For the Honor of Randall Part 22

"That's the stuff!" cried the Big Californian.

"Wow! Something doing all right!" yelled Shambler. "I'm going to get into my running togs."

"You'd think the whole college depended on him," remarked Sid, with a half sneer, as the new student hastened toward the gymnasium.

"Well, we're counting on him to win the mile run for us," said Holly.

"He's the best we've struck yet, even if he is loaded to the muzzle with conceit. Come on, now, you fellows, get busy."

"Did those new hurdles come?" asked Frank Simpson, who was much interested in the proposed one hundred and twenty yard hurdle race.

"Yes, I'll have them out on the path pretty soon," replied Holly.

"They're fine, and it only takes a few seconds to change from one height to another. See how you like 'em."

Soon the athletic field at Randall presented a busy scene. Lads in all sorts of undress uniform, from running trunks to jerseys and sweaters, were at practice.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SOON THE ATHLETIC FIELD AT RANDALL PRESENTED A BUSY SCENE.]

Here, in the seven-foot circle, Phil was balancing himself for the hammer throw, while off to one side Tom was adjusting the toe board in order to put the sixteen pound shot. Frank Simpson was a.s.sisting one of the janitors in setting up the new hurdles, and Sid was testing his vaulting pole.

Dutch Housenlager, whose big frame and mighty muscles gave him an advantage few others enjoyed, was juggling with the fifty-six pound weight.

"I'm going to do better than twenty-five feet to-day," he declared, and forthwith he swung up the big iron ball with its triangular handle and heaved it.

"Twenty-five feet eight inches!" announced a measurer.

"Hurray!" yelled Sid.

"Oh, I'll beat that yet," predicted Dutch with a laugh.

Shambler came running from the gymnasium attired in his new suit. He presented an attractive figure; Tom could not help admitting that, much as he disliked the newcomer. And certainly Shambler could run. He had a certain confident air, and a manner about him that counted for much.

The practice went on, and Holly Cross and Kindlings, who had been voted into permanent trainers and managers interchangeably, watched with keen eyes the performances of all the lads.

"There's some good stuff here," remarked Holly.

"Yes," agreed Kindlings, "if they'll only practice and keep at it. It's quite a while to the games though, and any one of them may go stale.

This isn't like baseball or football. If we don't win one game on the diamond or gridiron, we have another chance. But we won't in the all-around contests. It's do or die the first time."

"Why, you aren't worried, are you?"

"No, but Boxer Hall would give her head to beat us, and we can't take any chances. Say, just hold the watch on Shambler, will you? I think he's. .h.i.tting it up to-day."

Holly walked over to the cinder track, where Shambler was about to finish his mile run. As he breasted the tape Holly pressed his stop watch.

"Time!" panted Shambler.

"Six minutes, fifty-six seconds," reported Holly.

"Well, I'm going to get it down to six and a half before I'm done," went on the new student. "I can do it."

"Better take it easy," advised the trainer. As he spoke he saw a change come over Shambler's face, and there was a light in his eyes that told of someone approaching to speak to him. Holly wheeled about to confront a rather shabbily dressed man--a stranger, walking toward Shambler.

"h.e.l.lo, Shambler," greeted the newcomer. "At your old game, I see. I thought I'd find you."

The change that came over Shambler was surprising. Even as he turned away, to look after some of the other contestants, Holly was aware of it. It seemed, he said afterward, as though Shambler was afraid, or ashamed of being spoken to by the shabby visitor.

"Aren't you glad to see me?" went on the man. "I came a long way to see you, and----"

"Of course," broke in the runner. "Come on over here where we can talk.

I didn't expect you."

"You never can tell when I'm going to show up," was the answer, and Holly, hurrying away, thought that the words contained a half threat.

CHAPTER XV

TOM IS SUSPICIOUS

Tom Parsons, who was one of the best all-around athletes at Randall, believed in doing a variety of things in order to keep himself in form.

He realized that if he devoted himself exclusively to one thing he might excel in that, to the detriment of some other form of sport. He was one of the best pitchers Randall had ever sent into the box, and it had been said of him that had he devoted more time to running, pole vaulting, broad or high jumping, he could have made fine records at either. But he preferred to be a little better than the average at either one, and yet he did not want to strain himself to be a top-notcher.

"I'm just sort of going to hold myself in reserve," he said to Holly, "and you can fill me in wherever you need me."

"Not a bad idea," the young manager had agreed, and so to-day Tom was practicing with the sixteen pound shot. In order to be out of the way of the others, and so that he might not be too closely watched, Tom had set the toe board some distance off. There he was heaving the shot to his heart's content.

He was not far from a corner of the gymnasium, which building was now pretty well emptied, since nearly every lad who intended to try for a place in the games was out on the field.

As Tom went to recover the shot, after a "put" that gave him considerable satisfaction from the distance covered, he saw two figures pa.s.sing behind the angle of the building. One he knew at once for that of Shambler. The other--that of a shabbily dressed man--was not familiar to him.

Since the little episode of the May walk, Tom had had no occasion to speak to Shambler, and the latter, whether or not he was aware of anything unusual, did not show any curiosity over Tom's behavior.

As Tom heaved the shot again, the toe of his tennis shoe caught on the board, and part of the sole was ripped off.

"Serves me right for using that old pair," mused the lad. "I've got another pair in my locker, I'll put them on."

He was rummaging among his things in the gymnasium, when he became aware of voices outside, directly under an open ventilating window. And it did not take very sharp ears to know that one of the voices was Shambler's.

Without in the least meaning to be an eavesdropper, Tom could not help hearing something of what was said.

"You don't seem at all glad to see me," spoke the voice of the shabby man.

"Well, maybe not. I wish you hadn't come here. Why didn't you send me word, and I could have met you in the village? It doesn't look good, you coming here on the college grounds."

"I suppose I'm not dressed well enough," was the sneering retort.

"Well, never mind about that. Only some of the fellows may be suspicious."