THE TRY-OUT.
"There he is, Jack!" exclaimed Major Woolford, leaning across the
railing of the judges' stand and pointing; "that's the youngster I was
telling you about. By gad, he's the speediest thing that ever happened
when it comes to a bike. Give him a sizing, Jack, and then take off
your hat to Young America at its best. You see, I know what he can
do, and I'm the one who told Carter to bring him to the track for a
try-out. Walks like he was on springs and handles himself without a
particle of lost motion--every move decisive and straight to the mark.
Oh, I don't know! As long as the Old Star-Spangled-Long-May-it-Wave can
give us lads like that I reckon the country's safe."
The major slipped his stop-watch into one pocket of his vest and pulled
a cigar-case out of another. As he passed the case to his friend,
Governor Gaynor, he noticed an amused smile on the governor's face.
The major was president, and the governor an honorary member, of the
Phoenix Athletic Club.
"Protégé of yours, major?" inquired the governor, striking a match.
"Not much, Jack," answered the major. "I don't believe in protégés,
favorites, or any other brand of humbug that leads to the door marked
'pull.' Give me a young fellow that stands on his own feet--the kind
that does his own climbing, Jack, without wasting valuable time looking
around for some one to give him a boost. That's the sort of a chap Matt
King is. Just keep your eye on him."
Below the judges' stand, in front of which ran the tape, a crowd of
forty or fifty persons had assembled. Fully half the crowd was made
up of members of the club, young, middle-aged, and a few with gray
in their hair--all devotees of clean, wholesome American sport. The
other half of the crowd consisted mostly of high-school boys who were
furnishing the majority of candidates for the try-out.
Matt, to whom the major had called the governor's attention, had
leaped lightly over the fence that guarded the farther side of the
track. Lined up just back of the fence were Susie McReady, Chub and
Welcome Perkins. They had come to see the try-out, hoping against hope
that something would happen to make Matt change his mind and become a
candidate in the bike event. Leaning against the top rail of the fence,
Matt stood watching the busy officers of the club and listening to the
incessant clamor of the high-school boys.
"'Rah! 'rah! 'rah! Do or die!
Phoenix! Phoenix! Phoenix High!"
The athletic clubs of both Phoenix and Prescott were for the
encouragement of amateurs. Professionals were barred. The clubs could
pick up material for their rival contests wherever they chose so long
as they did not enlist any one who had ever competed for a money prize.
There was an odd expression on Matt King's open, handsome face as he
looked and listened--a touch of wistfulness, it might be, softening the
almost steelly resolution of his gray eyes.
"What do you know about him, major?" asked the governor, staring across
the track through the cigar-smoke and feeling an instinctive admiration
for the trim, boyish figure in cap, sweater and knickerbockers.
"Our acquaintance lasted less than an hour, and was mighty informal,"
chuckled the major. "I was returning from the Indian School in
my motor-car, about a week ago, when along comes that boy on his
wheel. He tried to go by, and--well, when I'm out for a spin in that
six-thousand-dollar car I'm not letting anything on hoofs or wheels
throw sand in my face. I tells the driver to speed her up, and by
and by we have the boy's legs working like piston-rods. He was still
abreast of us when some confounded thing or other slips a cog under the
bonnet; then we begin to sputter and buckjump, and finally stop dead.
The boy gives us the laugh and goes on.
"Mike, my driver, gets out to locate the injury. But it's too many for
Mike. He was just telling me he'd have to go to the nearest farmhouse
and telephone the garage, when the boy on the wheel comes trundling
back. He asks me as nice as you please if there's anything the matter,
and if he can't help us out. I was just about to tell him that he had
another guess coming if he thought he could make good where Mike had
fallen down, when he slips out of his saddle, makes a couple of passes
at the machinery, closes the bonnet and begins to crank up. Mike got
back in his seat and laughed like he thought it was a good joke; then
he pretty near threw a fit when the machine jogged off as well as ever.
The boy gave us the laugh again, this time from the rear. And that's
how he happened to make a hit with me. I've heard that he knows more
about motors than----"
"All ready, boys!" came the voice of the starter.
Dace Perry and two other boys had their wheels at the tape, but Matt
King continued to lean against the fence and made no move to come
forward.
"Hurry up, King!" shouted the starter. "What's the matter with you?"
"I haven't a wheel any more, Mr. Carter," answered Matt, "and I'm not a
candidate. That's what I came out here to tell you."
"Not a candidate?" boomed the major, from up in the stand. "Don't you
know the prize that goes to the winner in this event when we meet
Prescott is as good as two hundred and fifty dollars? It's not a money
prize, for we don't intend to make professionals out of you boys,
but----"
"He's lost his nerve, that's what's the matter with him."
The words were so uncalled for, and the taunt in the voice so vicious,
that every eye turned at once on the speaker. The captain of the
cross-country team, arms folded and hostile gaze leveled at Matt, stood
leaning against his machine.
"Quitter!" scoffed a voice in the crowd.
"Dry up, Perry!" called the starter. "You too, Spangler. Neither of you
has any call to butt in."
Matt left the fence and advanced slowly across the track toward Perry.
"I've lost my nerve, have I, Dace Perry?" Matt inquired, with a
half-laugh.
"What else do you call it?" demanded Perry, keeping his black eyes
warily on the other's face.
As Matt stood staring at Perry his expression changed to one of the
utmost good humor. Finally, with a broad smile, he turned to the
starter.
"It looks as though Perry was going to be lonesome, Mr. Carter," said
he, "if I don't ride with him. Can you dig up a wheel for me?"
Half a dozen in the high-school crowd set up a yell. "Take mine, Matt;
take mine!"
"I know something about yours, Splinters," went on Matt, facing one of
the lads, "and if you'll oblige me I'll spin it around the track."
"You bet!" chirruped Splinters, bounding away.
"I didn't come here for a try-out, Mr. Carter," said Matt, "but I don't
want Perry or any one else to think that I'm a quitter or that my nerve
is giving out. Can I ride in this race even if I shouldn't be able to
meet the fellow from Prescott when the big event is pulled off?"
"What's the use of jockeying around like that?" grumbled Dace Perry.
"What's the use of a try-out if the fellow that makes good don't hold
down his end at the big meet?"
Carter was in a quandary, and cast an upward look toward Major Woolford.
"What do you say to that, major?" he asked.
"If we select you to represent the Phoenix Athletic Club in the
bicycle-race, Matt," inquired the major, "why can't we count on you to
be on hand and see the thing through?"
A touch of red ran into Matt's face.
"I may not be in Phoenix when the Prescott fellows come down, major,"
he replied.
"I'll take chances on that," growled the major. "Try him out, Carter."
Splinters, at that moment, came up with his machine. "I was going into
this myself, Matt," said he, with a significant look at Perry, "but
changed my mind. My racing-clothes are over in the dressing-room. They
wouldn't be overly wide for you, but they'd be plenty long."
"Much obliged, Splinters," returned Matt, rolling the bicycle to the
tape, "but I'll race as I stand."
A moment more and the four boys were shoved away at the crack of the
starter's pistol. The major, watch in hand, followed the flight around
the track with eager eyes.
"See him go, Jack!" he cried. "Why, that boy is off like a scared
coyote making for home and mother. Dace Perry hasn't a ghost of a show."
The track measured a mile, and was a perfect oval. There were no trees
to intercept the vision, and every part of the course could be seen by
the major and the governor.
At the quarter Matt was the length of his wheel ahead of Perry, and
Perry was the same distance ahead of the foremost racer behind him.
At the half the distance, so far as Matt and Perry were concerned,
remained the same, but the other two racers were hopelessly in the rear.
"Look at Perry work!" rumbled the major. "He's got his back up like a
Kilkenny cat on the fence, and I can almost hear him puff clear over
here. But that King boy has him beaten to a frazzle. Look at the _form_
of him, will you? Great! Man alive, it's just simply _superb_!"
"There doesn't seem to be any love lost between King and Perry,"
observed the governor, following the major as he pushed excitedly
around the stand in order to keep the racers at all times under his
eyes.
"The trouble with Perry," said the major, "is that he's got the
disposition of an Apache Indian. He wants to be the whole thing in the
high school, and Matt King, during the short time he's been in town,
has been boxing the compass all around him. Just look at the difference
between the two, Jack. They're at the three-quarters post and are
still the same distance apart. King intends to beat Perry, but he's
considerate enough to hang back and win out by no more than a nose. If
positions were changed so that Perry was in the lead instead of King,
I'll bet good money that----"
Just at that moment, when the two leading racers were making their
final spurt along the home-stretch, and when every nerve was as tense
as a back-stay and every spectator had dropped into silence preparatory
to hailing the victor with all his lung power, a spiteful _crack_ cut
the air from some point below the grand stand.
Simultaneously with the incisive note, Matt's bicycle was seen to
swerve suddenly across Perry's path. Perry's wheel rushed into Matt's
with a rattling crash and both riders were flung to the ground with
terrific force.
"Great guns!" gasped the major, aghast. "I wonder if they're killed?"
"We'd better go and find out," returned the governor grimly.
Hurrying down the stairs, the major and the governor joined the excited
crowd that was flocking toward the scene of the mishap.