Gerald, although prohibited from taking part in the track work, had by no means lost his interest in the team’s success. Dan often tried to console and encourage him by reminding him that next year he could try again, and would stand a much better chance of making the squad. Gerald wasn’t by any means consoled, but there was nevertheless comfort to be derived from the knowledge that there was another year coming. And, meanwhile, he went to the field every afternoon and looked on, feeling rather lonesome and out of it at first, but gradually working into a more philosophic frame of mind. The worst of it was that he really missed the exercise and the training. Sometimes his legs fairly ached to be pounding around the cinders. The training table had been started, and Gerald viewed its members enviously as he passed it going in or out of commons. As far as diet went, however, Gerald was unconsciously in training himself. He had always had pretty healthy notions in regard to food, and ever since the autumn, when he had trained with the Cross Country Team, he had stuck pretty closely to the athlete’s diet.
It was one afternoon, a week or so subsequent to the memorable interview with Mr. Collins, that the Great Idea came to him. He had been watching Roeder and two other fellows practicing broad-jumping, at the same time keeping an eye open for Arthur’s aerial flight at the end of the long pole; and now he strolled over to the start of the distances where a bunch of quarter-milers, Maury, Goodyear, Norcross, and several other distance men were being sent off for a two-lap spin. He wished so much that he were among them, his spikes gripping the track and the wind in his face. Andy gave the word and the runners sprang away, stringing out as they neared the corner. Andy dropped his watch into his pocket, glanced up, and found Gerald looking at him. Since Gerald had been lost to the squad, Andy had paid scant attention to him, which, of course, was natural enough. But to-day something in Gerald’s face prompted the trainer to a kind word.
“Sure, I’m sorry you’re not with ’em, Pennimore,” he said.
“So am I,” murmured Gerald. “I’m just aching for a few laps around the track, Andy.”