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Discipline Specific Writing Theory into practice 1st
Edition John Flowerdew (Editor) Digital Instant
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Author(s): John Flowerdew(editor), Tracey Costley (editor)
ISBN(s): 9781138907430, 113890743X
Edition: 1
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Year: 2016
Language: english

Discipline-Specific Writing
Discipline-Specific Writing provides an introduction and guide to the

teaching of this topic for students and trainee teachers. This book highlights
the
importance of discipline-specific writing as a critical area of competence
for students, and covers both the theory and practice of teaching this crucial
topic. With chapters from practitioners and researchers working across a
wide range of contexts around the world, Discipline-Specific Writing:
• Explores teaching strategies in a variety of specific areas including

science and technology, social science and business;
• Discusses curriculum development, course design and assessment,

providing a framework for the reader;
• Analyses the teaching of language features including grammar and
vocabulary for academic writing;
• Demonstrates the use of genre analysis, annotated bibliographies and
corpora as tools for teaching;
• Provides practical suggestions for use in the classroom, questions for
discussion and additional activities with each chapter.
Discipline-Specific Writing is key reading for students taking courses
in English for Specific Purposes, Applied Linguistics, TESOL, TEFL and
CELTA.
John Flowerdew is Professor Emeritus at City University of Hong Kong and is
now based in the UK, where he is a Visiting Professor at Lancaster University.
Tracey Costley is a Lecturer in the Department of English Language and
Linguistics at the University of Essex, UK.

This page intentionally left blank

Discipline-Specific Writing
Theory into practice
Edited by John Flowerdew
and Tracey Costley

First published 2017
by Routledge
2 Park Square, Milton Park,Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN
and by Routledge
711 Third Avenue, NewYork, NY 10017
Routledge is an imprint of theTaylor & Francis Group, an informa business
© 2017 selection and editorial matter, John Flowerdew and Tracey
Costley; individual chapters, the contributors
The right of the editors to be identified as the authors of the editorial
material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been
asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs
and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced
or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means,
now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording,
or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in
writing from the publishers.
Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks
or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and
explanation without intent to infringe.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Flowerdew, John. | Costley,Tracey.
Title: Discipline-specific writing : theory into practice / edited by John
Flowerdew and Tracey Costley.
Description: Milton Park,Abingdon, Oxon ; NewYork, NY : Routledge,
[2016] | “This edited collection draws from the Summer Institute for
Creative and Discovery-based Approaches to Teaching University English
for Specific Disciplines that was held by the department of English, at City
University of Hong Kong in 2014.” | Includes bibliographical references
and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2016010205| ISBN 9781138907430 (hardback) |
ISBN 9781138907447 (pbk.) | ISBN 9781315519012 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Language arts (Higher)—Correlation with content
subjects. | English language—Rhetoric—Study and teaching (Higher) |
Interdisciplinary approach in education. | Language and education.
Classification: LCC P53.293 D57 2016 | DDC 808/.0420711—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016010205
ISBN: 978-1-138-90743-0 (hbk)
ISBN: 978-1-138-90744-7 (pbk)
ISBN: 978-1-315-51901-2 (ebk)
Typeset in Sabon
by diacriTech, Chennai

List of figuresvii
List of tablesix
List of contributorsxi
1 Introduction1
TRACEY COSTLEY AND JOHN FLOWERDEW
2 Investigating local sociocultural and institutional

contexts for discipline-specific writing 12
RICHARD W. FOREST AND TRACY S. DAVIS
3 Developing writing courses for specific
academic purposes 31
HELEN BASTURKMEN
4 The role of grammar in the discipline-specific
writing curriculum 46
LINDSAY MILLER AND JACK C. RICHARDS
5 Approaches and perspectives on teaching vocabulary
for
discipline-specific academic writing 62
AVERIL COXHEAD
6 Using genre analysis to teach writing in the disciplines 77
SUNNY HYON
7 Teaching writing for science and technology 95
JEAN PARKINSON
8 Using annotated bibliographies to develop student

writing in social sciences 113
DAMIAN FITZPATRICK AND TRACEY COSTLEY
Contents

vi Contents
9 Discipline-specific writing for business students:
research,
practice and pedagogy 126
JULIO GIMENEZ
10 Teaching English for research publication purposes
with a focus on genre, register, textual mentors and

language
re-use: a case study 144
JOHN FLOWERDEW AND SIMON HO WANG
11 Introducing corpora and corpus tools into the technical

writing classroom through Data-Driven Learning (DDL) 162
LAURENCE ANTHONY
12 Critical literacy writing in ESP: perspectives
and approaches 181
CHRISTIAN W. CHUN
13 Towards a specific writing language assessment at
Hong Kong universities 196
JANE LOCKWOOD
Index216

List of figures
1.1 The Curriculum Cycle 7
3.1 Types of academic writing courses 37
5.1 Examples from an academic corpus of the consequences
of as a frame 67
6.1 meerrd08, ‘Do the Hustle’ screenshot 81
6.2 Ousama Itani, ‘(how to) do the hustle’ screenshot 82
7.1 Three levels of the language of texts in undergraduate
study of science and technology 98
7.2 Ideology, genre and register in undergraduate
science and technology texts 99
7.3 Abstract section of an undergraduate Mechanical
Engineering laboratory report 109
7.4 The move structure of abstract sections in laboratory reports 110
11.1 Survey responses on computer programs used
for analyzing
corpora 169
11.2 A research biography appearing on a personal website 170
11.3 COCA corpus interface showing search results for ‘degree’ in
the sub-corpus of academic texts from science and technology 171
11.4 COCA corpus interface showing frequencies of personal

pronouns in different genres 172
11.5 Necessary steps prior to conducting DDL activities 173
11.6 Example instructions on writing a research biography
(Journal of Bioorganic and Medicinal Chemistry, 2015) 174
11.7 AntConc screenshot showing keywords from a small
research biographies corpus 176
11.8 AntConc screenshot showing a KWIC concordance output for
the word ‘research’ in a small research biographies corpus 176

List of tables
4.1 12 principles for integrating grammar and texts 49
4.2 Course outline for the English for Science course 53
5.1 Examples (adapted from Hyland and Tse, 2007: 245) of
the
distribution of meanings of consist, credit and abstract
across three disciplines (%) 66
7.1 Moves in laboratory reports 104
9.1 Conceptualisation of discipline-specific writing in the
business literature 130
9.2 Profile of the participants 131
9.3 Overview of the data sets 131
10.1 Inventory of moves and steps for RA writing 146
10.2 Inventory of linguistic features (register) 149
11.1 Selection of commonly used general corpora for use in
discipline-specific writing classes 167
11.2 Selection of specific corpora for use in discipline-specific
writing classes 167
11.3 Commonly used standalone corpus tools 168
13.1 ESP academic writing in Hong Kong universities 203

List of contributors
Laurence Anthony is Professor of Educational Technology and Applied
Linguistics in the Faculty of Science and Engineering, Waseda University,
Japan. He has a BSc degree (Mathematical Physics) from the University
of Manchester, UK, and MA (TESL/TEFL) and PhD (Applied Linguistics)
degrees from the University of Birmingham, UK. He is a former director and
current program coordinator at the Center for English Language Education
(CELESE), Waseda University. His research interests include corpus lin-
guistics, technical writing, and English for Specific Purposes (ESP) program
design and teaching methodologies. He is the developer of various corpus
tools including AntConc and AntWordProfiler.
Helen Basturkmen is Associate Professor in Applied Language Studies and
Linguistics at the University of Auckland. She has published articles in vari-
ous international journals including System, Modern Language Journal,
Applied Linguistics, English for Specific Purposes Journal, Journal of
English for Academic Purposes, Language Awareness, Language Learning
and TESOL Quarterly. She has written two books on English for Specific
Purposes (Lawrence Erlbaum, 2006; Palgrave Macmillan, 2010) and edited
English for Academic Purposes in the Critical Concepts in Linguistics Series
(Routledge, 2015). She is currently an editorial review board member of the
Journal of English for Academic Purposes.
Christian W. Chun is Assistant Professor of Culture, Identity and Language
Learning in the Applied Linguistics Department at the University of
Massachusetts, Boston. His publications have appeared in TESOL Quarterly,
Language Assessment Quarterly, Journal of Adolescent and Adult Literacy,
Journal of English for Academic Purposes, Research in the Teaching of
English and the Journal of Language and Politics. His first book, Power and
Meaning Making in an EAP Classroom: Engaging with the Everyday, was
published by Multilingual Matters in 2015, and his
second, The Discourses
of Capitalism, will be published by Routledge in 2017.

xii List of contributors
Tracey Costley is a Lecturer in TEFL/TESOL in the Department of Language
and Linguistics at the University of Essex. Her main research interests are
in the areas of english as additional language learners, academic language
and literacy development and student writing in higher education. She has
published journal articles and book chapters on topics such as multilingual
classrooms, multilingualism and biliteracy, language teacher identity and
language policy. She teaches undergraduate and postgraduate classes on
ELT teaching methodologies, academic writing, and research methods.
Averil Coxhead is a Senior Lecturer in the School of Linguistics and Applied
Language Studies at Victoria University of Wellington, New Zealand. She is
the MA Director in the school and teaches a variety of undergraduate and
postgraduate courses. Averil’s research interests include vocabulary for spe-
cific purposes at secondary and tertiary levels, vocabulary size testing, peda-
gogy and lexical studies, and multi-word units. She is currently developing a
corpus of secondary school texts in the New Zealand context and working
on a project on lexis in the trades.
Tracy S. Davis is Assistant Professor of Educational Linguistics at Central
Michigan University, USA where she teaches courses in TESOL methods,
second language acquisition, pedagogic grammar, and written analysis.
Her research interests include corpus-based analyses of academic English,
TESOL teacher training, and written feedback in online environments.
Damian Fitzpatrick is a former lecturer at the English Language Teaching
Unit at The Chinese University of Hong Kong and an EAP tutor at King’s
College London. He earned his EdD from the University of Exeter in which
he investigated the relationship between the English language policy and
practices of English teachers in Thailand. His research interests include lan-
guage policy, academic literacies and English across the curriculum.
John Flowerdew is a Professor in the Department of English, City University
of Hong Kong and was formerly Professor of Applied Linguistics at the
University of Leeds, UK. He has published over a hundred books, jour-
nal articles and book chapters. Previous edited collections on English
for Academic Purposes/academic discourse include Academic Listening
(Cambridge), Research Perspectives in English for Academic Purposes (with
M. Peacock) (Cambridge), and Academic Discourse (Longman). He recently
edited a special edition of the journal Writing and Pedagogy on the theme of
English for Specific Academic Purposes (ESAP) Writing.
Richard W. Forest is an Assistant Professor in the Department of English
Language and Literature at Central Michigan University and Director of
CMU’s English Language Institute. His research interests include EAP

List of contributors xiii
writing, signalling in academic discourse, and interdisciplinary collabora-
tions between corpus-based linguistics and traditional humanities disci-
plines (e.g. religion, history, literary analysis). His most recent collaborative
interdisciplinary work of this kind investigated discourses of preternatural
beings in early modern English. In the area of English academic writing
education, his current interest is in how institutional discourses in higher
education affect curricular decisions and teaching practices in university IEP
and EAP programs.
Julio Gimenez is acting head of Westminster Professional Language Centre,
University of Westminster, London. He is also course leader of the MA in
Teaching English for Academic and Professional Purposes by blended learn-
ing to be launched in the summer of 2017. His main research interests are in
the areas of pedagogic research, academic
literacies, and professional com-
munication. His work has appeared in a number of edited collections and
in journals such as Higher Education, English for Specific Purposes, the
Journal of English for Academic Purposes, and the European Journal of
Engineering Education.
Sunny Hyon is a Professor in the English Department at California State
University, San Bernardino. She teaches applied linguistics and L2 teaching
methodology courses, as well as writing courses for first-year undergraduate
students. Sunny received her PhD in linguistics at the University of Michigan
and has since published on genre theory and pedagogy, intersections between
L1 and L2 writing studies, and evaluative
writing; she is currently at work
on a project on the uses of genre in English for Specific Purposes.
Jane Lockwood is an Associate Professor in the Department of English at
City University of Hong Kong. Her research interests relate to English for
Specific Purposes (ESP) curriculum and assessment development in academic
and occupational settings. She is Principal Investigator for an Education
Research Grant (ERG) exploring the development of an academic writ-
ing assessment tool called the Diagnostic English Language Tracking
Assessment (DELTA) and has published widely in the areas of ESP curricu-
lum and assessment development in Asian call centres.
Lindsay Miller is an Associate Professor in the Department of English at
City University of Hong Kong. He has been responsible for designing,
developing and teaching a wide variety of courses at both undergraduate
and postgraduate level. Dr Miller’s main areas of research have focused on
self-access language learning, academic listening, and course development.
He has published widely including Establishing Self-Access: From Theory
to Practice (1999) and Second Language Listening: Theory and Practice

xiv List of contributors
(2005), Cambridge University Press, as well as Managing Self-Access
Language Learning (2015), CityU Press.
Jean Parkinson is a Senior Lecturer in Applied Linguistics/TESOL at Victoria
University in Wellington, NZ. Her main research interests include discourse
analysis, using corpus methods, of a range of science genres, and academic
writing, in particular acquisition of written genres in science and applied
science. Her publications have appeared in English for Specific Purposes,
System, the International Journal of Corpus Linguistics, and the Journal of
English for Academic Purposes.
Jack C. Richards is currently Adjunct Professor at the Regional Language
Centre, Singapore and Honorary Professor in the Faculty of Education,
UniversityofSydney,Australia.In2011hewasawardedanhonoraryDoctorate
of literature by Victoria University, Wellington, for his service to education and
the arts. Jack is a well-known author and specialist in English language teach-
ing and has published numerous classroom texts as well as books and articles
on language teaching methodology, teacher education, and applied linguistics.
Simon Ho Wang is a doctoral candidate in English Studies at City University
of Hong Kong under the supervision of Prof. John Flowerdew and Dr. Becky
Kwan. He holds an MSc in education from the University of Oxford and
a BA in history from Washington University in St. Louis. Prior to joining
City U, Mr. Wang taught English at Huazhong University of Science and
Technology for 9 years where he helped numerous Chinese scholars revise
and successfully publish English manuscripts in international journals. His
research interests include second language writing, English for Academic
Purposes and computer-assisted language learning.

Background to this edited collection
This edited collection draws from the Summer Institute for Creative and
Discovery-Based Approaches to Teaching University English for Specific
Disciplines that was held by the department of English, at City University
of Hong Kong in 2014. This was the second Summer Institute organised
by the department in order to provide a creative space for thinking about
approaches to the teaching of discipline-specific university writing, the previ-
ous one focussing more broadly on creativity and discovery in the university
writing class (Chik, Costley and Pennington, 2015). Many of the chapters in
this collection were developed out of interactive workshops at this Summer
Institute, bringing practitioners and researchers together from across a wide
range of Higher Education (HE) contexts. Through this edited collection we
hope to make these ideas and approaches available to audiences beyond the
Summer Institute (see also Flowerdew (2016a) for a selection of articles also
deriving from this Summer Institute).
In addition to contributions from the Summer Institute, we have commis-
sioned additional chapters from colleagues in the field in order to provide
comprehensive coverage of the different elements that combine to make a
discipline-specific writing course. More than this, we have organised the
collection to mirror the essential stages involved in preparing and deliver-
ing courses for discipline-specific writing. The intention of the book is to
give teachers both new to and experienced in the teaching of discipline-
specific writing, course designers, programme coordinators, as well as other
interested colleagues, a framework to consider, and ideas to draw upon, to
aid and inform discipline-specific writing course development. The edited
collection seeks to raise questions and explore the kinds of issues and chal-
lenges one might face in developing discipline-specific writing courses. Each
chapter is offered by experts in the field, who draw from their own theo-
retical frameworks, practice and pedagogy to illustrate the different ways
in which they meet the needs of their own students and contexts. Through
these contributions, we hope to provide ideas for theory, classroom practice,
and further research.
Chapter 1
Introduction
Tracey Costley and John Flowerdew

2 Tracey Costley and John Flowerdew
Using this book
With more students now than ever before undertaking undergraduate and
postgraduate level study and higher education institutions (HEIs) offering
an unparalleled range of courses in and through the medium of English,
the need for students to take up the language and literacy practices of their
disciplines is more pressing than it has ever been. These needs, as has been
the case for the last 40 to 50 years or so, are met by teachers and courses
that adopt a variety of different approaches and methods. Some of us find
ourselves in English for Specific Purposes (ESP) contexts where we might
be teaching postgraduate students studying to be pilots. We might find our-
selves teaching ESP to undergraduate classes of dentists, engineers, and/or
students who fall broadly under the banner of Humanities. We may find
ourselves teaching on our own or in teams with other university staff and/or
industry professionals. We may be responsible for planning and developing
such courses, teaching them, training others to teach them, and assessing
them, as well as adopting many other possible roles. In some contexts, our
teaching might be part of a writing across the curriculum (WAC) initiative,
a writing in the disciplines (WID) course, or a bespoke module and/or stand-
alone course designed for a specific department. We might adopt a genre
approach, one that is based on the use of corpora, and/or one that draws
upon an academic literacies model.
This book tries to take account of this wide range of contexts and practices
and provides strategies and ideas for pedagogy from a
discipline-
specific
perspective. A key question is how to meet the needs of the students in
terms of providing them with the content, language and literacy practices
required by their studies, whether this is at the level of overall course design,
individual classes, student assessment, or program evaluation. Each chapter
in this edited collection begins with a discussion of the theory and literature
that informs the approach(es) and materials, before moving on to practical
applications and suggestions for classrooms. Each chapter ends with ques-
tions for discussion as well as additional activities for class.
Although the chapters in this collection focus on the uses of English, the
ideas and approaches discussed are, we suggest, germane to the teaching of
disciplinary writing in any university context regardless of whether English
is the medium of instruction or production, or not. In this sense our interests
and intentions are, similar to Bazerman and Prior (2004), that we start from
an interest in ‘what writing does, and how it does it’.
Discipline-specificity and disciplinarity
What do we mean when we refer to discipline-specificity, or to use the more
usual term, disciplinarity? The term refers to systems of knowledge, their crea-
tion and organisation, and the intellectual and teaching and learning prac-
tices that are associated with them (Christie and Maton, 2011). Different
disciplines build their knowledge in different ways and individuals working

Introduction 3
in particular disciplines share their ideals, beliefs, values, goals, practices,
conventions, and ways of creating and distributing knowledge. In Lave and
Wenger’s (1991) terms, individuals in different disciplines belong to commu-
nities of practice, groups of people whose members share a common interest
in a particular domain, with the goal of gaining knowledge related to their
field. Through the process of sharing information and experiences with the
group, individuals learn from each other, and have an opportunity to develop
personally and professionally. Such disciplinary communities of practice have
their fully-fledged members, the professoriate, and their apprentices, students
at different stages of development. Following Lave and Wenger’s theory of
situated learning, apprentices become fully-fledged members of the disci-
pline through a process of legitimate peripheral participation. Disciplinary
knowledge also provides the basis for the creation and dissemination of new
knowledge. Without a firm base on which to build, new knowledge is not
possible. Disciplinarity furthermore provides for the creation of identity, both
the shared identity of the members of the disciplinary community and part of
one’s personal identity, how one views the world (Christie and Maton, 2011).
It is fashionable in some quarters to embrace interdisciplinarity, to empha-
sise how disciplines need to work together, not in isolation (Frodeman, Klein
and Mitcham 2010). There is a need to go beyond disciplines because exces-
sive specialisation can be dangerous, it is argued, according to this view,
from both an epistemological and a political point of view. Some might
argue, in fact, that all disciplines are made up of sub-disciplines, and so are
already interdisciplinary (e.g. Gimenez, 2014). However, without a secure
identity, a discipline cannot be a part of an inter-disciplinary activity. As
Christie and Maton (2011: 7) stress,
[d]isciplinarity and interdisciplinarity are . . . not opposed but rather
two sides of the same coin, two dimensions of knowledge formations
that together enrich intellectual and educational practices. The autono-
mous, inward-looking face provides possibilities for cumulative knowl-
edge-building, the generation of shared grounds for judgements and
collective identities. The heteronomous, outward-looking face broadens
intellectual coalitions and enables ideas recontextualized from other
perspectives to refresh the ways of viewing and thinking about prob-
lems circulating within the discipline.
So apprentice scholars need a firm grounding in their individual disciplines
if they are to take part in interdisciplinary activities.
Discipline-specific writing
The above section on disciplinarity provides a firm theoretical basis for a
discipline-specific approach to the teaching and learning of academic writ-
ing. Writing is an important feature of a discipline’s identity. The processes
and forms that writing takes in a discipline tell us a lot about that discipline.

4 Tracey Costley and John Flowerdew
The way one writes in Mathematics varies greatly from the way one writes
in History; and the way one writes in Information Science differs greatly
from how one writes in Architecture. Learning to write in the discipline is
an important part of one’s disciplinary apprenticeship. To be a fully-fledged
member of the discipline one needs to be familiar with and able to perform
the written genres associated with the discipline. Hanauer and Curry (2014:
3) comment (with regard to the STEM1
disciplines) that ‘language and lit-
eracy are specific to disciplines’ and that ‘the investigation, analysis, and
discussion of different literacy products, multimodal objects, or oral interac-
tions is contextualised within a framework of disciplinary action that under-
pins and explicates these communicative components’. Similarly, Gimenez
(this volume) cites Bazerman and Prior (2004: 2) as arguing that ‘to under-
stand writing, we need to explore the practices that people engage in to
produce texts as well as the ways that writing practices gain their meanings
and functions as dynamic elements of specific cultural settings’.
Chapters in this volume by Parkinson and Gimenez provide excellent
examples to show how this process operates in two contrasting disciplinary
fields: Science/Engineering and Business, respectively. Parkinson shows how
Science and Engineering students learn to write by writing the laboratory
report, and how, by learning to write this genre, they at the same time ‘learn
the empirical values of laboratory work that are expressed in its writing’.
Gimenez, on the other hand, shows how ‘business [in common with other
social science disciplines] requires a set of clearly defined persuasion, argu-
mentation and reasoning skills: summarising, critiquing, critical analysis,
evaluating supporting material from multiple sources and so on’.
Discipline and genre
We have already mentioned that to be a fully-fledged member of a disciplinary
community one needs to be familiar with and able to perform the written
genres associated with that discipline. For this reason, many of the chapters
in this book adopt a genre-based approach to the teaching of discipline-
specific writing, with Chapter 6 by Hyon focussing exclusively on this topic,
so we will not go into great detail here. We might cite Hyland, however, on
the advantages of a genre-based approach, as presented near the beginning
of his Genre and Second Language Writing (2004: 10–11), as follows:
• Explicit. Makes clear what is to be learned to facilitate the acquisition
of writing skills.
• Systematic. Provides a coherent framework for focusing on both lan-
guage and contexts.
• Needs-based. Ensures that course objectives and content are derived
from target needs.

Introduction 5
• Supportive. Gives teachers a central role in scaffolding students’
learning
and creativity.
• Empowering. Provides access to the patterns and possibilities of varia-
tion in valued texts.
• Critical. Gives students the resources to understand and challenge val-
ued discourses.
• Consciousness raising. Increases teachers’ awareness of texts and helps
them confidently advise students on writing.
Such advantages are further explicated in the various chapters of this vol-
ume, especially that of Hyon.
Discipline-specificity and English for Specific Purposes
Readers will find that individual authors in this volume sometimes describe
their practices as belonging to the tradition of English for Specific Purposes
(ESP). ESP is traditionally broken down into two sub-fields: English for
Academic Purposes (EAP) and English for Occupational Purposes (EOP).
Discipline-specific approaches strictly speaking only fit into the EAP
domain, not the domain of EOP, because occupations are not disciplines.
However, there is often overlap, because some professions – for exam-
ple Law, Accountancy, and Engineering, to mention just three – may be
grounded in specific disciplines (Flowerdew and Peacock, 2001:11). A lot
of work which goes on in the academy in these more professionally-ori-
ented disciplines may therefore be considered as preparation for profes-
sional practice. Be that as it may, not all EAP is discipline-specific, far from
it. EAP may be broken down into English for General Academic Purposes
(EGAP) and English for Specific Academic Purposes (ESAP), sometimes also
referred to as wide-angle EAP and narrow-angle EAP (Basturkmen, this
volume; Flowerdew and Peacock, 2001; Flowerdew, 2016b). The former
usually caters for heterogeneous classes made up of students from different
disciplines, while the latter selects its students from specific disciplines or
disciplinary areas. However, we would argue that just because students are
drawn from different disciplines, this does not mean that there may be no
focus on discipline-specificity, that is to say, both EGAP and ESAP may be
discipline-specific, or have elements of discipline-specificity built into their
design. This may be brought about in more heterogeneous EGAP classes
through individualised learning, with different students in the same class
working on texts and practices which may be specific to their particular
discipline, a practice which can be emphasised further through out-of-
class activities. So, with regard to the present volume, although the focus
of all of the chapters is on discipline-specificity, their context may not
always be ESAP, but may be EGAP, or may lie somewhere along a cline

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“I said I wouldn’t have them in my piano,” faltered Moorhead.
“And I said you were to leave ’em alone. You might as well have
handed ’em over to Lady Jane while you were about it. If you touch
’em again, you’ll find your pretty music box there scratched from top
to bottom.”
And Moorhead, who knew what Fish was capable of, gave heed to
the threat and held his tongue.
It was not long after this that slow-moving justice at last overtook
Mr. John Fish. One morning when Moorhead was just starting for
breakfast, he noticed that the lid of the piano compartment was
down. Feeling under no obligation either to replace the lid, or to
remove the chair which screened it from the casual observer, he took
his book from the top of the piano and went his way. At the clang of
the first chapel bell, Fish crawled forth from bed and for the next
seven minutes devoted his energies exclusively to the task of
throwing on his clothes and getting into chapel before the second
bell ceased to ring. He had no leisure to waste in idle contemplation
of his study.
The chambermaid, making her rounds, observed the bottles and
called the matron. The matron came, closed the lid, and reported to
Mr. Alsop. Mr. Alsop, scandalized and incredulous, made an
examination of the premises and demanded an explanation
separately from each occupant of the room. Each disclaimed
ownership of the bottles. Fish declared, in addition, that he did not
even know that there was any such cupboard in the piano;
Moorhead acknowledged that he knew that the bottles were there,
but would give no information as to their owner. As the piano
belonged to Moorhead, Mr. Alsop was inclined to hold him either the
criminal or an accomplice.
But this time the truth proved stronger than the lie. When the
matter came before the faculty, every individual teacher to whom

Moorhead recited conducted himself like an attorney engaged to
defend him. After Dr. Leighton brought forward the report of his
investigation into Fish’s manner of life, the august body voted that
Fish be dismissed; and the yea vote was so overwhelming that Mr.
Alsop did not venture to raise a dissenting voice. The evidence that
came to light a few days after the disgraced student left town,
evidence which showed that Mr. Alsop had been shamelessly
imposed on since the beginning of the year, was a severe blow to
that gentleman’s self-esteem.

CHAPTER XXIII
LESSONS IN HURDLING
With the departure of Fish, the east well of Hale ceased to be a
scene of mysteriously fomented disturbance. Mr. Alsop, having been
wofully betrayed through blind following of his own prejudices,
resolved to be more cautious in forming opinions in the future, and
less hasty in the performance of duty. He had yet to learn that a
teacher may make a reputation in a week which he cannot live down
in the whole subsequent school life of his pupils.
For Sam now began the busiest, most exciting period of the year.
The college examinations were near enough to render devotion to
lessons a matter of personal advantage; the outdoor school meet
and the track contest with Hillbury challenged his zeal and ambition.
Besides these serious interests, May and June offered their usual
lavish opportunities for innocent but distracting amusement, ranging
from tennis and scrub ball games and long walks, to the convention
of wags, wits, and philosophers, which gathered every pleasant
evening after dinner on the high steps of Carter, and intermittently
sang songs and discussed men and things—mostly men—to the vast
entertainment of the listeners. Here Brantwein, released for the time
from the burden of the peanut basket, was a protagonist, with
socialism as a general theme and every exposed head as a target for
his verbal shillaleh. The crowd yelled applause for every crack he
gave, and lavished double measure on every telling return.
Good practice in the high hurdles amounts to something more than
daily exercise in starting, running, and jumping. The course is one
hundred and twenty yards over ten hurdles, with fifteen yards clear

before the first, and fifteen more after the last. Between each pair of
hurdles lies a distance of ten yards; each barrier is three feet and six
inches high. The runner must clear the barrier in such a way as to
interrupt his advance as little as possible, by rising neither too high
nor too low, by taking his jump neither too long nor too short, by
landing in the right position, by adjusting his inter-hurdle strides to
the distance and to his own powers. It has been known since the
race was first practised that the average man must take three strides
between hurdles; but the length of the jump, and the proper
arrangement of short and long strides, are even now matters of
dispute.
Collins’s theory, which of course Sam followed, was that the jump
should be short rather than long. He insisted that to prolong the
distance covered while in the air on the force of previous effort is to
cut short the opportunity to use the legs; to overjump is to introduce
into the race a series of dead periods when the runner is passively
waiting for his feet to touch the ground before he can become active
again. So the trainer labored with Sam to bring him over the hurdle
to the ground at the earliest possible moment; to teach him the
quick rotary whirl of the legs that neither drags nor interferes with
the step, the forward leg doubled and slightly swung, the other
brought quickly around after it in a wide arc; to force him to take the
landing step short—in order to bring his feet under him—and to
stretch the other two strides. Sam’s handicap was his slowness and
a tendency to make his strides too long. His advantage lay in staying
power; he could do twelve hurdles as well as ten. So the clever
trainer worked him day after day on starts and over two or three
hurdles, and once a week sent him over eleven.
“You don’t put me over the course enough, it seems to me,”
complained Sam, one day. “I’m tired of that everlasting thirty-five
yards.”
“If you can do two hurdles right, you can do ten,” answered Collins,
calmly. “If you can’t do the first two, you can’t do any.”

“I should say that it’s speed between that I lack,” pursued Sam. “I
get over the hurdles pretty well, but I lose momentum somewhere
between jumps.”
“You take your first step too long, as I keep telling you. Four to five
feet is all you ought to cover in that first stride after the hurdle. If
you come down right and take the first step right, you can put speed
into the other two and get just the right take-off to drop you over
the next hurdle. Speed will come in time.”
“I wish it would!” lamented Sam.
“It isn’t all in fast running,” said Collins, “nor half. Taking the hurdles
is the main thing. There’s really only two running steps between, if
you throw out the short step. And what a fast runner makes in those
two steps, he’ll more than lose on the hurdles, if he doesn’t do ’em
right. Three feet lost on a hurdle is thirty feet on the race, a good
second and a fifth. No one wins a race by that much. The work
that’s cut out for you is to get your jump so near perfect that you
don’t lose anything in going over. Then just steady, hard running will
put you ahead of the fellow who hasn’t your staying power.”
“We all seem to have about the same amount of that.”
Collins hesitated. His first impulse was to deny Sam’s statement; his
second to let it go unchallenged. After all, there was nothing so
important for Sam’s progress as that he should continue to think that
everything depended on hard, steady work. Sam was one who could
stand work. While he was occasionally discouraged, he never
became despondent; he did not grow irritable under defeat nor
refractory at criticism. He disclaimed high expectations, smiled at
discomfiture, and plodded on.
The school meet came and went, bringing little glory to the name of
Archer. That Fairmount would beat him in the hurdles, Sam fully
expected. The start was fairly even, but Fairmount was in the air
above the first hurdle when Sam was leaving the ground on his first

spring; at the fifth Fairmount was yards ahead. Yet at the tenth,
strange to say, Sam had almost caught him. Archer finished less
than two yards behind the leader, and fully six ahead of Sanderson,
his nearest pursuer. Fairmount’s time was sixteen and four-fifths. So
Sam, according to Collins’s estimate, had come close to seventeen
seconds, a gain of at least a second by a year’s work. From this
result, with which the trainer was fully satisfied, Sam was at least
inclined to draw more consolation than discouragement. He had still
another school year before him.
It was his defeat in the pole vault which caused him the most
chagrin. Jones, of course, rose like a bird soaring against the wind;
his light, lithe body arched the rod gracefully at ten feet, six. Sam
surmounted nine feet, six—but Mulcahy reached nine feet, ten. It
was not jealousy that beset the defeated vaulter, nor wounded pride,
nor the mean ill-will that grudges success to a rival. Sam’s heart had
harbored only feelings of congratulation towards Fairmount, who had
beaten him in the hurdles; his enthusiasm over Jones’s
achievements was genuine and whole-souled. These two were
sportsmen through and through, to whom the joy of the contest, the
delight of winning, the promise of gaining points for the school in
the meet with Hillbury, constituted the whole stimulus and reward.
Mulcahy cared for none of these things. At heart it mattered not two
straws to him whether the blue or the red triumphed, as long as his
own advance was assured. To Mulcahy, athletics were but a ladder
by which he could mount, the means necessary to a desired end. He
wanted prominence in school, distinction, prizes. He wanted the Yale
Cup as the crowning honor of his school career. To win this, he
professed an enthusiasm for athletics, as the unscrupulous politician
professes the principles that win votes.
Ten days later Sam took part in his first contest with Hillbury. In the
interval he did some work in preparation for the event which is not
set down in the coaching directions. When Collins received from the
secretary of the Academy the list of those whose work was “up” and
who were therefore allowed to compete, the names of Fairmount

and Chouder were missing. There was a hurried consultation with
the faculty, resulting in the announcement that if the backward work
were made up to the satisfaction of teachers by the day before the
games, the prohibition on the two men would be removed. Bruce
called upon Mulcahy, who was known to have had experience in
tutoring. Mulcahy could not possibly find time for extra work. Then
Sam undertook the case of Fairmount, and Moorhead volunteered to
coach Chouder. Both tutors labored early and late to bring their
charges into a condition acceptable to the authorities. Moorhead had
the more difficult task, for Chouder was behind in two subjects, and
learning came harder to his slow, unreceptive mind than chopping
wood or running races to his sinewy body. It was Moorhead’s first
opportunity to do something tangible for the school athletics, and he
gave the best that was in him, freely and patiently, hour after hour,
oblivious to the fact that there could be no public recognition of his
service, no personal glory in victory. Fairmount triumphed over his
geometry with a C, while Chouder, to his infinite satisfaction and the
relief of his anxious tutor, scraped through his examinations on a
brace of D’s.
So it happened that Moorhead, as he perched high on the cheering
section at the Hillbury games, felt that he had more part in the
contests than those who sat about him, mere longing hearts and
vociferous units in the chorus. When Chouder took the two-twenty
yards from Merton of Hillbury, running from the start like a
predestined victor, Moorhead thrilled with the consciousness that it
was in part his race and his victory. In the low hurdles his candidate
was not so successful, as the redoubtable Kilham of Hillbury led at
the finish, though Chouder pressed him hard. Fay and Shirley had to
content themselves with second and third places in the hundred
yards, but Bruce won the quarter in a grand burst of speed that cut
the time down close to fifty seconds, and Weatherford made sure of
the half-mile. Jones sailed deftly over the vaulting bar at ten feet,
seven, with Mulcahy a safe third at nine feet, eight. And old Brandy
Brantwein, feeling unusually free from the trammels of society by
reason of the absence of the peanut basket, showed what socialism

will do for a man by throwing the hammer four feet beyond the best
cast of the Hillbury individualist, and putting himself into second
place in the shot contest.
The general issue was already decided when the high hurdles were
called. Seaton had won. Under the inspiration of victory, Sam felt
that he, too, might achieve something worth while. His start was
good, but at the second hurdle the two outside men, Kilham and
Fairmount, were already ahead of him. At the fourth they were still
farther ahead, but he pressed steadily on, clearing his hurdles by
two inches, dropping short and driving himself forward with the
routine pace. At the seventh hurdle only Kilham kept his distance;
Fairmount was nearer. The tenth he passed at Fairmount’s side, with
Kilham but a stride beyond. In the finish, Fairmount sprinted better
and gained a yard, but was still behind the leader by the thickness of
his body.
“If you hadn’t coached up Fairmount so that he could pass his
condition, you’d have been second in that race instead of third,”
remarked Duncan, as they discussed the events of the day, after the
celebration.
“And we should have lost one point,” answered Sam.
“One point wouldn’t have made any difference in the result. You
deserved second, anyhow, by the way you’ve worked. Fairmount will
be gone next year, and then you’ll have things your own way.”
“There’s Kilham,” said Sam, wistfully. “He’s only an upper middler.
He’ll be in Hillbury next year and beat me out again; then he’ll go to
Yale and I to Harvard, and he’ll beat me four years more. That’s
what I’m up against!”
“Oh, cheer up!” returned Duncan. “You’ve improved a lot this year.
You may beat him all to pieces next year. They said that your race
to-day was in mighty good time, and you weren’t much behind
Kilham.”

Sam shook his head with a smile of resignation. “I haven’t won a
thing this year, and I probably shan’t do any better next, but I’m
going to keep right on. I’m too much used to losing to mind, and
there’s always a chance that by a fluke I may win something.”
“It’s a shame!” thought Duncan to himself. “I’d never coach a fellow
up just so that he could take a prize from me, if the school never
won an extra point.”

CHAPTER XXIV
ROBERT OWEN, FRESHMAN
On the Monday following the Hillbury games, Duncan rushed in with
a letter in his hand, and an eager look on his face.
“Look here, Sam! Bob Owen’s sent me two tickets to the Harvard-
Yale Freshman ball game on Wednesday. Do you suppose they’d let
us off to go?”
“Who’s us?”
“You and me.”
Sam’s eyes sparkled. “Wouldn’t it be great! Good seats?”
“Right behind the back-stop. Just think of seeing Owen bucking
against McPherson and Hayes! O’Brien, who used to pitch for
Hillbury, is going to be in the box for the Harvard Freshies, and
several old Hillbury men are playing with Yale. It’s a queer jumble;
Seaton catcher and Hillbury pitcher against a mixed mess,—half of
them old Seaton and Hillbury fellows.”
“I shouldn’t think you’d care much who wins,” observed Sam.
“You’ve got friends on both sides.”
“I do care,” answered Duncan. “I’m with the Harvard lot every time,
and you are, too, only I’ve got more reason for my stand than you
have. It’s Don’s class and Bob Owen’s class, and old Bob’s captain.”

“Well, I hope his nine will win. The Yale fellows beat ’em in football,
didn’t they?”
“Yes, and Bob was on the eleven. He’s aching to get back at them.
It’ll be a hot old game, all right. The only question is whether we
can break away to see it. Who’s the most likely prof for you to
tackle? You’ll have to get the permissions. I haven’t a pull with a
single man in the faculty, worse luck!”
It was decided that Sam should try to win Dr. Leighton to the cause,
and through the strong influence of the teacher float Duncan’s
uncertain craft across the bar. Duncan suggested various subtle
methods of appealing to Dr. Leighton’s favor, but Sam preferred a
simple, straightforward course,—which was unquestionably the best
one. He called on his patron saint of the faculty that afternoon,
explained to him with eager enthusiasm the special opportunity
which had been offered, urged that neither had had out-of-town
leave for a long time, and promised, if they were allowed to go, not
only exemplary conduct while absent, but compensation in diligent
work on their return. Dr. Leighton smiled a little mournfully at this
conception of diligence in school work as a favor granted to a
teacher, and promised to think the matter over and do what he
conscientiously could. Sam departed, greatly encouraged.
Two circumstances counted in favor of the boys’ request: the fact
that the invitation came from Robert Owen, for whom Dr. Leighton
cherished a sincere regard, and his full confidence in Sam. He
believed, moreover, that an honest petition for a legitimate purpose
from an honest boy should receive at least as much consideration as
some fictitious excuse of necessity trumped up to satisfy a formal
rule. More than once, as he was sadly aware, had A’s candid request
been refused by the authorities, when B, who followed with a lie on
his lips, obtained a permission which was used for precisely the
same purpose. Dr. Leighton’s commendation carried weight at the
office.

They boarded the eleven o’clock train, jubilant in spirit as any
schoolboy released for a lark, but self-contained as conscious
Seatonians, who pride themselves on being above the “kiddishness”
of minor schools. In Boston they snatched a hasty lunch and took a
car for Cambridge. The car filled quickly. The Harvard track meet
was to be held in the Stadium at the same time with the Freshman
game on the ball field, and many outsiders were tending
Cambridgeward. On Boylston Street a large, serious-faced young
man climbed upon the running board of the car, and looking calmly
over the crowded seats to spy out an unoccupied place, winked
solemnly at a familiar face.
“Look, there’s old Brandy!” exclaimed Sam, nudging Duncan sharply
in the ribs. “How did he get here?”
“How does he get anywhere?” retorted Duncan. “On his cheek, of
course.”
Brantwein swung himself along to the seat occupied by Sam and
Duncan. He was dressed in his best, and carried himself with a
noticeable air of importance.
“Going out to the game?” he asked coolly.
“Yes, are you?”
“I’m going to something, I don’t know what. Either the track or to
see the freshmen play.”
“How did you get off?” questioned Sam.
“I had business in Boston.”
“Buying peanuts?”
Brandy smiled. It was his regular armor-plated smile against which
all personal jokes fell dead and harmless. “No, buying a peanut farm

and a burying-ground for fools. I’ve got to lay out about a dozen up
there at Seaton before I leave. You fellows are feeling lively to-day.”
“Yes, we’re going to see Owen beat Coy again.”
“Do you expect to see that?”
“We hope so.”
“I don’t know but I’ll go there, too,” said Brantwein, meditatively.
“You may not be able to get a seat now.”
“I don’t care about seats.”
The three approached the entrance to the grounds together, but
there in the crowd Brantwein disappeared. Our friends gave little
heed to the movements of their eccentric schoolmate, being taken
up with the pleasant excitement of the quest of places. Duncan
hailed several fellows whom he knew, and pointed out several others
whom he knew about. While they were waiting for the nines to
appear, with Duncan still busy over his search for familiar faces,
Sam’s eyes fell upon a well-known figure seated on one of the
benches reserved within the side lines for coaches and old players.
“Look there, Duncan,” he cried, “on the first bench on the side line!
Isn’t that Brandy?”
“As sure as guns!” returned Duncan. “How did he get there?”
“Search me!” returned Sam. “He has the most colossal nerve! He
told me once that with a two-foot rule in his hand he could get into
any building going up,—construction work, he called it,—even if a
man stood at the door to keep people out. Perhaps Owen let him in.”
“Owen nothing!” retorted Duncan. “He’s worked one of his bluffs on
the ticket-taker. One of these days his nerve’ll carry him inside a jail.”

Duncan did not fancy Brantwein, even as an amusement.
But the players were appearing, and Brantwein and his arts were
forgotten.
“That’s Owen, the solid fellow with the white sweater, and the mask
on his arm,” cried Duncan; “and the tall fellow behind him is O’Brien,
the Hillbury man. The one just going out to left field is Latter. He
played on our nine last year.”
He paused to watch the men taking their positions for practice.
“There come the Yale fellows!” exclaimed Sam, whose gaze was
wandering over the field. “Now, which is McPherson?”
Duncan hesitated for some time; the unfamiliar uniforms confused
him. “I think that’s McPherson over by third base,” he said. The man
at third took a short bound and shot it underhand to a companion.
“Yes, that’s Mac. I should know that twist of the shoulder in
California. Isn’t it a shame!”
“What?”
“Why, that he should be playing under Coy against Bob Owen. In the
Hillbury game last year Coy came near assaulting Mac for tagging
him too hard at second. Now they’re pals.”
“I don’t see anything strange in that,” rejoined Sam. “He’s playing for
his college as Owen’s playing for ours.”
So they chattered on, till the Harvard men took the field for the
game and a businesslike pair of blue-stockinged legs appeared
beneath a bat at the plate. Then they watched with straining eyes,
their talk running to brief exclamations, sighs for the discouraging
gains of the visitors, vain cries of exultation when the Harvard men
made promising plays.

Three innings passed without a run on either side. Then Coy, the
first man up in the fourth, hit a bounder which the Harvard third
baseman found too hot to handle, and Coy beat the ball to first
base. The next man waited while O’Brien tried to tempt the runner
to steal, and thus got his base on balls. His successor hit to third
again, and while Manning hesitated and tried to touch Coy, likewise
made first. Number four went out on a long fly to right field, but the
speedy Coy got safely across the plate on the return throw, with
score number one. McPherson now made a lucky single over
shortstop’s head, which brought in a second run. Then O’Brien
caught the Yale man playing off too far from second, and the next
batsman struck out.
“That’s Owen.”—Page 255.

“Bad!” said Duncan, sadly. His unhappiness was not relieved when
the three Harvard men went out on a fly and two easy infield hits.
“They’re finding the ball, anyway,” remarked Sam, trying to be
courageous; “the game’s young yet.”
“It’s nearly half grown,” rejoined Duncan, gloomily; “and you can see
what kind of a beast it’s going to be. Two runs is an awful handicap.”
He was depressed still further in the fifth inning, when the first ball
pitched yielded a hit that put a Yale man again on first. The Yale
coachers took a risk and bade their man steal second. It was a poor
risk, for Owen shot one of his perfect throws down ahead of the
runner, and Williams, the Harvard shortstop, thumped him with the
ball as he slid gallantly into his fate.
“What a daisy throw!” cried Sam, ecstatically.
“He can do those by the dozen,” remarked Duncan, airily. “He has a
special wire to second base.”
Manning now captured a foul off third, and Latter took a long fly in
left field. A Harvard man got as far as second base and was left
there. The sixth inning profited neither side.
The seventh began with another shock to our friends’ nerves. Bryant
made a two-bagger. His two successors, however, went out on hits
to O’Brien, and presently Bryant himself, working too far from his
base, was cut off by a sudden throw to second, and run down
ignominiously between second and third.
“Now, Mr. Owen, do something!” muttered Duncan, as the Harvard
catcher came to the plate. Owen responded to the unheard appeal
by a hot bounder over second which the Yale centre fielder allowed
to bounce past him, thus helping the runner to second. Williams
drove a troublesome ball into McPherson’s hands, and while the old

Seaton second baseman was struggling to get hold of it, Owen
reached third and Williams crossed first. The Harvard freshies now
tried a squeeze play, and Manning not only met the ball, but made a
pretty little hit over Bryant’s head, that would have brought Owen in,
if he had not already crossed the plate. A sacrifice now advanced
Williams and Manning to third and second. Then Gooding, the Yale
pitcher, got three balls on his first three pitches to Silverton, and the
Harvard man, waiting for his good one, drove a long single out
between right and centre fields that let in Williams and Manning with
scores two and three. Two easy outs followed.
“Three to two!” cried Sam, joyfully. “Two more innings!”
“It’s too close for comfort yet,” said Duncan, nervously. “I’d give a
month’s allowance to see the game end now. That’s Coy up, isn’t it?”
But Coy swung three times in vain at his old pitcher’s curves. One of
his successors reached first, but two others went out and left him
there. The Harvard men fared no better.
“Three more outs. It ought to be dead easy,” muttered Sam, as the
ninth began. The first Yale man at the bat drove a ball into left field
that looked good for two bases. But Latter got in front of it and sent
it in to second in season to scare the runner back to first. A big bony
chap followed at the plate.
“That’s Kleindienst. He used to play with Hillbury. He can hit. They’re
going to do us right here. I feel it in my bones.” Duncan jerked out
his words in curt explosives. “There! he’s done it!” he groaned, as
the batsman drove the ball in a long sweep over third base.
“No, it struck outside the foul line!” cried Sam, eagerly, as the
applause on the Yale side died suddenly away. “See! he’s gone back
to the plate!”
“And got a strike for it, too,” said the reviving Duncan. “That’s where
the foul strike rule hits ’em.”

While he spoke O’Brien sent in another pitch. Kleindienst hit another
foul. This time the ball careened over towards the stands opposite
first base. Owen tipped off his mask and ran headlong in pursuit. He
took the descending ball with hands outstretched; and while the
howl of applause was yet at its beginning, he turned sharply and
threw to first base. The Yale man scrambled wildly back, but the ball
was there before him. Williams fielded the next man out at first.
“Come on! Let’s find him!” sang out Duncan, and dashed down the
aisle before the rising crowd got under way. Sam followed. They
rushed out into the field and made for the close circle gathering
rapidly round the catcher.
“I’ll wait for you,” said Sam. “He won’t care anything about me.”
“Won’t he!” cried Duncan. “Come and see!” And dragging Sam along
behind him, he screwed his way into the cluster at the centre of
which Owen was fighting off the vehement attentions of admirers. At
the sight of Duncan he broke through the circle and pulled the boy
in.
“Duncan Peck! I was wondering whether you were here. Didn’t we
have luck! Glad to see you, Archer. How are things at Seaton?”
But before the question could be answered, the questioner was
rushed in another direction, and Sam and Duncan found themselves
whirled to the outside of the circle.
Sam looked at his watch. “There’s just forty-five minutes before the
train leaves. We’ve got to hustle to catch it! We promised to take it,
you know.”
“I suppose we did,” sighed Duncan. “I hate to leave now. I haven’t
seen Don at all. Go ahead!”

CHAPTER XXV
JUNE TO DECEMBER
It was well for our young men that they could share Owen’s victory,
for Patterson, their school captain, gave them none of their own to
enjoy. A pitcher cannot win a game alone; and Patterson’s
cleverness availed only to keep the Hillbury score down; his
followers balked his efforts with errors, and only O’Toole hit the
Hillbury pitcher with any readiness.
After the Hillbury game, Sam focused his interest on the college
examinations. Mr. Alsop had at the last moment, with much
misgiving, granted him a provisional recommendation in French; and
Sam, eager no less to vindicate himself than to get rid of the
troublesome subject, hammered away at it during the last few
weeks with a determination worthy of a great cause. He was sure of
his history and mathematics, and reasonably confident in Greek and
Latin; but English, the crank-ridden, and French, the elusively easy,
mocked him with promise of failure.
Duncan likewise yielded himself to the spirit of industry which was
turning 7 Hale into the workshop of scholastic cyclops. The latch was
kept down perpetually during these days of preparation. Only
Duncan’s tutor, the useful Moorhead, and occasionally the irresistible
Bruce found entrance. Duncan was at last serious; actually
confronted by the alternative of passing certain examinations and
going to Harvard, or failing and going to work, he understood that
the time for trifling was past. It is safe to say that Sam Archer’s
example and encouragement, and Moorhead’s patient readiness to

explain and help, were of more use to Duncan in his weary battle
than class instruction or tutor’s drill.
Duncan did pass his examinations,—he fell sprawling, but across the
line,—and Archer got every point he had worked for. He missed an
honor which he had hoped to get, but he triumphed in Mr. Alsop’s
subject with a C, which, boy-like, he regarded as a decision awarded
him against the teacher’s doubts, not as a proof of good instruction.
There followed for Sam an untroubled summer of loafing and tennis,
rowing and sailing; of reckless squandering of time on pure play; of
reading books that were not required and dreaming dreams of
triumphs that would never come to pass. He took back with him to
school greater physical vigor and clearer comprehension of his own
personal problem.
Sam settled with Moorhead very comfortably in his old room, and
entered upon the tasks of his senior year with the quiet purpose of
making it count. To accomplish this, he understood vaguely but
sufficiently that he must keep himself, physically and morally, under
good control, must work steadily rather than frantically, and pursue
a sane ambition. This sane ambition, so far as athletics were
concerned, lay along the hurdle path. Unless some phenomenon
unexpectedly appeared, he could reasonably count on becoming the
school champion in the high hurdles. To be school champion,
however, was but a half-success. The Seatonian grudges honor to a
man who leads merely because there happens to be no one better.
The Seaton champion must prevail over the champions of other
schools, if he is to have the credit of achievement.
Sam knew this quite as well as any one else; he appreciated its
personal bearing as no one else could. In the background of every
picture called up by a hopeful imagination, hovered the figure of
Kilham of Hillbury. Wherever Sam foresaw a chance of distinction,
there was Kilham to contest it with him. At the winter competition in
Boston, at the interscholastic games, in the Hillbury-Seaton dual
meet, he must struggle against this quick-starting, strong-running

rival, who was at least half a second better on the high-hurdle
course. Should he ever be able to beat that fellow? Sam considered
his own vain endeavors to put speed into his long legs, and
confessed frankly that the odds were heavy against him. But none
the less, being of the smilingly persistent kind, he went on with his
practice undaunted, as if he had battles to win instead of to lose. He
also gave close attention to his school work. Birdie Fowle informed
him one day that he was no good any more; Moorhead had made a
grind out of him. Sam’s laughing comment was that he wanted to
get into college decently if possible, with a point or two to the good.
This was true, but it was not the fundamental reason for his
devotion to his studies.
During the summer Archer had run across a Hillburyite named
Denton, at the seashore. When he inquired of this Hillburyite what
kind of a fellow Kilham was, Denton declared him the very finest sort
of a fellow. Later Sam chanced to ask how Kilham did in his studies,
and Denton returned a report distinctly favorable; he was not the
very best, of course, but much better than the average. Sam
considered these facts a full week. At the end of that time he had
made up his mind that if he had to run second to Kilham in the
hurdles, he wouldn’t fall behind in the classroom, too. This secretly
nourished ambition to maintain a rank that he need not be ashamed
to have compared with that of his Hillbury rival, increased rather
than diminished as the year slipped away. Certain teachers who
grew from month to month more complacent over their stimulating
influence on Archer, would have been much surprised to learn that
the steady up trend of his rank line was due to an unacknowledged,
unreal competition with a student in another school.
Sam’s fall hurdle practice was interrupted by the summons to class
football. Before the season was far advanced, the captain of the
senior team was promoted to the first eleven squad, and Sam was
chosen captain in his place. With the care of his eleven and the class
games and the duty of punting to practise the school backs, Sam
found small opportunity to play with his pair of hurdles.

The season was a fortunate one for the school eleven, and still more
fortunate for Mulcahy, who stepped in mid-season into the shoes of
a big tackle who had ignominiously succumbed to the measles; and
he kept his place through half the Hillbury game. He was thus a
member of a victorious school eleven, in a position to reap the glory
of the successful efforts of others. As a matter of fact, the game was
won by Kendrick, or by Kendrick and Illerton, the new end, together,
after the line had been ignobly crowded to and fro, up and down the
field, for three quarters of the playing time. But a victory is a victory,
and Mulcahy retained his good share of the prestige which the
members of a winning team enjoy.
He made immediate use of this prestige to attain a long-cherished
ambition. In the fall of the previous year, and again in the spring, he
had been balked in his efforts to become president of the Laurel
Leaf, largely through the influence of Duncan Peck and his following.
Duncan Peck was now gone and many new fellows had come. This
time Mulcahy adopted less open methods of soliciting. Swan was his
manager, a natural politician who loved the excitement of a
campaign. Swan cared nothing about Mulcahy, but was down on
Archer, who had scorned an invitation to join the Mu Nu, Swan’s
fraternity, which ranked as the “yaller dog” of school societies. Sam
and Moorhead tried to persuade Kendrick to run for the Leaf, and
failed. Then they fell back on Blankenberg, a substitute on the
eleven, who possessed solid qualities and would have filled the office
with dignity. Then it was that Swan whisked into the field to the
support of the candidate whom Archer opposed.
The contest was uneven. On the one side Mulcahy, football player,
editor of the “Seatonian,” ready-tongued, of imposing personality,
offering a fine show, both of talent and of school spirit; on the other
Blankenberg, plain, honest, conscientious, modest. Mulcahy
triumphed with votes to throw away. He came over to Blankenberg
after the affair was over with a very pretty display of personal
sympathy.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get it, really I am,” he said. “I shouldn’t take it
if so many hadn’t voted for me.”
“I’m glad you won, if the majority want you,” returned Blankenberg,
honestly.
“I think your manager lost you votes,” Mulcahy went on, pretending
to joke, but avoiding Sam’s eye. “I wouldn’t trust him again.”
Blankenberg and Sam walked out together. “Isn’t he the limit,”
exploded Sam, when they were alone, “for pulling the wool over
people’s eyes! He’s got everybody on the string from the faculty to
Dunbar Hall, and he hasn’t a principle to his name. The school’s
training that fellow for a political boss.”
“He didn’t need to be unprincipled to win to-night,” remarked
Blankenberg. “It was too easy. I rather think he’ll find some way of
getting ’most anything he wants.”
Sam struggled with an impulse to quote Mulcahy’s statement that his
supreme ambition was to win the Yale Cup; but the feeling that
Mulcahy had spoken in confidence prevented his mention of it. It
seemed quite reasonable now that this ambition should be attained.
“There’s one thing he can’t get,” he said with pardonable bitterness,
“class day offices. The class knows him too well.”
But therein Sam was mistaken. The Omega Omicron clashed with
the Alpha Beta Gamma over the election of President of the Day,
neither being willing to give in to the other. As a result, the
unfraternified, moulded into a temporarily coherent force through
the influence of the vengeful Swan and the despised Mu Nu, united
on Mulcahy and swept him into office.
“There seems to be nothing that that fellow can’t rake in if he tries,”
Sam grumbled to himself, as he swung moodily homeward from the
class election. “Of course you’d expect the faculty to be fooled, but

here’s half the class voting for him when nine out of every ten know
he’s a rotten fakir. Think of our bringing all our relatives to class day,
and that fellow sitting up on the platform as the representative man
of the graduating class of Seaton Academy! The Yale Cup?—Mulcahy,
of course! Anything he wants. He’s our color-bearer, sure enough!
Rah, rah, rah, Mulcahy!”

CHAPTER XXVI
JANUARY TO MAY
The hurrying weeks brought Sam once more face to face with his
rival of Hillbury. Again one of thirty-odd numbers, he mingled with
the confused throng of candidates near the starting line of the forty-
yard hurdles in Mechanics’ Hall.
“Who’s that fellow with the blue stripes across his shirt?” asked a
boy at his elbow, who wore the colors of a Boston school.
Sam gave his benighted neighbor a sharp glance of surprise. “That’s
Kilham of Hillbury!”
“Any good?”
“Good enough to beat me!” returned Sam.
“I guess it lies between Sage of Worcester and Doane of Noble’s,”
said the lad.
Sam smiled grimly. He knew that it lay between Kilham of Hillbury
and—somebody else.
The first heat was run: Kilham led at the tape; Sage of Worcester fell
out. In the second heat Number Eighteen was at the fore,—the
programme showed Number Eighteen to be Archer of Seaton. The
third went to Doane of Noble’s; the fourth to Jessop of Boston Latin;
the fifth—but why detail the process of sifting? The final heat was
called. In it stood Kilham, Archer, Doane, Whelan of the Boston High,

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