who have the inside of you. Let’s try it again. You give the signal this time.”
After ten minutes of it, Allan picked up his sweater and followed Hooker down the track to report to Kernahan. The football men had taken possession of the gridiron by this time, Long and others were practising at the high jump, and altogether the field looked very busy.
“You and Ware try three laps,” said the trainer to Hooker. “Watch your form, now, and never mind about your time. I’ll attend to that for you. Take turn about at the pacing; you take the first lap, Hooker. Want to get into this, Larry?”
Rindgely nodded and peeled off his sweater. The others had to trot about for a minute or two while Rindgely stretched his muscles. Then the three got on to the mark, Billy gave the word, and they started off at an easy pace, Hooker in the lead, Allan next, and Rindgely in the rear. All three hugged the rim of the track and settled down into their pace. On the back-stretch they had to slow down once to avoid a group of football substitutes who were crossing the cinders, and once Rindgely was forced to leap over a ball that came bouncing out onto the track, and was much incensed about it. Hooker’s pace was wonderfully steady, but Allan thought it rather slow. At the mark Billy told them to “hit it up a bit now,” and Hooker slowed down, letting Allan into the lead.
Allan increased the pace considerably. This time there were no interruptions, and they neared the end of the second lap fresh and untired. Kernahan glanced up from his watch as they sped by.
“All right!” he shouted. “Get up there, Larry, and hold that pace.”
Rindgely took the lead. As they commenced the turn Allan’s gaze, wandering a second from the front, lighted upon a tall, wide-shouldered and somewhat uncouth figure at the edge of the track. Strange to say, the figure nodded its head at him and waved a hand, and as Allan went by there came a stentorian cry of encouragement that might have been heard half across the field:
“Chase ’em down, Freshman! Give ’em fits!”
Allan bit his lips angrily as he sped on. What business had that big chump yelling at him like that when he didn’t even know him? Pretty fresh, that’s what it was! Allan hadn’t made the acquaintances of so many fellows but that he could remember them, and he was quite sure that he had never met the big chap who had yelled. But at the same time there had been something familiar about the fellow’s voice – too familiar, thought Allan with a grudging smile – and he wondered who he might be and why he had singled him out for his unwelcome attentions. Then the incident passed for the time out of his mind, for the last turn was almost at hand and Rindgely was increasing the pace.
Allan began to feel it at the turn, and when they swung into the home-stretch and the pace, instead of settling down to a steady finish, grew faster and faster, he came to the unwelcome conclusion that he was not in the same class with the other two. Rindgely, in spite of all Allan could do, lengthened the space between them. Hooker, seeing that Allan was out of it, passed him fifty yards from the mark and strove to overhaul the leader. But Rindgely was never headed, and finished several yards in front of Hooker and at least thirty ahead of Allan. When they turned and jogged back to the trainer, the latter was slipping his watch into his pocket.
“What’s the good of doing that, Larry?” he asked, disgustedly. “That wasn’t a race.”
“Oh, I just wanted to liven it up a bit,” answered Rindgely, grinning. “What time did I make, Billy?”
“I didn’t take you,” answered the trainer, shortly. “That’s enough for to-day.”
Allan turned away with the others, but Billy called him back.
“What was the matter?” he asked. “Pace too hot for you?”
“I suppose so; I couldn’t stand that spurt.”
“Well, that was some of Larry’s nonsense; he’d no business cutting up tricks.” He was silent a moment, looking across to where the second eleven was trying vainly to keep the varsity from pushing over her goal-line. Then, “Ever try the two miles?” he asked. Allan shook his head.
“I don’t believe I’d be any good at it,” he answered. “Not that I’m any good at the mile, either,” he added, somewhat discouraged at the outcome of the trial.
“What’s the best you ever did at the mile?”
“About four minutes forty-five seconds.”
“You did it inside of forty, Friday.”
“I did?” Allan looked his surprise. “Oh, but I ran a hundred and twenty yards short.”
“I allowed for that,” answered Billy, quietly. “Now, look here, Ware; you’ve got it in you all right, but you don’t make the most of yourself. You let your feet drag back badly, and you’ve been trying after too long a stride. You make that shorter by six inches and you’ll cut off another second after a while. And to-morrow I’ll show you what I mean about the stride. There’s plenty of time before the dual meet in the spring, and by then we’ll have you doing things right. The only thing is,” he added, thoughtfully, “whether you wouldn’t do better at the two miles. What do you think?”
“I really don’t know,” answered Allan, doubtfully, “but I’d like to try it.”
“Well, there’s lots of time. The indoor meet in Boston comes along in February; we’ll have you in shape for that, and you can go in for the mile and the two miles. Meanwhile, you’d better come out with the other men while the decent weather lasts.”
“Do you think I can make the team?” Allan asked, hopefully.
“Easy; but they don’t take new men on till after the trials in the spring.”
“Oh!” said Allan, a trifle disappointed.
“Don’t let that bother you,” advised the trainer. “You’re as good as on it now. You make the most of the fall training, Ware, and keep fit during the winter. I’d go in for hockey or something. Ever play hockey?”
“Yes, but I can’t skate well enough.”
“Well, get plenty of outdoor exercise of some sort this winter; don’t let the weather keep you indoors.”
“All right, I’ll remember.” Allan’s gaze wandered toward the locker building. Half-way across the field a big figure was ambling toward the gate, hands in pockets. Allan turned quickly to the trainer. “Do you know who that fellow is?” Kernahan’s gaze followed his. After a moment:
“That’s a freshman named Burley. Know him?”
“No; I just wondered who he was,” Allan replied.
“And I don’t want to know him,” he muttered, irritably, as he trotted off to the locker house.
But Fate seldom consults our inclinations.
CHAPTER IV
HAL HAS AN IDEA
It seemed to Allan during the next few days that the bulky form of Peter Burley was bent upon haunting him. On Tuesday morning, in English, he was aware of Burley’s presence a few rows behind him; when he looked around, it was to encounter the big fellow’s smiling regard. There was really nothing offensive in that smile; it was merely one of intense friendliness, quite unconventional in its intensity, but it irritated Allan greatly. Why
