For the Honor of the School: A Story of School Life and Interscholastic Sport. Barbour Ralph Henry
way to get rid of homesickness, Wayne; go in for athletics and get your blood running right. You don’t have much chance to think about home when you’re leaping hurdles or trying to bust your own record for the hundred yards.”
“I should think not,” laughed Wayne. “I know I wasn’t homesick the other day when I was chasing around country and jumping over those silly hedges; but I reckon I’d rather be a bit homesick than have my legs ache and my lungs burst.”
“They won’t when you’re in training,” answered Don. “But you did great work that day; we were awfully proud of you.”
“So you say, and I suppose it’s all right, only I keep telling you that I wasn’t trying to win the team race; I was just trying to beat that blamed St. Eustace chump who laughed at me when I was sitting comfortably on the ground there. Just as though any fellow mightn’t fall over those old hedges, hang him!”
“Well, don’t you mind,” answered Don soothingly. “He isn’t laughing now, you can bet; that laugh cost his school the race.”
Wayne made no reply. He had gathered the pillows in a heap under his head and was lying on his back nursing his knees. It was almost dark outdoors and in the room the shadows held full sway. Across from Don’s window the lights in Masters Hall were coming out and throwing dim shafts upon the broad gravel path.
“Wayne, I wish you’d go into training for the track team,” continued Don. “All you need is some good hard practice to make you a dandy runner. Why don’t you?”
“What’s the good?” asked Wayne carelessly. “I have hard enough work as it is trying to learn my lessons without losing a lot of time running around a track. Besides, it’s so tiresome.”
“Don’t talk nonsense,” answered Don. “You have hard work with your lessons because you won’t study, and you know it. You could do a lot of training in the time you spend now in loafing. And, look here, Wayne, if you go in for athletics you can study a lot better; really. I know; I’ve tried both ways. And besides, you won’t have to run around a track much until long after winter term begins; hard work doesn’t start until February. Of course, if you’ve made up your mind to be a duffer, I won’t say anything more about it. But I’m captain of the track team, and I know you would make a bully runner and I want you to help me out if you will. We’re going to have a hard time next spring to find good men for the mile and half-mile events, and if we don’t win one of them I’m afraid St. Eustace or Collegiate is sure of first place. I wish old Hillton might come out on top next year. Think of it, Wayne, this is my second year as captain, and my last, for I shan’t take it again, and if we are beaten next spring it will be a nice record to leave behind, won’t it? Two defeats and no victories! Hang it, we’ve got to win, Wayne!”
Wayne laughed lazily.
“What’s so funny?” demanded Don rather crossly.
“You – you’re so serious. The idea of caring so much about whether we get beaten or not next spring. Why, it’s months away yet. If you’ve got to worry about it, why not wait awhile?”
Don was too vexed to reply and Wayne went on in his careless, good-natured tones.
“You fellows up North here are so crazy about athletics. Of course, they’re good enough in their way, I reckon, but seems to me that you don’t think about much else. I don’t mean that you don’t study – you’re all awful grinds – but you never have any time for – for – ”
“What – loafing?” asked Don sarcastically.
“No, not exactly that, but – but – oh, hunting and riding and being sociable generally. Do you shoot?”
“Not much; I’ve potted beach birds and plovers once or twice.”
“Well, that’s the kind of sport I like. Down home we shoot quail, you know; it’s right good fun. And next month the fox hunting begins.”
“I think I should like that,” exclaimed Don eagerly, forgetting his ill humor. “I’ve never ridden to hounds. Isn’t it hard jumping fences and things?”
“Hard – on a horse? Shucks! Compared to leaping over hedges on your feet it’s about the easiest thing in the world. All you have to do is to sit still.”
“Well, it sounds easy,” answered Don dubiously, “but I should think sitting still on a horse that was plunging over a rail fence would be rather difficult; seems to me that the easiest thing would be to fall off. Did you ever fall?”
“Twice. Once I hurt my shoulder a little. Of course we boys don’t do any hard riding; dad won’t let me go out very often, and when he does he always goes along. You see, once I went fox hunting instead of going to school, and he found out about it.”
“What kind of a school was it you went to?”
“Oh, a little private school kept by an old codger who used to be a professor at the University. We fellows had a pretty easy time of it; when we didn’t want to study we didn’t, which was mighty often.”
“Well, you won’t find it so easy here,” said Don.
“Oh, I’ve found that out already,” answered Wayne ruefully. “We have so many studies here I can’t begin to keep track of them all. I never know whether I ought to be at a recitation or fussing with dumb-bells in the gymnasium.”
“Well, you’ll get used to it after a while and like it immensely, and think that there isn’t another place in the world like Hillton. And when you do you’ll care more whether we win or get beaten at athletics and football; and then – ”
There came a loud hammering at the door.
“Enter Paddy and David!” cried Don.
Dave Merton alone entered, and closing the door behind him promptly fell over an armchair.
“Confound you fellows! why can’t you keep your room decent? A chap’s always breaking his shins when he comes here. Where’s Paddy?”
“What, have you become separated?” cried Don. “Light the gas, Wayne, and let us view the unaccustomed sight of Dave without Paddy.”
“He said he was coming up here after he dressed. I left him at the gym.” Dave stumbled against a straight-backed chair, placed it on its back just inside the door, and groped his way to a seat beside Don. “Hope he’ll break his shins too, when he comes,” he said grimly.
“What have you two inseparables been up to this afternoon?” asked Don.
“Oh, Paddy’s been doing stunts with a football, and he’s awfully annoyed over something, and I’ve been tossing a hammer around the landscape; that’s all.”
“And did you manage to break another goal post?”
“No; couldn’t seem to hit anything to-day, although I did come within a few yards of Greene.”
Another thunderous knocking was heard, and, without awaiting an invitation, Paddy came in, and the sound of breaking wood followed as he landed on the chair.
“I’m afraid I’ve bust something,” he said cheerfully, as he struggled to his feet. “And serves you right, too. Is Dave here?”
“Haven’t seen him,” answered Wayne.
“Wonder where the silly chump went to. Where are you, you fellows?” Paddy felt his way around the table and gropingly found a seat between Don and Dave. “He said he was coming up here before supper.” A faint chuckle aroused his suspicions and the sound of a struggle followed. Then Paddy’s voice arose in triumphant tones.
“’Tis you, yer spalpeen. There’s only one ugly nose like that in school.”
“Ouch!” yelled Dave. “Let go!”
“Is it you?” asked Paddy grimly.
“Yes.”
“Are you a spalpeen?”
“Yes, oh yes. Ouch!”
“All