the gymnasium for a welcome shower bath.
“Same here!” cried a voice behind them, and Shambler came running up.
“Say,” he cried, “I wish the games were to-morrow, instead of a week or
more off. I’m as fit as a fiddle!”
In what was probably the exuberance of his animal spirits he came
running up, and, with a leap landed on Frank’s back.
“Look out!” cried the Big Californian. “You’ll upset me!”
“It’ll do you good!” cried Shambler. “Here we go!”
But Frank, who was rather tired, was in no mood for horse-play of this
character. He slewed around, slumped over and fairly dumped Shambler off
his shoulders.
A moment later the new student came down heavily on Frank’s foot
with his spiked running shoes. There was a cry of pain from Frank, a
well-meant gasp of apology from the offender, and then the lad from the
state of the Golden Gate limped painfully to one side.
“What’s the matter?” cried Tom.
“My foot! My foot!” murmured Frank. “I’m afraid----”
He would have fallen had not Phil caught him, while the others gathered
about Shambler with a look of concern on his face.