Wobble to Death Read Free Page A

princely tent and pulled open the flap.
    ‘What you see in here, gentlemen, bedstead, gas jet, food cupboard and toilet necessaries, are provided in the other tent and in each of the huts. If some of the other competi-tors have to share accommodation, it is a sacrifice that they are pleased to make in order to take part in my promotion. I am not an hotelier, but nor are these pedestrians the class of men who are accustomed to delicate living. Some of them, indeed, may find it a pleasurable experience to have any sort of roof above them.’
    Outside the tent another misgiving was voiced.
    ‘Isn’t it possible that some of these men may injure them-selves permanently, or even die on the track, after such exer-tions? You could be accused of manslaughter in such a case.’ Herriott had prepared for this question.
    ‘Sir, I will bet you fifty that you die from want of exercise before any one of these fellows dies from taking too much.’
    His guffaw at his own wit echoed through the Hall as he flashed his small eyes from man to man.
    After three hours of competition the pace of the leaders had slowed markedly, and the board at the trackside showed the leader’s distance as 23 miles and 6 laps. He was Billy Reid, and his twin brother urged him on noisily as each time he padded past the place where he sat by the track. The pair were becoming well known in suburban pedestrian circles, but Billy had yet to run more than fifty miles competitively, and the bookmakers still offered generous odds against him in spite of his position.
    ‘He won’t stay, Jack. You’ll need to rest him soon.’
    Sam Monk, Darrell’s trainer, approached Billy’s brother.
    ‘He’s overweight, boy. You can’t carry extra pounds in this caper.’
    ‘Bill won’t falter,’ Reid replied. ‘He’s staked too much on this. I’m starving him, any rate, and he’ll sweat out some pounds as he goes. Eel-broth and ale. That’s all he’s getting today.’
    ‘Bloody murderer!’
    Monk was grinning.
    ‘Me, I’m known as a cruel man, but I wouldn’t kill my own flesh and blood. Eel-broth and ale and fifty yards to the hut for a leak. He’ll never make it, boy.’
    ‘He might not nail your man in the end, but he’s five miles up on Chadwick already. That bastard won’t get into his fancy tent tonight if he wants to catch Billy.’
    Probably turning over the same thought, with greater delicacy, Chadwick marched past them, upright, superbly controlled, the only hint of exertion two beads of sweat at either extremity of his moustache. He was walking well. He could manage five hundred at this pace, but the form of Darrell was worrying. Already he had passed him more than a dozen times.
    As dawn approached a few spectators began to appear in the shilling enclosure. Experience had shown that public interest in these contests grew towards the end of the week, when the efforts were telling on the participants. Sir John Astley’s first ‘Go As You Please’ at Islington in March 1878 raised nearly a thousand pounds on the final night and fin-ished in uproar, with every seat filled, and the winner fin-ishing, in the words of Bell’s Life, ‘as stilty as a cock sparrow suffering from sciatica’. Herriott had studied this promotion minutely, and learned from Astley’s errors. He insisted that his race should progress in one direction, anticlockwise. In the Astley ‘mix’ competitors were allowed to turn and go in an opposite direction at the completion of any mile, by giv-ing one lap’s notice to the scorers. The result was confusion in the scoring, and the spectacle of exhausted men meeting face to face and sometimes colliding. There were criticisms of the event in the medical Press. Herriott had engaged two doctors to examine each competitor beforehand and daily during his race. In spite of the confidence that he professed to the reporters he was taking no chance on a fatal collapse.
    During the morning Darrell gained perceptibly on young Reid, who