Bert Wilson on the Gridiron Part 7

"I'm going to try out Warren a little longer," went on Hendricks.

"There's good stuff in that boy, but I'm afraid there's hardly enough beef. But he's trying all the time, and never lets up till the whistle blows. Perhaps I'll let him change places with Martin and see how it works. He's quick as a flash and an expert at dodging, and he may make a better back than he is a tackle. We'll shift him there for a tryout.

"I'll have to keep quite a bunch of them 'under suspicion' for some time yet, and we may have quite a different line up by November. But, take it all in all, I'm not kicking at the way we're going along, so early in the season. As a matter of fact, I wouldn't let them know for a farm how good I really feel over their showing. I'd like to get a line, though, on the other teams. By the way, I saw you talking with Bushnell, the old 'Grey' quarter. Did that Irish blarney of yours get anything out of him?"

"Niver a bit," mourned Reddy. "I did me best, but he was as close-mouthed as a clam. I ran across a reporter though, who's been down that way lately, and he says they're going great guns in practice."

"They're the fellows we've got to beat. That agrees with everything I've heard from that quarter. We're heavier and I think we're faster than the 'Maroons' this year. But from all accounts the 'Greys' have got everything, and then some. They'll take a lot of beating."

"Hivin send that they take it instead of giving it," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Reddy; and with Hendricks' grunted indors.e.m.e.nt of this pious wish, the captain and first mate of the football craft parted for the night.

CHAPTER VI

REDDY'S RECOLLECTIONS

IN spite of the trainer's autocratic rule, the life of the team while in training was not just one long grind, without any recreation to break the monotony. Reddy, it is true, prohibited theaters and kindred amus.e.m.e.nts, because they necessarily meant late hours, and late hours, as the trainer well knew, meant decreased efficiency, both physical and mental.

Nevertheless, he had no objection to the athletes playing quiet games of an evening, provided they were well up in their studies, and sometimes even contributed to the general enjoyment by spinning some yarn culled from his own vast store of "past performances."

Whenever the members of the squad found him in a reminiscent mood, all other amus.e.m.e.nts were suspended, and they would listen attentively to the little trainer's reminiscences of victories won on field and track.

In his day Reddy had taken part in almost every branch of sport, and could tell stories about them all. For some time this particular evening he had not uttered a word, however, and had sat listening to the conversation of his charges with a faraway look in his twinkling blue eyes. The boys had been talking of motorcycling, and had been discussing Bert's record-breaking run across the continent.

In a lull of the conversation he spoke up.

"Motorcycle racing is all right in its way," he said, "but for real sport on two wheels give me the old bicycling days. Why, we had more fun then at one meet than you guys have now in a whole season. I call to mind one time----"

Reddy stopped to light the pipe that he had been carefully packing with rather rank tobacco, and there was a general movement toward him while he was taking the first few puffs. Feet and chairs sc.r.a.ped, and by the time he had his pipe pulling satisfactorily there was a ring of interested faces gathered about him.

"I suppose you think I'm going to spin ye a yarn now, ye good-for-naughts, don't ye?" he inquired, with a ferocious glance around the circle.

"If you back out now, Reddy," laughed Bert, "after getting us worked up this way, we'll all swear to throw the next game we play, just to get even with you."

"Well, I suppose I'll have to satisfy you, that bein' the case," said Reddy, his a.s.sumed ferocity of demeanor melting down into a broad grin, "although 'tis not much of a tale at that."

"'Twas in the palmy days of the bike, when everybody that could possibly sc.r.a.pe the price together owned one. A bicycle race in them days meant somethin', let me tell you, and people for fifty miles around would organize parties to go see it.

"Well, I had the fever just like everybody else, and after a while, when I'd saved up enough, me and a friend bought a tandem machine. It cost a pretty penny all right, but it was a well-built machine, and had better stuff in it than most bikes you see nowadays.

"My partner, whose name was Barney Keogh, and myself took many a long spin on it, and many a time had sprints with other 'speed boys' out on the road. We got so we could hit it up at a pretty hot clip, but neither of us ever thought of going into the racing game.

"But one fine Sunday there was a big meet to be held at the old Newark track, in New Jersey, and we made up our minds to go see it. We started out bright an' early and took it easy along the road enjoyin' the scenery and the fresh, mornin' air. 'Twas in the early spring, I remember, and we both felt like two colts that had just been turned loose in a big pasture.

"We just took it easy though, for we had quite a long pull ahead of us, and we was enjoyin' ourselves too much to want to hurry anyway. We got to the track a good hour before the first race was slated to start, and after puttin' our bike in a safe place we meandered around, seein' if we could locate anybody we knew. We hadn't gone far when I heard someone callin' my name, and when I turned I saw a feller named Robertson, a man I'd worked for once. I introduced Barney, and we hadn't talked very long before Robertson informed me that he was one of the committee in charge of affairs. 'Come on around with me to the judges box,' he invited, 'an I'll get you a couple of good seats.'

"O' course that was pretty soft for us, so we trailed along with him and he located us in fine seats not far from the judges box. Of course we thanked him and then he shook hands and hurried off.

"Well, the first events pa.s.sed off all right, although they were rather tame, and then came the big race, which for that day happened to be a tandem race. There was a big purse offered for the winner, and there were several entrants. But for some reason there was a long wait, and first thing we knew there was Robertson coming toward us, his face red and perspirin' and his collar wilted.

"He rushes up to us, and leans over and whispers:

"'Say, Reddy,' he says, 'you can help us out if you want to. We're shy an entrant. One of the teams hasn't shown up, and according to the conditions of the race no less than six entrants can start. We've only got five, and if the race isn't ridden the crowd will go wild. Here's a chance for you and your friend to help us out of a bad fix and at the same time maybe win a nice piece of money for yourselves.'

"Well, at first Barney and me was knocked flat, an' then we turned down the proposition cold. But Robertson wouldn't take no for an answer.

"'It can't hurt you any, can it?' he said. 'An' if you should win, think of the coin you'd pull down. Why, you've got everything to win and nothing to lose.'

"Well, to make a long story short, he finally talked us into it, and we beat it around and got our machine. By the time we got on the track the crowd was getting pretty impatient, and Robertson hustled us around to the starting line.

"'Do your best, boys,' he says, 'it's a ten mile race, so don't put all your steam into it at once. Let one of the others set the pace and then you come up at the end.'

"It sounded easy all right, but I guess both Barney and I were more than a little doubtful about that 'coming up at the end' business. But it was too late to back out then, so we lined up in front of the starter's stand, and when the pistol cracked made a pretty fast getaway.

"We weren't in it with some of those professionals though, and before we'd hit our speed at all they had several yards lead over us. But we were feeling pretty strong at that. I was steering the bike, and I could feel Barney pushing along like a steam engine. But at first it was all we could do to hold our own, no matter how hard we pedaled. Pretty soon I began to feel mighty tired I can tell you, and I guess Barney must have, too, because we began dropping behind. But we kept on pushing like mad, and pretty soon we began to get our second wind. And then we certainly made that old tandem hum! We burned up that track for fair, and before very long were on equal terms with the last team. We crept steadily past them, and before the end of the sixth mile our front wheel was even with the back wheel of the leaders.

"Well, by that time the crowd had begun to sit up and take notice, and before we had covered another mile everybody was on their feet, cheering like mad and waving flags. But no matter how hard we tried, we couldn't seem to draw up even with the leading machine. By that time the blood was beating through my head fit to burst it, and I suppose Barney must have felt the same way. But neither of us was exactly what you might call a quitter, so we kept on. And by the end of the ninth mile they hadn't more than the length of one wheel's lead over us! As we started the last lap I could feel the old bike shove forward, and I knew that Barney had some reserve strength left. That kind o' put heart into me, too, and I put everything I had into that last mile, believe me. Between us we pretty nearly lifted that tandem off the ground at every stroke, I guess. Anyway, we crawled up on the leaders inch by inch, and managed to cross the finishing line a scant foot ahead of them.

"Well, I don't think I ever saw a much more excited crowd than that one.

They swarmed down onto the track, and it was only by makin' a mighty quick sneak that we managed to get away from them. We weren't feeling like being made heroes of just then, let me tell you. We were just about all in."

"Believe me, I'd like to have been there," exclaimed Bert, as Reddy finished; "it must have been a real race for fair. I should think that after that you and your friend would have gone into professional bicycle racing."

"We did try to," confessed the trainer with a grin, "but we could never seem to do as well again, and after a few attempts we gave it up in disgust. But we found the prize money very welcome, for we were both hard up at the time.

"But now," he continued, "I've kept you up too late as it is, so off with you. Vamoose!"

CHAPTER VII

THE LION'S ESCAPE

"FELLOWS, I've got an inspiration," said d.i.c.k one evening when several of his companions, including Tom and Bert, had gathered in the latter's room.

"Well, well," said Bert, "old d.i.c.k's got an inspiration, boys. I wonder what it is? The last time d.i.c.k had an inspiration, that one about taking a cow up onto the roof of the recitation hall, we all pretty nearly got into trouble, including the cow. I think any other inspiration from the same source will have to come with first-cla.s.s references and a letter of introduction. Otherwise I, for one, refuse to recognize it at all."

"If you're quite through," said d.i.c.k, with elaborate politeness, "perhaps you'd be so kind as to let me get in a word edgewise, and enlighten an expectant world regarding this inspiration. Just because the cow fell down a flight of steps that time and made everybody think there was an earthquake in progress doesn't prove that it wasn't a good idea. Accidents will often spoil the best laid plans."

"I notice something almost always does happen to plans of that kind,"

laughed Bert. "But go ahead and tell us your scheme. What is it?

Kidnapping the dean, or just burning down one or two of the buildings."

"Well, that wasn't what was in my mind," confessed d.i.c.k. "But now that you speak of it, either one might be worth trying. But the particular idea simmering in my ma.s.sive intellect at the time I was so rudely interrupted by a certain low character, was this: There's going to be a circus in town to-morrow, and I for one feel a whole lot like going to see it. I haven't been to a circus for the last five years and I'm just honing to see this one."