Part 16 (1/2)

He runs like a carload of bricks; When to high jump he tries From the ground he can't rise-- For he's built on a pair of toothpicks!”

This saengerfest was greeted with vociferous cheers from the vastly amused youths in the stands, who hailed the grinning Hicks with jeers, cat-calls, whistles, and humorous (so they believed) remarks:

”Say, Hicks, you won'tbe able to jump anything but your board-bill!”

”You're built like a gra.s.s-hopper, Hicks, but you've done lost the hop!”

”If you keep on improving as you've done lately, you'll make a high-jumper in a hundred more years, old top!”

”You may rise in the world, Hicks, but never in the high jump!”

”Don't mind them, Hicks!” spoke Coach Brannigan, his hands on the happy-go-lucky youth's shoulders. ”Listen to me; the Intercollegiates will be the last track meet of your college years, and unless you take first place in your event, you won't win your track B. Second, McQuade, of Hamilton, will do five-eight, and likely an inch higher, so to take first place, you, must do five-ten. You have trained and practiced faithfully this season, but no matter what I do, Igive you that needed two inches, and--”

”I know it, Coach!” responded the chastened Hicks, throwing aside his lurid bathrobe determinedly, and exposing to the jeering students his splinter-frame. ”Leave it to Hicks, I'll clear it this time, or--”

”Not!” fleered Butch, whom Hicks' easy self-confidence never failed to arouse. ”Hicks, listen to me, I can tell you why you can't get two inches higher. The whole trouble with you is this; for almost four years you have led an indolent, b.u.t.terfly, care-free existence, and now, when you must call on yourself for a special effort, you are too lazy! You can dear five-ten; you ought to do it, but you can't summon up the energy. I've lectured you all this time, for your heedless, easy-going ways, and now--you pay for your idle years!”

”You said an encyclopedia, Butch!” agreed the Coach, with vigor. ”If only something would justHicks jump that high, if only he could do it once, and know it is in his power, he could do it in the Intercollegiates, aided by excitement and compet.i.tion! Let somethinghim so that he will sail over five-ten, and--he will win his B. He has the energy, the build, the spring, and the form, but as you say, he is so easy-going and lazy, that his natural gra.s.s-hopper frame avails him naught.”

”Here I go!” announced Hicks, who, to an accompaniment of loud cheers from the stand, had been jogging up and down in that warming-up process known to athletes as the in place run, consisting of trying to dislocate one's jaw by bringing the knees, alternately, up against the chin. ”Up and over--that's my slogan. Just watch Hicks.”

Starting at a distance of twenty yards from the high-jump standards, on which the cross-bar rested at five feet, ten inches, T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., who vastly resembled a gra.s.s-hopper, crept toward the jumping-pit, on his toe-spikes, as though hoping to catch the cross-bar off its guard.

Advancing ten yards, he learned apparently that his design was discovered, so he started a loping gallop, turning to a quick, mad sprint, as though he attempted to jump over the bar before it had time to rise higher. With a beautiful take-off, a splendid spring--a quick, writhing twist in air, and two spasmodic kicks, the whole being known as the scissors form of high jump, the mosquito-like youth made a strenuous effort to clear the needed height, but--one foot kicked the cross-bar, and as Hicks fell flat on his back, in the soft landing-pit, the wooden rod, In derision, clattered down upon his anatomy.

”Foiled again!” hissed Hicks, after the fas.h.i.+on of a ”Ten-Twent'-Thirt'”

melodrama-villain, while from the exuberant youths in the grandstand, who really wanted Hicks to clear the bar, but who jeered at his failure, nevertheless, sounded:

”Hire a derrick, Hicks, and hoist yourself over the bar!”

”Youris light enough--your feet weigh you down!”

”'Crossing the Bar'--rendered by T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.!”

”Going up! Go play checkers, Hicks, you ain't no athlete!”

While the grinning, albeit chagrined T, Haviland Hicks, Jr., reposed gracefully on his back, staring up at the cross-bar, which someone kindly replaced on the pegs, big Butch Brewster, who seemed suddenly to have gone crazy, tried to attract Coach Brannigan's attention. Succeeding, Butch--usually a grave, serious Senior, winked, contorted his visage hideously, pointed at Hicks, and sibilated, ”Now, Coach--now is your chance! Tell Hicks--”

Tug Cardiff, Biff Pemberton, Hefty Hollingsworth, Bunch Bingham, Buster Brown, Beef McNaughton, and Pudge Langdon, who had been attacked in a fas.h.i.+on similar to Butch's spasm, concealed grins of delight, and made strenuous efforts to appear guileless, as Track-Coach Brannigan approached T. Haviland Hicks, Jr. To that cheery youth, who was brus.h.i.+ng the dirt from his immaculate track togs, and bowing to the cheering youths in the stand, the Coach spoke:

”Hicks,” he said sternly, ”you need a cross-country jog, to get more strength and power in your limbs! Now, I am going to send the Heavy-Weight-White-Hope Brigade for a four-mile run, and you go with them.

Oh, don't protest; they are all shot-putters and hammer-throwers, but Butch, and they can't run fast enough to give a tortoise a fast heat. Take 'em out two miles and back, Butch, and jog all the way; don't let 'em loaf!

Off with you,”

The unsuspecting Hicks might have detected the n.i.g.g.e.r in the woodpile, had he not been so anxious to make five-ten in the high-jump. However, willing to jog with these behemoths, with whom even he could keep pace, so as to develop more jumping power, the blithesome youth cast aside his garish bathrobe, pranced about in what he fatuously believed was Ted Meredith's style, and howled:

”Follow Hicks! All out for the Marathon--we're off! One--two--three--!”