1705040099
1705040100
The Major opened the door, and Andrew caught a glimpse of the bunch of them standing and talking as if the race meant nothing.
1705040101
1705040102
“Everyone out for the half mile—come on,please ,” said the Major.
1705040103
1705040104
This time they came and with beating heart Andrew joined them.
1705040105
1705040106
“Well, Brewster,” said the Major, “what are you going to show us to-day?”
1705040107
1705040108
“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!”
1705040109
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.”
1705040111
1705040112
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.
1705040113
1705040114
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.
1705040115
1705040116
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.
1705040117
1705040118
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.
1705040119
1705040120
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.
1705040121
1705040122
The lively air fanned his head and throat. It played about his bare legs.
1705040123
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.
1705040125
1705040126
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.
1705040127
1705040128
“Jolly day for a trial spin,” he told Andrew. “Makes me feel an old fool to be out of it. I envy you boys.”
1705040129
1705040130
Andrew felt too miserable to answer. He nodded.
1705040131
1705040132
“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.”
1705040133
1705040134
Andrew nodded again. Of course it was a foregone conclusion that only Redbrooke and Brewster were in the race. No one had a thought for him.
1705040135
1705040136
The others began to arrive. Andrew stripped off his sweater. Again he was premature. The others waited. All were silent now.
1705040137
1705040138
Redbrooke was strolling across the ground with one of the officials. He looked up and broke into a brisk trot.
1705040139
1705040140
The air still freshened Andrew’s face. Across the ground he could hear the murmur of the crowd. A paper boy was shouting.
1705040141
1705040142
Still none of the runners spoke. In silence, one by one, they took off blazers and sweaters. The well-known colors of Brewster’s club appeared—a red and black band round the chest. Redbrooke cantered up unconcerned.
1705040143
1705040144
“Sorry,” he said, and emerged from his blazer in Achilles Club colors. Andrew glanced at his plain white things, longer and tighter than Redbrooke’s.
1705040145
1705040146
The runners eyed each other as they took their places on the track. Redbrooke was a shade taller than Andrew and perfectly formed. His corn-colored hair was a disheveled crop, paler in hue than the tan of his face. His limbs flashed with youth and strength. His poise was quick as flame.
1705040147
1705040148
No wonder he can run, thought Andrew. He must win.
[
上一页 ]
[ :1.705040099e+09 ]
[
下一页 ]