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Now a new awkwardness arose. Why did none of the other half milers move? He waited for a moment for them to join him, but each man of them seemed to have found some last-minute adjustment to a shoe or bandage.
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“Well,” said Brewster, “I suppose we’d better be moving.”
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1705040088
“Wait a bit, Joe,” said Perry, “I must get my ankle strap on.”
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Andrew hovered miserably in the doorway of the changing room. Why couldn’t they buck up and get it over? If only he could get it over. At last, finding it ridiculous to hold the door open any longer, he went through it and waited outside in the concrete passage. He certainly could not walk on to the track without the others, nor could he go back into the changing room. He leant against the wall trying to think of nothing.
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What could the others be doing? “Oh, come on,” he murmured,“come on !” Next time he would know better than to get up before the other men in his race were on the move.
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The sunlight end of the passage was suddenly eclipsed and the Major brushed by him.
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“Where are those half milers?” he said genially to Andrew.
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“I think—” began Andrew, but found an answer was not expected.
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The Major opened the door, and Andrew caught a glimpse of the bunch of them standing and talking as if the race meant nothing.
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1705040102
“Everyone out for the half mile—come on,please ,” said the Major.
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1705040104
This time they came and with beating heart Andrew joined them.
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“Well, Brewster,” said the Major, “what are you going to show us to-day?”
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“Don’t expect you’ll notice me,” said Brewster, “after the gun’s gone. I shall try and stick to young Redbrooke for the first six hundred, anyhow. I only want to see what I can do!”
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1705040110
It sounded splendidly casual, but Andrew had a strong feeling that what Brewster meant was: “I rather fancy myself as a class half miler, so just watch me. I believe I can beat Redbrooke. I’m not troubling about the rest, anyhow.”
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Andrew stepped gingerly along the track. He felt rather better at being in the open air. Then he glanced behind him at the grand stand. He received a shock. It was full—full of banks of people looking at him, waiting to see him run.
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As with the bell, the audience rushed on Andrew with a terrific new meaning. He had often seen large crowds at sports meetings. He had sat with them and watched the runners and the few officials in the center of the ground. The center of the ground had always appeared to be part of the whole picture with the crowd.
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It had never occurred to him for a moment that to step in the arena was to break that unit. Now the whole picture was crowd and nothing else. Wherever he raised his eyes on all sides of him, he saw nothing but a bank of staring faces, a mob of hats and faces.
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With eyes fixed on the ground, he left the track and began to walk across the grass towards the start. The half mile, being a lap and a half, led off at the farthest point from the grand stand. The half lap brought it round to the stand just at the stage where the race was getting into its stride, when everybody was beginning to feel the collar and those who meant business were jostling for places in front. The remaining complete lap brought the finish round to the grand stand again.
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Andrew’s path took him into the middle of the ground;here the crowd was less imminent. The summer was still new enough to greet the senses with surprise. He stepped lightly on the elastic turf. The grass breathed out delicious freshness. For years afterwards that fragrance was to set Andrew’s nerves tingling with the apprehension of this moment.
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The lively air fanned his head and throat. It played about his bare legs.
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1705040124
Andrew saw the other half milers were trotting round the track. Occasionally one would shoot forward in a muscle-stretching burst. Andrew tried a high-stepping trot across the grass to flex his own legs, but was too self-conscious to keep it up.
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He reached the starting point first. Another agonizing wait followed. The others were still capering round the ash path. Would he never get it over? Surely the tension of nerves must rack the strength from his limbs? At last the starter approached.
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“Jolly day for a trial spin,” he told Andrew. “Makes me feel an old fool to be out of it. I envy you boys.”
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Andrew felt too miserable to answer. He nodded.
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“If you want a place,” said a starter, “take my advice and watch Redbrooke. He’ll probably try and take Brewster off his legs early—he knows he can’t sprint, you see.”
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