At Start And Finish Part 6

I had now been making a business of training athletes for nearly a year, getting a good living out of it, and had at the beginning a nice little nest-egg in the bank, ready for a rainy day.

Exactly how this was acc.u.mulated I do not care to say. These tales are in no sense confessions, and I shall avoid the "strutting I" as much as possible.

After my defeat of "Chipper" Simmons, at Hacking's Brighton track, there were a couple of years pa.s.sed not at all to my liking, though profitably enough for one of small ideas. I took on matches wherever they promised a dollar. I ran everybody, and every distance, from a fifty-yard dash to a mile run, and almost invariably won, largely because of the pains I took with myself, and my careful training. I learned all the tricks of the trade, gave close finishes always, did an artistic "fainting act,"

and made myself a subject of regretful, not to say painful, remembrance to a large part of the sporting fraternity.

They stood it all right for a couple of years, but the summer before I met MacLeod I suddenly discovered I had about squeezed the orange dry.

They had, very naturally, grown more and more shy of me, until it had become impossible to obtain a match, except under prohibitive conditions. I tried giving good men eight yards in the "hundred" and one hundred yards in the mile for a while, but discovered it was a hard business, with nothing in it. My only profit, as far as I could see, was to run crooked, and fake a race or two, but at this, though not over-nice, I drew the line.

I was willing to underrate my powers, and fool the fancy on my condition; to win by a scant yard with pretended effort, in order to pull on my opponent to another race; but to back him on the sly and lie down, to pull money from my friends, I could not. A gentleman I might not be, but honest I would be still. Indeed, despite the "winning way" I had, my reputation was of the best as a rare, good runner, as a square man who gave his backers a straight run for their money, and as the most knowing man in the States concerning work and training for the cinder-path.

On this last I made up my mind to trade. I announced my absolute retirement as a contestant, and my intention to make a business of training and handling others.

My prices startled them a bit at the beginning, but after I had made a few winners out of almost impossible timber, I was kept fairly well occupied. When the winter put a stop to my out-of-doors work, I became instructor in a gymnasium, and gave lessons in boxing and fencing. I even prepared one man for a ring contest, which he won, thanks to his perfect condition, after acting as a chopping-block to a better boxer for a couple of hours, this affair satisfying me at once and forever with the prize ring.

At the coming of the spring I found my book very well filled, and would by June have been quite content to have trained Mac with no recompense whatever.

Yet I had no objections to make money from others, and discovered a very fair opportunity, as I thought, about two weeks before the games. I then received a bit of information that there was a dark horse grooming for the hammer throw, in the person of an Irishman by the name of Duffy. He was an enormous fellow, as strong as an ox, could do nearly one hundred feet, and the tip made him a sure winner.

Now, I was very confident I knew better, though ninety feet, in those days, was phenomenal for an amateur, and a throw of one hundred had not been made in any previous contest. The best of the news was kept for the last, and that was that Duffy had plenty of friends with good money to back him.

I figured at once that MacLeod could just about call the trick, that being a smaller man would help the odds, and that, properly managed, there was a pretty penny in it.

Mac was now doing from one hundred to one hundred and five in the most consistent manner, and I made up my mind to plunge on him a bit, keeping quiet so that Duffy's friends might show their hands first. This was easy enough, for Mac did all his work after supper in the vacant lot back of his house, where no one could pull a tape over his throws. It was prudent, also, for MacLeod had very rigid ideas about betting (gambling he called it), and would undoubtedly have protested, if he had not declined to show at all.

Duffy's friends began very cautiously with small figures, and I took all that showed through a third party. When one hundred dollars was promptly covered, however, they made up their minds there was something else good, and became a bit shy.

I let them alone until the evening before the excursion, when I sallied into the Duffy neighborhood, and at one to two offered to produce a man weighing under one hundred and seventy pounds who would win against all.

Now, a hammer-thrower of this weight is rare, and I found all the money I cared to cover. Indeed, I exceeded my limit a trifle. Then I wandered over to Mac's field, pulled the tape over his throw of one hundred and eight, and went home and to sleep, for not a grain of anxiety had I over the result. I doubt if I should have given five per cent. to be insured a winner.

The day dawned, fine and hot. We went down from Boston a good three hundred strong, men, women, and children, the last turning out a whole clan by themselves. There were bagpipes squealing, babies crying, and a Babel of rough Scotch tongues. Tartans were displayed in all the colors of the rainbow. Some were content to show only a tie, ribbon, or shawl, but a fair percentage were in full Highland costume, and far from comfortable many of them looked.

The dress is wonderfully picturesque, and nothing is more becoming to an athletic man with straight legs and strong brown knees. But for a petty tradesman with legs like pipe-stems, knock-kneed, and ghastly white it is particularly trying, and many of the gallant Scots looked as if they would like to don the protecting "breeks" to which they had become accustomed.

We all piled into the hot and dusty cars, and after an hour and a half were glad to get a breath of fresh air as we steamed down the bay.

Indeed, when we reached the "Point," a little before noon, I was loath to go ash.o.r.e, for the trees on a ridge of land cut off the wind, and the place was like a furnace.

Nothing looked comfortable but a pair of bronze lions who flanked the roadway to the hotel, and had they been alive I am sure they would have found the day altogether too tropical.

I could see the crowds flocking around the swings, merry-go-rounds, and the monkey cage, and there was a motley crowd in hired bathing-suits enjoying a dip in the salt water. Of these last only was I in the least envious.

The clans, immediately upon landing, formed in procession, and marched off in the broiling sun, a half-dozen pipers playing "The Campbells are coming" as loudly as possible, skirling like so many pigs under a gate.

The most conspicuous figure was an old fellow who blew as if his life depended on the effort, and until I feared he would burst his bagpipe if he did not rupture a blood-vessel first.

He seemed to feel that the world was looking at him, and he was well conscious of its admiration. He was big-boned, loose-jointed, and so sandy that it was a riddle to guess his age. His shoulders were badly rounded, but he straightened up every few seconds in an abortive effort to appear erect on this occasion, if never again. He was clad in full Highland costume, even to dirk and claymore,--a rather unusual accompaniment, and dangerous as well, for a Scot on a merry-making where Scotch whiskey and Scotch ale mingle freely. He wore the MacNab tartan, and the kilt looked as if it had been slept in, all twisted and wrinkled.

As the clans marched up the hill and between the lions, I could see the bright red tartans of the Frasers, the black and green of the Gordons, and the beautiful parti-colors of the Stewarts. There were many others, all showing bright in the sun; and there was a lift to the heels of the marchers which nothing could have caused but the shrill notes of the bagpipes. Indeed, they were enough to start the sluggish blood in my veins, though I suppose my ancestors had long years ago heard the same sounds with resentment, as the Scots swarmed over the border. As a parlor instrument I should admit it had its superiors, but for strong men going to battle I doubt if it has its equal.

There were all kinds of men in the crowd, from the gray-haired veteran to the little fellow, born on American soil, who had never seen the tartan kilts except on a holiday. There were a number of contestants in the line, with strong, athletic figures, but not one could compare with Angus, in the yellow and black of the MacLeods, as he marched, almost the last. I saw the girls had their eyes on him, though Mac neither noticed nor cared, for he thought them "kittle cattle," and was much fonder of handling hammer and shot.

I had seen little of Angus since the start, for he was a clan officer and had many duties, but found him, to my surprise, not in the least nervous, and quite confident of winning. Did not old John M'Dhoil-vic-Huishdon outcla.s.s all compet.i.tors in the old days, and was not Angus MacLeod a lineal descendant, to whom had come the family strength?

He said he had heard that there had been considerable money bet on him to win, which he deplored, and that he would not have gone into the thing at all had he foreseen it. I told him he was very foolish, for a man might bet how long a Sunday sermon would last, and that if he did not risk anything himself, not to trouble himself about others. Though unable to argue, he shook his head, and was, I saw, uneasy, but I had no fear of his drawing out at this late day.

When the crowd disappeared, I went to the hotel, and engaged a quiet room, on the cool side of the house, where Angus joined me as soon as the procession broke ranks.

I made him lie down a little while, gave him a sponge and rub-down, and after a good lunch, such as a man should eat who expects soon to call upon the best powers of his body, he p.r.o.nounced himself feeling strong enough to throw the hammer into the bay. We could see the crowd, contestants and all, file into the long dining-rooms, where "clam-bakes"

were served. A very nice lunch for an excursionist, but about the most awful diet possible for an athlete, particularly if he gorge himself in a laudable ambition to get the full value of his fifty cents.

We waited until it was after two o'clock, and found the games already started when we arrived at the place called in compliment the "athletic grounds." It was simply an enclosure roped off from an open field; track there was none, except as the feet of contestants had worn off the turf and the sun had baked the surface hard. There were no seats, and we found our way with some difficulty through the spectators, who crowded a dozen deep all the way round, and tested the strength of the rope and the firmness of the wooden posts through which it was drawn. An eager, hot, and perspiring crowd it was, jostling, pus.h.i.+ng, and elbowing, and the last half-dozen rows might as well have been in the Orkneys, as far as seeing the sports was concerned. As usual the tall and strong were in front, and the short and weak were behind.

We found the enclosure full of contestants and their friends, the latter an insupportable nuisance, in everybody's way, not excepting their own.

We saw Duffy standing with a little knot of henchmen, and they gave Mac a critical glance as he walked by my side. It had leaked out in some way who my man was, and the interest in him was great. They knew I was not in the habit of taking up anything unless it was good, and some of Mac's friends from the foundry had got a day off, with their last pay envelopes with them.

All the officials and two-thirds of the crowd were Caledonians, but the contests were nearly all open, and there was a large number of other nationalities represented, particularly the Irish.

Of system there was next to none, changes were frequent, and orders given and countermanded in the same breath. The noise was deafening and the heat insupportable. The dust was like a good Scotch snuff as far as sneezing properties were concerned, and of about the same color.

We were just in time to see the "fat men's race," in which the contestants ran themselves almost into apoplexies. I am sure some of these mountains of flesh must have permanently injured themselves, and endangered their lives by their exertions.

I do not pretend to remember all the contests that followed, but there were opportunities for every one, man, woman, and child, old or young, to distinguish himself. Beside the regular sprints, runs, jumps, and weight contests, there were "sack," "wheelbarrow," "potato," and "three-legged" races, all opportunities for great laughter and applause.

I ordered Mac back to the hotel when we learned that the "hammer-throw"

was the very last event, and only sent for him when the afternoon had nearly dragged itself out.

The last casts were then being made at "tossing the caber," which, being the most characteristic Caledonian game of all, had a most formidable list. Indeed, Angus was much disappointed that he had not entered, in which feeling I did not at all join, for I wanted him to save all his strength.

I remember now a little bandy-legged fellow in a crazy-looking kilt who struggled with the heavy log, which he could scarcely lift, let alone toss. He turned to me after a superhuman effort, his face aglow with pride and exertion, and remarked breathlessly, "Rinnin's weel eneugh for laddies; thot's the sport of a mon."

The "hammer-throw" had been left for the last, as I was informed, because none would leave until it was over, thus ensuring a full attendance until the end. The reason the "hammer-throw" was so popular was because there was more money on it than all the other events combined, also because of the race feeling excited by the nationalities of the two most-favored contestants.

Perhaps a third of the spectators were Irish, and being more aggressive and outspoken, were almost as much in evidence as the Scotch themselves.

Indeed, the applause when an Irishman won (and they had more than their proportion of firsts that day) was as loud as at the victory of a Scot.

In the "hammer-throw" there were a scant half-dozen entries, the reputed prowess of Duffy and MacLeod disheartening the less ambitious. I was surprised to see among them old Sandy MacNab, the piper, but learned that he had been a famous man with the weights, and had pulled off the event here only last year. Indeed, for all his age (and more than twenty was he) he was a good man yet despite his cadaverous appearance. He had for years pulled money out of these Caledonian games, although the amount of his winnings had diminished with his increasing years.

To-day he had backed himself to win the "Old Men's Race," and won easily, but unfortunately stood to lose all he had made, and more too, in the "hammer-throw."

In making his book to get second or better, he thought he had been remarkably conservative, but receiving startling information concerning Duffy and Mac when it was too late, had found it impossible to hedge. He went into the contest expecting to lose, but resolved to make a try for his money all the same. His contortions were wonderful, and convulsed the crowd every time he threw, although he was serious enough, and succeeded in getting into the finals with nearly ninety feet.

I shall never forget how the old fellow threw down his bonnet in the dust, spit on his hands, and braced himself for his first trial. There was a little crowd around the measurer, who stood a good one hundred and twenty feet away. These MacNab noticed just before he threw, and insisted that they "gang awa oot o' dainger" before he would make his try, although there was just as great chance of his. .h.i.tting the flag-staff of the hotel.

After he had finished his dialogue with the crowd, in which he held his own, and more, he grasped the handle again with his long, bony fingers.

At first swinging very slowly, then faster and faster, until with a double twist that made his kilt stand out like a ballet-dancer's skirt about his long, knee-kissing legs, he gave a grunt and a gasp, and let go. He watched the hammer through the air with bulging eyes, and when it landed, ran after, and argued with the measurer over an extra half-inch in a maddening fas.h.i.+on. Sandy was a privileged character, however, and had a roar of applause every time he tried.

When MacLeod came up for his first throw, he caught the crowd immediately, so handsome and modest was he. He found particular favor with the "ladies," and not alone did I hear "Eh, but he's a braw laddie," but one little Irish girl, close to the ropes, with blue eyes and the proverbial smudge under them, set an example of cosmopolitan freedom by clapping violently.