REDDY'S RECOLLECTIONS
IN spite of the trainer's autocratic rule, the life of the team while in
training was not just one long grind, without any recreation to break
the monotony. Reddy, it is true, prohibited theaters and kindred
amusements, because they necessarily meant late hours, and late hours,
as the trainer well knew, meant decreased efficiency, both physical and
mental.
Nevertheless, he had no objection to the athletes playing quiet games of
an evening, provided they were well up in their studies, and sometimes
even contributed to the general enjoyment by spinning some yarn culled
from his own vast store of "past performances."
Whenever the members of the squad found him in a reminiscent mood, all
other amusements were suspended, and they would listen attentively to
the little trainer's reminiscences of victories won on field and track.
In his day Reddy had taken part in almost every branch of sport, and
could tell stories about them all. For some time this particular evening
he had not uttered a word, however, and had sat listening to the
conversation of his charges with a faraway look in his twinkling blue
eyes. The boys had been talking of motorcycling, and had been discussing
Bert's record-breaking run across the continent.
In a lull of the conversation he spoke up.
"Motorcycle racing is all right in its way," he said, "but for real
sport on two wheels give me the old bicycling days. Why, we had more fun
then at one meet than you guys have now in a whole season. I call to
mind one time----"
Reddy stopped to light the pipe that he had been carefully packing with
rather rank tobacco, and there was a general movement toward him while
he was taking the first few puffs. Feet and chairs scraped, and by the
time he had his pipe pulling satisfactorily there was a ring of
interested faces gathered about him.
"I suppose you think I'm going to spin ye a yarn now, ye
good-for-naughts, don't ye?" he inquired, with a ferocious glance around
the circle.
"If you back out now, Reddy," laughed Bert, "after getting us worked up
this way, we'll all swear to throw the next game we play, just to get
even with you."
"Well, I suppose I'll have to satisfy you, that bein' the case," said
Reddy, his assumed ferocity of demeanor melting down into a broad grin,
"although 'tis not much of a tale at that."
"'Twas in the palmy days of the bike, when everybody that could possibly
scrape the price together owned one. A bicycle race in them days meant
somethin', let me tell you, and people for fifty miles around would
organize parties to go see it.
"Well, I had the fever just like everybody else, and after a while, when
I'd saved up enough, me and a friend bought a tandem machine. It cost a
pretty penny all right, but it was a well-built machine, and had better
stuff in it than most bikes you see nowadays.
"My partner, whose name was Barney Keogh, and myself took many a long
spin on it, and many a time had sprints with other 'speed boys' out on
the road. We got so we could hit it up at a pretty hot clip, but neither
of us ever thought of going into the racing game.
"But one fine Sunday there was a big meet to be held at the old Newark
track, in New Jersey, and we made up our minds to go see it. We started
out bright an' early and took it easy along the road enjoyin' the
scenery and the fresh, mornin' air. 'Twas in the early spring, I
remember, and we both felt like two colts that had just been turned
loose in a big pasture.
"We just took it easy though, for we had quite a long pull ahead of us,
and we was enjoyin' ourselves too much to want to hurry anyway. We got
to the track a good hour before the first race was slated to start, and
after puttin' our bike in a safe place we meandered around, seein' if we
could locate anybody we knew. We hadn't gone far when I heard someone
callin' my name, and when I turned I saw a feller named Robertson, a man
I'd worked for once. I introduced Barney, and we hadn't talked very long
before Robertson informed me that he was one of the committee in charge
of affairs. 'Come on around with me to the judges box,' he invited, 'an
I'll get you a couple of good seats.'
"O' course that was pretty soft for us, so we trailed along with him and
he located us in fine seats not far from the judges box. Of course we
thanked him and then he shook hands and hurried off.
"Well, the first events passed off all right, although they were rather
tame, and then came the big race, which for that day happened to be a
tandem race. There was a big purse offered for the winner, and there
were several entrants. But for some reason there was a long wait, and
first thing we knew there was Robertson coming toward us, his face red
and perspirin' and his collar wilted.
"He rushes up to us, and leans over and whispers:
"'Say, Reddy,' he says, 'you can help us out if you want to. We're shy
an entrant. One of the teams hasn't shown up, and according to the
conditions of the race no less than six entrants can start. We've only
got five, and if the race isn't ridden the crowd will go wild. Here's a
chance for you and your friend to help us out of a bad fix and at the
same time maybe win a nice piece of money for yourselves.'
"Well, at first Barney and me was knocked flat, an' then we turned down
the proposition cold. But Robertson wouldn't take no for an answer.
"'It can't hurt you any, can it?' he said. 'An' if you should win, think
of the coin you'd pull down. Why, you've got everything to win and
nothing to lose.'
"Well, to make a long story short, he finally talked us into it, and we
beat it around and got our machine. By the time we got on the track the
crowd was getting pretty impatient, and Robertson hustled us around to
the starting line.
"'Do your best, boys,' he says, 'it's a ten mile race, so don't put all
your steam into it at once. Let one of the others set the pace and then
you come up at the end.'
"It sounded easy all right, but I guess both Barney and I were more
than a little doubtful about that 'coming up at the end' business. But
it was too late to back out then, so we lined up in front of the
starter's stand, and when the pistol cracked made a pretty fast getaway.
"We weren't in it with some of those professionals though, and before
we'd hit our speed at all they had several yards lead over us. But we
were feeling pretty strong at that. I was steering the bike, and I could
feel Barney pushing along like a steam engine. But at first it was all
we could do to hold our own, no matter how hard we pedaled. Pretty soon
I began to feel mighty tired I can tell you, and I guess Barney must
have, too, because we began dropping behind. But we kept on pushing like
mad, and pretty soon we began to get our second wind. And then we
certainly made that old tandem hum! We burned up that track for fair,
and before very long were on equal terms with the last team. We crept
steadily past them, and before the end of the sixth mile our front wheel
was even with the back wheel of the leaders.
"Well, by that time the crowd had begun to sit up and take notice, and
before we had covered another mile everybody was on their feet, cheering
like mad and waving flags. But no matter how hard we tried, we couldn't
seem to draw up even with the leading machine. By that time the blood
was beating through my head fit to burst it, and I suppose Barney must
have felt the same way. But neither of us was exactly what you might
call a quitter, so we kept on. And by the end of the ninth mile they
hadn't more than the length of one wheel's lead over us! As we started
the last lap I could feel the old bike shove forward, and I knew that
Barney had some reserve strength left. That kind o' put heart into me,
too, and I put everything I had into that last mile, believe me. Between
us we pretty nearly lifted that tandem off the ground at every stroke, I
guess. Anyway, we crawled up on the leaders inch by inch, and managed to
cross the finishing line a scant foot ahead of them.
"Well, I don't think I ever saw a much more excited crowd than that one.
They swarmed down onto the track, and it was only by makin' a mighty
quick sneak that we managed to get away from them. We weren't feeling
like being made heroes of just then, let me tell you. We were just about
all in."
"Believe me, I'd like to have been there," exclaimed Bert, as Reddy
finished; "it must have been a real race for fair. I should think that
after that you and your friend would have gone into professional bicycle
racing."
"We did try to," confessed the trainer with a grin, "but we could never
seem to do as well again, and after a few attempts we gave it up in
disgust. But we found the prize money very welcome, for we were both
hard up at the time.
"But now," he continued, "I've kept you up too late as it is, so off
with you. Vamoose!"