As the runners came nearer, Frank lowered the glasses and watched them with the naked eye.

“Yes,” he murmured, “I’m afraid Prince will tie up in a long run. He is inclined to carry his chin a bit too high.”

“We are placing a great deal of reliance in him,” said Proctor, as if a bit vexed by Merry’s criticism. “Hollingsworth has chosen him as a leader to work out the bunch.”

“Who is that second fellow—the one with the mop of light hair?”

“That’s Tom Bramwell.”

“His form is better than that of Prince; but he hasn’t the range, and I’m afraid he’s a bit too heavy.”

“Oh, Bramwell never did anything brilliant in his life. Nobody counts on him.”

“He’s just the man who’s liable to surprise everybody in a match of this sort. There is a pretty runner to the left of him—the slender little chap.”

“That’s Clifford Clyde, a Yale man.”

“Grad?”

“No; he was suspended in his sophomore year and never tried to get back.”

“He runs easy, but lifts his feet just a little too high. The man behind him is the best runner in the lot, if he didn’t have one bad fault.”

“That’s Hugh Sheldon, the University of Michigan hurdler. What’s the fault?”

“The way he carries his arms. He swings them across his body, and thus fails to get the proper lift of a direct forward swing. There is lost motion in that swing.”

“There seems to be something the matter with them all,” muttered Proctor, with a disappointed air.

“It is seldom you see a runner without faults,” smiled Frank. “And some mighty good men have bad habits in running. Many wonderfully good English long-distance runners have the fault of swinging their arms across their bodies, yet, for all of this, they generally defeat Americans in cross-country running and in other things which demand endurance.”

“That’s what Mr. Ashley says, except he has made no mention of the bad arm action of the English. If Americans run in better form, why don’t they defeat the English?”

“Because they have not the stamina—the stay. They have not been properly trained.”

“Oh, do you believe in a rigid form of training for all men?”

“Not at all. I have arrived at a point in life when I firmly believe the old saw: ‘What’s one man’s meat is another man’s poison.’ You can’t put a bunch of men in training and force them all to conform to set and rigid rules with the best result. Above everything else, a runner must have some love for his work and a great ambition to excel. Then he should study himself and find out just the sort of work that agrees with him in training. He should not shirk. He should take all he can stand without injury. He should consult with his trainer, and the trainer must have discernment and sense enough not to underwork or overwork that man. It requires a trainer of mighty keen discernment to determine just what is best for a bunch of five or six men with different natures, different habits, and varying ability. It’s likely you have done well in engaging an English trainer, as the English excel in this style of running. How often has he sent the men cross country?”

“Only twice thus far. He says he can get the best out of them by working them on the track where he can watch them. He’s a good runner himself, but in going cross country he cannot watch all the men, you know.”

Merriwell looked mildly surprised, opened his mouth to speak, then closed his lips and remained silent.

Hodge also betrayed surprise, but maintained the silent demeanor that had made him non-conspicuous since entering the observatory.

Proctor was too shrewd not to note Frank’s action.

“What were you thinking of saying, Merriwell?” he asked.

“Oh, not much,” answered Frank.

The runners had now turned the shoulder near the clubhouse, and all leaned over the rail to watch them as they passed the long, low bathhouse, which was also the residence of the track master.

After a moment, Proctor said:

“I wish you would tell me what you started to say a bit ago, Merriwell.”

“I don’t think I had better.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not the thing for me to come here and criticise the methods of your trainer.”

“You may do so privately to me.”

Still Frank was disinclined, seeking to divert Proctor from this inquiry by calling his attention to the fact that Bramwell had a beautiful stride and no lost motion.

“If he had more range,” said Merry, “he would be the man of that lot to back.”

“It’s strange Hollingsworth doesn’t think so—or, at least, hasn’t said anything about it,” said Proctor.

“Perhaps Hollingsworth understands Bramwell’s disposition and doesn’t wish the fellow to get too good an opinion of himself. You know that spoils a runner occasionally.”

Proctor slipped over close to Frank. The two men were now at the western side of the observatory, still watching the runners and talking in low tones. Hodge leaned on the southern rail and seemed absorbed in thought.

“What were you going to say about Hollingsworth’s methods a short time ago, Merriwell?” persisted the president of the club.

“It is now three days before the great match?”

“Yes.”

“Already contestants are coming in. If you will take the pains to look yonder and watch the woods on the side of that hill away there, using the glass, you will soon see three runners emerge and descend the hill. They are some of the men who are going to compete, and they are getting practical cross-country work.”

Proctor seized the glass and leveled it as directed. After fifteen or twenty seconds, he muttered:

“You’re right! There comes one of them—yes, and there is another! Now I can see all three of them. How in the world did you discover them?”

“Oh, I often look around. I surveyed the country, with the aid of that glass, when we first came up here. There are two more chaps hidden in that valley yonder, while still a third, a solitary fellow, is skirting the bend of the river down yonder. It’s likely I have not seen all the men who are out getting practical cross-country work to-day, for we know that at least a dozen are stopping in Ashport.”

“Well?”

“Well, here are your men hammering round a fine, smooth track. Why, they should have quit track running long ago. For the past two weeks they should have run cross country at least five times a week, directed by the trainer. One day out of every six in the last two weeks could have been given to work here on the track, where Hollingsworth would be able to watch the men and note their peculiarities and progress. Has Mr. Ashley taken special note of Hollingsworth’s methods?”

“No; but he has confidence in Hollingsworth.”

“Well, I’m not infallible,” laughed Frank. “I’m only giving my ideas; but I have received those ideas from experience and from the suggestion of men of experience. I don’t wish to set myself up as authority, Proctor, for I——”

“You might,” interrupted Proctor quickly. “You are recognized in this country as authority on most amateur sports.”

“But I have never tried for a record in cross-country running.”

“Why don’t you try in this contest? The champions of the United States will take part. Look at these entries: Harvey Neil, New York Athletic Club; Philip Pope, Bay State A. A., Boston; Arthur Huntley, Bison A. A., Buffalo; Farwell Lyons, of the Chicago Clippers, and many others, among whom are several college grads and ex-collegians of note. It would be a great thing for us to have Frank Merriwell in the contest. Come on, old man! The course has been laid off and will be announced to-morrow. You’re in time to go over it with the men before the race.”

“But, my dear fellow,” smiled Merry, “you seem to forget that I ought to put in two or three weeks of consistent training for such a contest if I meant to enter.”

Unheard and unobserved, a red-faced chap in a sweater had mounted the steps to the observatory. He had a Scotch cap pushed back on his head, and he paused with his hands on his hips, surveying Merriwell’s back with a look of disapproval, while he listened to the words of Frank and Paul.

“But I have heard it claimed that you keep yourself constantly in training, and you are now finishing a tour with your own athletic team. If you remain here and do not enter, it will be fancied that you were afraid. People will ask why you were present and failed to compete for the splendid Ashley trophy.”

“There is another reason why I should not enter,” said Merry. “That trophy ought to be won by a member of this club. If I did enter, I’d go after it in earnest as it is my rule never to do a thing unless I do my level best.”

“But, according to your criticism, Carl Prince has no chance of winning, our men are being coached wrong, and all of them have faults. We have no real chance of winning, it seems.”

“You appear to forget what I have said about Bramwell.”

“Even he lacks the range, you have said.”

“But I think he has the courage and endurance. It is endurance and heart that count in a contest of this sort, providing the runner has had something like correct training. You pressed me for my idea of your trainer’s methods, and what I said was spoken in confidence. I have no desire to injure Hollingsworth, who may be sincere and a very good fellow.”

The chap in the sweater smiled disdainfully, continuing to listen, an expression of mingled anger and craft on his unpleasant face.

“Of course if you will not enter that settles it,” said Proctor; “but I don’t believe Bramwell can defeat Pope, of Boston, or Huntley, of Buffalo.”

“How about Neil?”

“He is not the best man from his club.”

“Well, I’d like to see one of your men take that trophy, Proctor. I don’t want it.”

The fellow in the sweater laughed rather harshly and sarcastically, causing every one in the observatory to turn quickly and look at him.

“Hollingsworth!” exclaimed Proctor.

“Mr. Merriwell is very generous,” observed the laughing man cuttingly. “It’s an easy thing for ’im to be generous in such a manner, and no one will hever suspect ’im of timidness. He can travel on his record. I think he is hextremely wise in keeping hout of this race.”

It was Hollingsworth, the English trainer, who betrayed his origin whenever excited in the least by the misuse of the letter “h” in his speech. In ordinary............