At Start And Finish Part 14

TO MR. WALTER BROWN.

Now, I have received a great many letters concerning athletic matters in my time, but few more interesting than this. Concealed under a very matter-of-fact speech and manner, there is in me a vein of the imaginative which I occasionally indulge. Sometimes a very small matter will be enough to send me on a very wild flight. I remember that I read the letter with the black border again and again, trying to picture to myself the one who wrote it. There were nine sentences, and six of them beginning with the "I,"--evidently a woman of strong personality. "I am desirous," "It is my wish," certainly indicated one accustomed to have her inclinations respected. "He comes of a family renowned for strength and vigor, and should be able to surpa.s.s all compet.i.tors," plainly showed a woman proud of her birth, and ambitious for success. A Virginian, a Fairfax. I made a mind picture of her as she wrote the letter, sitting in a cool and shaded room in one of those white-pillared, wide-halled mansions, built a century ago among the oaks. She was dressed in black, her figure tall and slender, her back straight and her head well poised. Her hair had a few threads of white in it, but a hint of color still showed in her cheeks, and the light had not yet gone out of her dark eyes. Her mouth I pictured a trifle thin-lipped and positive. At an old mahogany desk with big bra.s.s escutcheons she sat, the magnolias' heavy fragrance in the air, the song of the darkies sounding faintly from the distant fields. This is the picture I made on that November morning, and how long I should have dreamed I cannot say, had not Paddy's voice from under my window waked me from my trance, with "Jerry, ye Kildare divil, luk at the rake ye lift out the night; it's half a mind I hev to comb yer thick hid wid it."

Jerry protested his innocence in tones only less strident than Paddy's own, and the remarkably fluent and aggressive tirade of the latter was only lost to me when they had walked down the track and out of ear-shot.

Now, I defy any one to make mind pictures under such conditions, and I became my practical self at once. I shut off the romantic stop with a thud, and turning on the business pipe, proceeded to answer my mail.

Most of the circulars went into the waste basket; receipted bills into one compartment, unpaid into another. I answered a few of the routine letters, and then oddly enough I broke my rule, and took up the black-bordered letter again.

Who was this candidate for athletic fame? His name was not even mentioned in the letter. Evidently the son of Margaret Lee Fairfax was supposed to be too well known to need any further t.i.tle. A reference to my list gave me among the freshmen, "Richard Spotswood Fairfax, The Oaks, Fairfax Co., Va.," but this did not help me at all. He had certainly not appeared on track or field, or I should have remembered him, and he had even neglected a physical examination. He was probably bandy-legged, big-waisted, round-shouldered, and hollow-chested. He might be a sufferer from dyspepsia and heart disease; there were chances that he had a fancy for Greek roots, and thought football brutal. I have been asked by doting parents to make champion sprinters and weight putters out of just such timber,--although the age of miracles is past.

I had a conventional way of answering such letters, and prepared to go through the usual forms. A modest request it was indeed! "I should consider a second place no better than absolute failure." Little did she realize what a combination of excellences go to make up a winner, nor how many good men train faithfully for four years without getting a place.

Give him "especial care and attention"? Well, hardly, if he does not care enough about himself even to have his chart made out.

I had taken the sheet of paper and written the "Dear Madam," when there came a knock at the door, and at my "Come in," it swung leisurely open.

Just how I came to the conclusion I cannot tell, but I knew the first moment I set eyes on my visitor that it was Richard Spotswood Fairfax himself. He was not at all the monstrosity I had painted him; in fact, he was a mighty good-looking fellow. He was a little above average height, with a dark oval face, brown hair, and a wide smile that "wud timpt a man to borry a dollar," as Paddy once said. His tailor knew his business, though his suit of brown tweed fitted a trifle more loosely than our Northern style would have permitted. He also wore a low roll-collar, that showed a firm, round neck to advantage. He smiled when he entered, and sank into a chair by the side of my desk with a sigh of content and another smile. He was in no hurry to speak, and as I learned after was never in a hurry to do anything. He looked me over a moment with his handsome sleepy blue eyes, and then spoke in that melodious drawl which is taught nowhere else but in "ole Virginny." I do not remember how he introduced the subject, for I was too much taken with his voice to notice. I cannot begin to describe it, or the easy way in which the words followed each other, divorced from all such aggressive letters as _r_, _g_, and _t_.

He told me he wished to be examined, and a.s.signed some branch of sport to which he could give his attention; in effect, just what his mother had written, except that he omitted to say anything about winning or a first place. I asked him if he had ever done anything in athletics, and he said that barring a little gunning, a moderate amount of riding, and considerable fis.h.i.+ng, he had done nothing at all in sports. He expressed a decided preference for the fis.h.i.+ng, which I thought was characteristic.

To my question as to whether he had any choice whatever concerning work on track or cinder-path, he answered, none at all, except that which called for the least exertion would best suit his book. I decided that his mother had written truly when she said he "lacked ambition in this direction," and might have said that he lacked ambition in any other. It was surprising that I did not take a dislike to one who professed such a decided aversion to manly sports, but the boy was so open and frank about it that the impression was not at all disagreeable.

After Fairfax had told his story and answered a few questions, I ordered him in a short, Yankee fas.h.i.+on (that seemed almost brutal compared with his easy tones) to strip and I would take his measurements. At my direction he rose slowly, went over to the corner, leisurely took off coat and vest, and when he got down to the buff, and I looked up from my writing, as I live, I had answered three letters, and the clock had ticked off a full five minutes. (Two is usually enough to transform a shackled slave of Fas.h.i.+on to the freedom of a state of nature.) I laid my pen aside, and taking tape in hand began to look him over. I confess I could hardly restrain an exclamation of surprise. His languid ways and slow movements had not prepared me for any such development as he showed. The conventional costume of the nineteenth century is a wonderful disguise, designed by some man-milliner to hide the imperfections of a degenerate race. The trained athlete and the flabby dude look much alike in loose trousers and padded coats.

Now, d.i.c.k was neither athlete nor dude, though if I ever saw a man cut out for the former, he was the one. His skin was dark, but clear and velvety. He stood easily, with every muscle relaxed, and was as symmetrical as a demi-G.o.d. There was nothing out of proportion, no fat, no unused muscle, and no over-development. Indeed, I surmised, what afterward proved true, that he was the best specimen of an embryo athlete that it had ever been my good fortune to see.

I took him to the standard and found his height five feet ten and one-half inches. He lifted the scales at one hundred and fifty-eight, and then I put my tape on him and began my measurements. As I marked down one after another my admiration grew, and when I had finished and he had dressed and left me, I could not deny myself the pleasure of making out his chart, even before I finished the mail. A wonderful chart it was, too. The average percentage was not as high as that of one or two fellows who had the advantages of intelligent handling by good men at first-cla.s.s preparatory schools, but when it came to symmetrical development, there was not one in the same cla.s.s with him. The line was almost straight, a slight advantage only showing in measurements below the waist.

After the chart was finished I put it in a conspicuous place on the mantel, went back to my letters, and finally wrote Mrs. Fairfax as follows: "I shall be pleased to give your son the attention you ask.

Although it is impossible to guarantee any degree of success, he has the advantage of an unusually good development, and may make something of himself if he is willing to work faithfully and follow orders. It rests more with him than myself. There will be no extra charge."

It may seem rather a curt letter, but compared with what I usually write in answer to like requests it was remarkably "Chesterfieldian." Not that I am ever likely to so far forget myself as to neglect the common courtesies, but it is often necessary to be very positive in order to protect against further annoyance. I received an acknowledgment from "The Oaks" a few days after, which was not quite as dictatorial as the first, and in which the "I" was not nearly so much in evidence. It also asked me to report occasionally, and hinted that maternal authority might be invoked in case of difficulty, and that Richard Spotswood Fairfax had been taught to respect it thoroughly.

d.i.c.k appeared on the cinder-path the second day after his call on me, clad in irreproachable track costume, and I gave him a little trial with some of the other freshmen who had been out several weeks. He had never worn a running-shoe before that day, nor entered a contest, and yet he ran the "hundred" in eleven and three-fifths, and the "quarter" a little under the minute, coming in as fresh as paint, and without turning a hair. It was odd to see him standing with a half-dozen other fellows, who were drenched with perspiration, and wheezing like blacksmiths'

bellows, while he was not even tired.

The next day he cleared four feet eleven in the "running high," and nearly seventeen in the "running broad." Now, these were wonderful performances for a novice, particularly as d.i.c.k seemed not to exert himself in the least.

That night, as I sat in my room smoking a comforting pipe, I thought the matter over very thoroughly. I am a shy bird for "wonders," and doubtful concerning "phenoms," but I made up my mind in cold blood that almost anything was possible for Richard Spotswood Fairfax, of "The Oaks." With the advantages of my handling, he ought to be a world beater, and no mistake. As Tom Furness expresses a good thing, "There was frosting on top, and jelly between the layers."

Of course I said nothing of this to d.i.c.k, but ordered him regular all-round work in the gymnasium for the winter, and told him if he took good care of himself, we might make something of him in the spring. In those days we had no big indoor meets, and the men were allowed to do very much as they pleased until near the end of the winter. I am of the opinion that such rest is better in the end than a continuous course of training, particularly for men under twenty-one.

I saw considerable of d.i.c.k, and was well satisfied to have him keep to easy exercise. He filled out a bit, and the muscles on his shapely body grew large and firm as the days went by. I was a bit troubled by the boy's extreme popularity, for it brought continual temptation to s.h.i.+rk work. Some one or another was perpetually asking him away, when if he had possessed fewer friends, he would have been less troubled. He was a mighty fine-looking fellow, and with an unlimited fund of good nature and good cash (two most essential pa.s.sports to college popularity), spring found him the best known and best liked man of his cla.s.s, a favorite with man, woman, and beast. He had stuck to his work most faithfully, and barring a little fling or so, such as all boys of his age are likely to take, I had little fault to find with him. I remember I expressed one day my surprise that he had not missed his hour in the gymnasium more than once or twice since he started in, and was told, as if the answer was conclusive, that he had given his promise. He also added later that a Fairfax never broke his word, even in the least degree.

One common difficulty I escaped with d.i.c.k, that of keeping him from the football field, the grave for the hopes of so many a promising athlete.

d.i.c.k p.r.o.nounced the game altogether too much like work to suit him, and no entreaty would move him in the least; not even the plea that he was "needed," or the threat that he would be considered disloyal to his cla.s.s, had any effect whatever on him.

Now, it must not be thought for a moment that I object to football in its proper place. It is the king of sports, and stands by itself, unrivalled in its attractions for all of Anglo-Saxon blood. It is the best successor to the knightly tourney that this prosaic century has left us. Neither an occasional accident, nor the foolishness of some of its supporters, with excuses for defeat, nor demands for apologies, will ever succeed in killing it.

The game is made, however, only for strong, stocky men. To see one with a turn of speed, long, shapely legs, and slender body mixed up in a scrimmage, and sure to end in the hospital at last, is more than I can stand. It should not take those unfitted for its fierce struggles, but qualified by nature for other forms of sport.

After considerable thought I decided to have d.i.c.k try for the running broad jump, and for these reasons: First, the team was weak in this department. Second, this was a trifle his best performance. Third, d.i.c.k chose it, as calling for the least labor. Indeed, he absolutely declined distant running, unless he was bound to it by his promise to his mother.

So d.i.c.k settled down to regular work and practice at the "running broad," and appeared each day as surely as the clock struck the hour; not even Frost, a veteran of four years, was as much to be depended on.

Now, there is no more practical school than that of the cinder-path; with given athletic material, a certain amount of work should bring exact results. We look for them just as confidently as the farmer looks for his crops in the autumn, after the planting of the spring and the cultivation of the summer. There may be accidents, just as the farmer has a hail-storm, or like fruit under an untimely frost a man may go stale at the last moment. But, barring accidents, we expect a gradual growth and development in just proportion to the natural ability of the man.

Now, strange to say, d.i.c.k Fairfax contradicted all known laws; his style improved, and his physical condition as well, but his jump was the same old jump after several weeks of practice. He worked up to an average of nineteen-six, but there he stuck, and no handling, instruction, or care could pull him on to the even twenty feet. Encouragement, blame, the incentives of trial contests, and even ridicule were all the same to d.i.c.k. I did all I knew,--and a bit well-informed I claimed to be,--giving him more attention than any three other men. This was partly because I liked the boy, and partly because I received a letter from "The Oaks" once every week asking how Richard was getting on. I have a decided aversion to lying, and I disliked to tell the truth to the lonely woman who looked forward so confidently to her son's success.

But most of all I stuck to d.i.c.k because of the possibilities I saw in him. His legs were marvels; from toe to thigh, muscle, sinew, and bone were perfect. And yet Seever, with his crooked joints and spindle shanks, could best d.i.c.k's best effort by a good foot. I racked my brain for reasons of the failure, but with no result. I tried all possible changes, even to a take-off with the left, but all in vain. Nineteen-six he could do before or after breakfast, and probably at midnight, if tried at that unusual hour. He was the most consistent performer I have ever seen. The trouble was that it was consistency to a distance of no use at all to us. Little Jack Bennett, who had started in with something like a thirteen-foot jump, had plugged away day after day, until he was "hoss and hoss" with d.i.c.k, and the latter was quite content. Approval or disapproval were all the same to him, and he answered both with a smile, or a careless glance from his sleepy blue eyes.

Beside d.i.c.k and Jack there were Frost and Seever, two veterans who had reached their limit, and were good for a scant twenty-one. We had not one first-cla.s.s man.

Now, while I am telling this tale more particularly for the initiated, I mean to make it plain to others less well informed, and will for their sakes say that the honor of the broad jump champions.h.i.+p is to-day divided between Reber in America and Fry in the Old Country, both of whom have negotiated twenty-three feet six and one-half inches. No one jumping less than twenty-one feet has any chance in a first-cla.s.s compet.i.tion, and it would have done us as much good if d.i.c.k had done nine feet as nineteen; that is, no good at all.

Mrs. Fairfax reminded me in her first letter, after I had informed her that d.i.c.k had chosen the "running broad" as his special event, that this was a traditional Virginia sport, and she was pleased with the selection. She called my attention to the fact that Thackeray in his story of the "Virginians" makes Harry Warrington cover twenty-one feet three inches against his English rivals, and says that Col. George Was.h.i.+ngton could better this by a foot. Now, if this is history, and the truthful George did the distance with a short run on gra.s.s, and no take-off but a line on the turf, he was a wonder, and better than any we can show to-day. If Reber and Fry had lived in his time they would not have been in his cla.s.s, and should George Was.h.i.+ngton return to earth, and enter a contest to-day (I hope there is nothing sacrilegious in the thought), he would distance their best efforts. A mighty fine pair of legs he must have had, and what he could have done with modern improvements, such as spiked shoes, a five-inch joist, on a nice cinder-path, and with prepared ground to land in, we can only guess; I should say he could have bettered his record by a good yard. It is easy to understand how such a man could succeed in the great game of war.

Our Virginian jumper, despite all his advantages, was content with a performance of nearly three feet less than that of the father of his country, who had hailed from the same State.

So matters went on, until one morning late in April I arranged with d.i.c.k to give him an early morning trial alone. He demurred at this most decidedly, being very fond of his morning nap, but consented finally, if I would agree to call him. I cannot tell how I allowed him to wheedle me as he did; but it was a way he had with all, and few could resist him.

It was a little after seven when I left my door and started for d.i.c.k's room. Now, I am no spring poet; in fact, thirty years' connection with the cinder-path has knocked most of the romance out of me, but I remember that morning still. It had been a late winter, and this was really the first dawn with no chill on the air; the trees were blossoming, the birds singing, the sun s.h.i.+ning, the air like a tonic, and there was an indescribable something which told that winter was gone at last.

After some delay at d.i.c.k's door,--for he was a wonderful sleeper, particularly in the early morning,--I succeeded in waking him, and sat in the window-seat while he took his tub. I helped him a little in the rub-down, and a man more fit I never saw. This over, d.i.c.k pulled on his trunks, jersey, and sweater, and taking his shoes in his hands he followed me leisurely down-stairs. We waited a moment on the steps, while he pulled his shoes on, and then jogged over to the track. So fresh was the air, that just before we reached the ground I found myself quickening strides with d.i.c.k, until we finished at a very pretty sprint, something I had not done for a long time. It does not help a trainer to compete under any conditions with his man.

Perhaps it was partly because I felt that I had unbent too much with him that I made my lecture, already planned, more severe than intended; at any rate, it was a mighty stiff talk the boy got. I knew it was useless to mince matters, and was resolved to cut through his armor of good nature and indifference, if there was a vulnerable point, and a straight thrust could reach him. A couple of weeks before, the captain of the team, disgusted with d.i.c.k's unsatisfactory work, had quite lost his temper with him and told him in so many words that he was not worth the salt of the training-table, and must make a brace or he would not make the team at all.

Almost any other man would have either got hot and given a sharp answer, or more likely still gone into his boots with disappointment. d.i.c.k, however, did neither. He gave one of his wide smiles, maddening enough to an earnest man, took the matter very calmly, and volunteered to get his feed at his own expense whenever we tired of furnis.h.i.+ng it. He remarked that a table with a little more variety would suit his palate fully as well, and after the talk went on with his tiresome jump of nineteen-six just as if nothing at all had been said.

Now, while this was provoking enough, and under usual conditions would have resulted in a summary drop from the team, we did not take the boy at his word. We were in desperate need of a broad jumper, and hoped that he might get out of the rut, and pick up that extra foot or two before the games. We thought it possible, also, that in a big contest the boy might be stirred up a bit, very much to his benefit.

On this April morning I talked about as plainly as I knew, using good old Anglo-Saxon phrases, and not many French idioms. I would not care to see my exact words in print, and I am afraid some of the bright eyes that I hope to please with this book would open wide with surprise. A trainer is given a certain license, like the driver of a yoke of oxen and the captain of a football team. I knew one of the latter who was seriously blamed because his puritanical training forbade the use of any stronger language than "board of health" when a signal was lost or the ball was dropped. Out in the open air, and among strong men, it is very easy to form the habit of using strong words on occasions like this.

I told d.i.c.k, in effect, that I had given him time and attention that rightfully belonged to other men on the team, and had nothing to show for it; that he could do better, and must do better; that his lack of improvement was a reflection on me as well as himself; and finally, if he was not an arrant cur, without courage and without honor, he would have tired of a child's jump long ago. "Why, man," said I, "if you had sand enough for an ant-hill, with a pair of legs like yours, you would be making a jump of twenty-three feet this morning."

Now, d.i.c.k was a great pet of mine and had never heard a hot word from me; he was very much surprised, and when I called him an "arrant cur, without courage and without honor," he flushed to the roots of his hair.

The question of his honor was what touched him most deeply, for his Virginia atmosphere had made him especially sensitive, if not over careful. I was pleased to see his face grow dark, and the smile fade from the corners of his mouth. He was first indignant, and then in a towering pa.s.sion. He stepped toward me, with clinched hands, and opened his mouth a couple of times to speak, but not a word did he say. Then he turned suddenly on his heel, walked away from me down the cinder-path, pulled his sweater over his head, dropped it on the gra.s.s, faced toward me again, and set himself for his sprint.

I was standing with him close to the joist when I delivered my lecture, and I remained where I was, wondering what the boy was up to.

He came down the path for his jump, with his jaw set, his eyes aflame, his brows black, and with two bright red spots in his cheeks. One of d.i.c.k's faults was that he would not force himself to full speed, an absolute essential for a good broad jump. In fact, a man who will not or cannot sprint should not be allowed to waste his energies on this event.

This morning was an exception to the rule with d.i.c.k, for he came toward me like a whirlwind, apparently paying no attention to either stride or distance. He fortunately reached the mark all right, caught the joist firm and strong, and launched into the air with his knees high.

I cannot describe my sensations as he shot by me, better than to say he seemed to fly. I knew before he landed that the old mark of nineteen-six was gone forever, but when he broke ground close to the end of the box, and fell forward, I could not gather my senses for a moment. d.i.c.k picked himself up like a flash, his brows still threatening, and coming up to me said hoa.r.s.ely, "Measure that, you English blackguard!" and strode off to his room without even stopping to pick up his sweater.

I said nothing at all in answer, for I was not in the least offended at the uncomplimentary language. Not that I am accustomed to being addressed in other than a respectful manner, but in this case I had really brought the anger on myself intentionally, and I had been successful beyond my fondest hopes.

As d.i.c.k disappeared behind the fence, Tom Furness swung round the corner, out for an early spin round the track.

"What do you call that?" said he, looking at the marks.