“Easy does it, my boy, easy does it,” he replied. “You’ve got two months ahead of you yet. We’ll start slow and work up. Mile runners aren’t made in a day, nor a week, nor yet a year, for that matter.”
And when Gerald complained to Alf that he feared Andy wasn’t going to take enough interest in him, Alf gave him a little lecture. “Get that idea out of your head, Gerald,” he said, severely. “Andy knows what he’s up to. When he tells you to jog, you jog. When he tells you to sprint, you sprint; and when he says rest, why, rest as hard as you know how. That’s the way to get on fastest. Distance running, as I’ve heard, is largely a matter of endurance, and I guess endurance is something you’ve got to learn slowly.”
“But I’ve run three miles time and again, Alf, and finished strong.”
“Yes, but you weren’t doing the mile around five-five, and that’s what you’ll have to do if you want to get a place in the Duals, Gerald. Has Andy given you a trial yet?”
“No, and I wish he would. He says he isn’t going to until after recess, though.”
Alf nodded wisely. “What he says goes, Gerald. Keep that in mind. Remember that Andy knows more about training than you ever will know if you live to be a hundred.”
And Gerald got the same sort of talk from Dan and Tom. Only Arthur Thompson was at all sympathetic.
“Seems to me,” said Arthur, “he might let you do a good deal more than he is, Gerald. But then I don’t pretend to know anything about running. Anyhow, I guess he means to take you on the squad.”
“I guess so, because there are only four of us out for the mile. Maury has been at it every day this week, except Saturday. I don’t think it’s fair, Arthur. Of course, I won’t be able to do anything against him if I don’t get any practice!”
“Well, you don’t expect to beat him, do you?” asked Arthur, with a smile. “He’s pretty good at it, you know.”
“The best he ever did it was five, three-and-four-fifths,” Gerald objected.
“Y-yes, but I’ll bet I could do it pretty near that.”
“Bet you couldn’t!” replied Arthur, laughingly. “Not yet awhile. Why, Maury’s nineteen, I guess; eighteen, anyhow.”
“Well, I’m sixteen,” answered Gerald, stoutly. “And, besides, age hasn’t got much to do with it, anyway.”
“Yes it has, Gerald. You’re stronger at eighteen than you are at sixteen, and strength means endurance; and I guess you’ve got to have a heap of that to make good in the mile run.”