More Nurmi

White eyeballs rolled, puffy lips twitched, dining-car waiters nudged one another. Amid the jingling of knives, forks, glasses, the clatter of tableware that trembled, if ever so slightly, as a famed express sped towards Chicago, they whispered about a certain passenger. There he sat, slim, blond, eating--for breakfast, two apples, a triple helping of oatmeal, a big cup of coffee, three slices of buttered toast; for lunch, vegetable soup, roast beef, sweet potatoes, rolls, two cups of coffee, vanilla ice cream. He was Paavo Nurmi, on his way from Manhattan to compete in the Illinois A. C. handicap meet. The famed express ended its run, the passenger, well-fed, well-rested, got off.

"Pow" went a pistol in the Chicago Coliseum a few hours later. Three runners leapt forward; fast they went, though they had a mile and three-quarters to go. In front was a light skinny one, this Nurmi; behind him came Joie Ray, Fred Liewendahl. Lap after lap they padded. At the tenth they were only two; Liewendahl had quit. At the twentieth Nurmi looked over his shoulder at lurching, wavering Ray. Then he set his eyes on the tape, flashed through it, trotted off to his dressing room. Eighty yards behind came Ray, crossed the finished, collapsed into the arms of an admirer. Nurmi's time was 7 min. 55 2/5 sec. --one-fifth of a second better than the world's record for this distance which he established in Manhattan a fortnight ago. Half an hour later he had mounted another train, was bound back to Manhattan again to compete in the Fordham University games.

This time, however, there were no ogling blacks, no steaming coffee, no apples, no diner. What to do? Nurmi's retainers noised his plight about the train. A New York Central brakeman, famed as a heavy eater, sidled up to the famished Finn modestly offered three succulent sandwiches. The engineer gave a bottle of milk, a conductor an apple. Thus was the breach filled. Nurmi left no crumbs. Fed, he stated that he disliked Chicago. He had three grievances: 1) Without notice to him the Coliseum track had been reduced from ten to twelve laps to the mile, a change which had thrown out his well-planned running schedule; 2) The start of the race had been delayed till 10:30, which made him worry about catching his train; 3) In addition to the medal for first place, a prize had been promised him if he lowered the world's record, but no such prize had been awarded, Asked if he would return to Chicago, Nurmi answered in Finnish "Never more." A sleep, a workout and once more he waited for the pistol.

The Manhattan race was a 2,000-metre handicap over a flat (unbanked) track. Off sped Nurmi, round and round, after runners who had started many yards ahead of him. Twice, on the sharp turns of the track, he slipped, lost his stride, yet when he broke the tape, he broke also the world's indoor* record for this distance, his time 5 min. 33 sec. After him panted Gunnar Nilson, who had started with a 125-yard handicap.

Before Nurmi's race, a rival Finn, Willie Ritola, started from scratch, padded five long miles, four times tapped the field of wearying runners, lowered by eight seconds the world's indoor record. Ritola's time was 24 min. 21 4/5 sec. /-

* The world's outdoor mark is 5 min. 26 3/10 sec., established by Paavo Nurmi in 1922.

/-The old record, set by Hannes Kolehmainen in 1913, was 24 min. 29 1/5 sec.