Free Gladiator by Philip Wylie Page B

like an Olympic champ—jump like a kangaroo—how’s your kicking?”
    â€œAll right, I guess.”
    â€œPassing?”
    â€œAll right, I guess.”
    â€œCome on outside. Hey, Fitz! Bring a ball.”
    An hour later Fitzsimmons found Woodman sitting in his office. Beside him was a bottle of whisky which he kept to revive wounded gladiators. “Fitz,” said Woodman, looking at the trainer with dazed eyes, “did you see what I saw?”
    â€œYes, I did, Woodie.”
    â€œTell me about it.”
    Fitzsimmons scratched his greying head. “Well, Woodie, I seen a young man—”
    â€œSaw, Fitz.”
    â€œI saw a young man come into the gym an’ undress. He looked like an oiled steam engine. I saw him go and knock hell out of three track records without even losing his breath. Then I seen him go out on the field an’ kick a football from one end to the other an’ pass it back. That’s what
I
seen.”
    Woodman nodded his head. “So did I. But I don’t believe it, do you?”
    â€œI do. That’s the man you—an’ all the other coaches—have been wantin’ to see. The perfect athlete. Better in everything than the best man at any one thing. Just a freak, Woodie—but, God Almighty, how New Haven an’ Colgate are goin’ to feel it these next years!”
    â€œMebbe he’s dumb, Fitz.”
    â€œMebbe. Mebbe not.”
    â€œFind out.”
    Fitz wasted no time. He telephoned to the registrar’s office. “Mr. H. Danner,” said the voice of a secretary, “passed his examinations with the highest honours and was admitted among the first ten.”
    â€œHe passed his entrance exams among the first ten,” Fitzsimmons repeated.
    â€œGod!” said Woodman, “it’s the millennium!” And he took a drink.
    Late in the afternoon of that day Hugo found his room in Thompson Dormitory. He unpacked his carpet-bag and his straw suitcase. He checked in his mind the things that he had done. It seemed a great deal for one day—a complete alteration of his life. He had seen the dean and arranged his classes: trigonometry, English, French, Latin, biology, physics, economics, hygiene. With a pencil and a ruler he made a schedule, which he pinned on the second-hand desk he had bought.
    Then he checked his furniture: a desk, two chairs, a bed, bed-clothes, a rug, sheets and blankets, towels. He hung his clothes in the closet. For a while he looked at them attentively. They were not like the clothes of the other students. He could not quite perceive the difference, but he felt it, and it made him uncomfortable. The room to which he had been assigned was pleasant. It looked over the rolling campus on two sides, and both windows were framed in the leaves of nodding ivy.
    It was growing dark. From a dormitory near by came the music of a banjo. Presently the player sang and other voices joined with him. A warm and golden sun touched the high clouds with lingering fire. Voices cried out, young and vigorous. Hugo sighed. He was going to be happy at Webster. His greatness was going to be born here.
    At that time Woodman called informally on Chuck and Lefty. They were in a heated argument over the decorative arrangement of various liquor bottles when he knocked. “Come in!” they shouted in unison.
    â€œHello!”
    â€œOh, Woodie. Come in. Sit down. Want a drink—you’re not in training?”
    â€œNo, thanks. Had one. And it would be a damn sight better if you birds didn’t keep the stuff around.”
    â€œIt’s Chuck’s.” Lefty grinned.
    â€œAll right. I came to see about that bird you brought to me—Danner.”
    â€œWas he any good?”
    Woodman hesitated. “Fellows, if I told you how good he was, you wouldn’t believe me. He’s so good—I’m scared of him.”
    â€œWhaddaya mean?”
    â€œJust that. He gave Nellie