FRANK WINS HONORS ON THE TRACK.
David very quickly dropped into the school life, just as Frank had
done. The two room-mates were always together. David was eager to
see everything, and every day found him, after the school work was
done, down at the track or the gridiron. He also found time to get
acquainted with the muscle building apparatus in the gymnasium. A
certain small amount of gymnastic work was required at Queen's, but
David had determined to take up some specialty. From the nature of
his infirmity those things which could be done with the arms and body
were, of course, the only things open to him. Patsy's assistant in
the gymnasium, Harry Buehler, took him under his wing, and set him at
tasks which would help to develop his arm and shoulder muscles.
"Do you think there's any chance for me to do anything for the
school?" inquired David, shortly after he began his work.
"Why, certainly there is. One of the best athletes we had here three
or four years ago was a chap named Bascom. He had bad legs, but the
way he could handle himself on the horizontal bar was a caution. He
set the record here, too, for rope-climbing. I don't think it will be
broken for some time to come."
David made a mental note that if he could develop, he would take a
whack at that record, whatever it was. In the meantime he was content
to do the simple athletic tasks which were set for him. Frank, who
was not much for gymnastic work, preferring the outdoor athletics,
came down to see David one day, and found that youngster lying on the
mat and raising dumbbells at arm's length.
"Great Scott," he said, "where did you get all that strength? I don't
believe I could do that so easily."
David grinned. "Perhaps the explanation is that the strength I
haven't got in my legs goes to my arms. I can lift heavier ones than
that. Look," and he seized a 25-pound bell and swung it up and down.
Frank was amazed. "I didn't think you had such strength. What will
you be when you work a while under Buehler? I'll certainly not get
into a fight with you. I'd have no chance at all."
"I guess we will not fight right away," returned David. "But I say,
you are in the track games to-morrow, are you not? I noticed a
bulletin tacked up on the door giving the entries. Does football stop
the afternoon of the games? I see some of the players' names there."
"Yes, they give the pigskin warriors a day off, and some of them take
part. The games are chiefly to give Patsy a line on what there is in
the incoming class. In order to make it interesting as a contest,
every one takes part, the 'Q' men as well as the new men."
"You're going to try the hundred and the broad jump, I see."
"Yes, Patsy says I may be good at one or the other if I live long
enough. But I haven't much hopes of myself. I'm too green."
"I'll bet you will make the best of them all," said David
enthusiastically.
"Oh, come now, David, no taffy here. It's bad enough for a fellow who
can do something to have a swelled head, but when a fellow can't do
anything at all, it's fatal. So don't try to puff me. I won't stay
and listen or I may get the big-head microbe. See you later. Don't
strain yourself with those big weights. I'm responsible to your dad
for your well-being. Ta, ta."
At four o'clock the next afternoon there was a sprinkling of Queen's
boys, the non-athletic fellows, down on the stands, to see what
the new class was likely to do for the school in the way of track
athletics. Queen's had been down in the dumps in this particular
line of sport for several years, and it had become almost a habit to
lose to Warwick. There was always pretty good material available for
the weight events, but for some singular reason no sprinters headed
Queen's way. It had become noised about that a new sprinter in the
person of Frank Armstrong had been turned up by Patsy, and every one
wanted to see just how fast he was.
The first race to be run was the quarter in which there were seven
starters. Queen's track was a quarter-mile, and the runners were
to start at the middle of the back stretch, and finish down the
straightaway. This gave them only one turn, and it was supposed to
be easier on that account. Hillard was scratch man on this event.
The new men were given various handicaps--that is, Patsy set them
at points from 10 to 20 yards further along, so as to even up their
speed with that of Hillard, who had won the event the year before
from the best that Warwick had to offer.
"Nothing in that bunch," said a Senior as he looked the fellows over;
"they're not strong enough. Look at that skinny Freshman with 20
yards handicap. I'll bet he'll die half way down the stretch."
The little chap he referred to was a slender boy of fourteen, light
haired almost to whiteness, and very spindly in his shanks. He had
come from some little town in the western part of the state, and was
so insignificant looking that no one paid much attention to him in
the fall practice. Even Patsy's eye failed to note him. His name was
Brown--Tommy Brown.
After Patsy had put all his runners on their marks, he gave the usual
preparatory signal for starting, and the pistol snapped. There was a
rush of spectators for the end of the straightaway where the runners
were to finish. Hillard, sure of himself, and moving rapidly, soon
began to overhaul the inexperienced Freshmen. One by one he passed
them, and as he swung into the straightaway with half the distance
gone, only two were ahead of him. One of these was the fellow who had
run second to Hillard the year before, and the other was Brown, the
skinny one.
"Look at that toothpick coming," rose a cry from the watchers. He
certainly was "coming" like a locomotive, his thin legs flying
and his arms working like flails. A hundred yards from the finish
Hillard caught Peckham, but the little whitehead was still legging
it ten yards in front of him. And now Hillard settled down to do his
best. Slowly he came up on Tommy Brown while the school yelled its
applause, but those thin, flying shanks still continued to move with
unbroken rhythm, and despite Hillard's greatest efforts he could not
overhaul the Freshman who, with a great burst of speed, broke the
tape six feet ahead of the champion. Immediately there was a babel of
voices.
"Hurray for Skinny!"
"New world-beater come to town."
"Hurray for the Freshman!"
"Hard luck, Hillard, old boy."
Patsy who had made a short cut from the start of the quarter to
the finish, and got there just in time to see the Freshman's great
effort, hurried after him on the way to the gymnasium, and whispered
a word of praise in his ear. Coming back he displayed a stop watch
whose hand pointed to 55 3-5 seconds.
"And that's going some for a kid," he said. "I'll make something of
him before he gets through at Queen's." And Patsy kept his word, for
Tommy Brown not only won points for his school, but when he went to
college---- But that's another story.
After the quarter mile came the half, but nothing worth while turned
up there. The event was run in slow time, and the Freshmen who were
entered made a very poor showing.
Then came the first heat of the hundred yards dash. Twelve runners
were entered--among them Frank Armstrong, who was drawn in the first
lot to be sent over the distance. As they came from the gymnasium and
trotted up to the start, their good points were commented on by the
spectators.
"Armstrong looks like a runner," said one. "He has a good step and a
good face."
"I don't care about his face," said another of the group, "if he has
good legs and knows how to use them."
David and Gleason were perched on the uppermost row of the stand
where they could see the entire length of the hundred. David was all
excitement. "Do they all run together?" he asked Gleason.
"Oh, no, they run it in heats or trials. It wouldn't be fair to run
them all at the same time for they couldn't all get an even start.
This track will only accommodate six at one time. First, second and
third in each heat qualify for the finals, so you see each runner has
to go over the distance twice."
"I see."
"They're getting ready," announced Gleason. "See them getting down on
their toes. They're off!"
A white puff of smoke came from the pistol in Patsy's hand, and the
sound of the explosion came sharply to their ears. Away at the top of
the stretch they saw the runners spring forward.
Down the track they swept for thirty yards, none having any
advantage. Then the runner on the pole and Frank began to forge to
the front. On they came, nip and tuck, until just near the finish the
fellow on the pole made a great effort and broke the tape four or
five feet ahead of Frank. The third man was a step behind Frank.
"Oh, what a pity he couldn't keep up," said David mournfully.
"What's the matter with you? He did exactly right," said Gleason.
"How is that--he was beaten, wasn't he?"
"Yes, my son," replied the Codfish, "he was beaten for first place,
but he qualified for the final, and that's all you need. What was
the use of his running himself out? You see what an effort the other
fellow had to win, didn't you? I told Frank myself to run easy in
this first heat even if he only came in third place. Third would have
been just as good as where he finished."
Then came the second trial of the hundred immediately on the heels
of the first. This was well run, but slower, and it was won by the
bandy-legged Herring. A Freshman named King was second, and Wilson, a
Sophomore, third.
The mile followed and showed nothing promising, no Freshmen getting
nearer than fifth place.
"Didn't expect anything, anyway," said Patsy. "A fellow has to
learn to run the mile." But in the hurdle trials Tommy Brown, the
skinny spindle-shanks, surprised everybody by galloping off with
first place, beating out Morris, the Junior hurdler. In the finals,
however, Morris got back at him and won, but the Freshman made him
stretch himself to the limit. Patsy was as happy as a lark at finding
such youngsters.
"This Freshman class has some good stuff in it," he said, "the best
that has come to Queen's for many moons. Armstrong and Brown are
going to be corkers, you mark my words. Just watch Armstrong in the
hundred. For a kid who has had no experience he is a wonder."
"All out for the finals of the hundred," cried Patsy's assistant, who
was helping to run off the events. The summons brought out the six
who had been successful in the trials--Collins, Herring, Armstrong,
King, Wilson, and a Junior named Howard. The latter two were not
expected to figure very heavily in the race.
"Collins and Herring will run scratch in this race," said Patsy, who
was getting the six ready up at the start. "You two Freshmen go to
that six-foot handicap mark; Howard and Wilson, you take an extra
yard."
The boys went to their places, and there was a false start, but on
the next attempt they got away splendidly. The first spring took
Frank ahead of King, and he never saw him again until the race was
over, but Collins, who had got a magnificent start, had made up most
of the distance in the first thirty yards. Frank felt him at his
elbow, and determined not to let him pass that point. On they flew.
The spectators were crowding out on the track and craning their
necks. Collins was running desperately for his reputation as the best
sprinter in the school was at stake. He had come up on Frank inch by
inch, but every inch was hard won. The crowd was close above them now
and shouting:
"Collins!"
"Armstrong!"
"The Freshman's winning!"
"Gee, what a race!"
Inch by inch Collins gained till he was even with Frank, but past him
he could not get. Frank was running with every ounce of power in his
body, and still held on. He could see the little red line across his
path at the finish now, and in another instant he felt the touch of
it on his breast. But at the same instant Collins touched it, too.
"A dead heat, a dead heat," shouted the crowd. The boys had crossed
the line exactly together.
"Good, Freshman!"
"That's the boy, Armstrong."
And half a score of his own class surrounded Frank and patted him on
the back. The effort had been so great that he could hardly stand,
and he was glad enough when Jimmy and Lewis took him by the shoulders
and let him rest some of his weight on them, but he soon recovered
a bit. Herring, who was third, and Collins came up and gave him a
kindly word, and Patsy said when Frank had started for the gym,
"There is a game kid, I tell you. When he knows how to run, as I mean
he shall, you will all take off your hats to him. I guess we will
have something to send down to the Interscholastics in New Haven next
spring after all."