Captain of the Crew - Ralph Barbour 5 стр.

I wouldnt be surprised if he won, said Trevor. Hes running easy and has lots more spurt left, to look at him. But, of course, Manning is a pretty tough proposition, I fancy.

Manning isnt what he cracks himself up to be, said Carl decidedly. And Ill just bet you that Keeler wins out easily.

A bell clanged warningly, and the tumult in the gallery increased. Last lap, fellows! Last lap! Go it, Freckles! Brace up, Manning! Come on, come on! But Manning couldnt come on to any great extent, and the lower middle boys, leaning perilously over the edge of the gallery, fluttered their colors frantically and shouted incoherent advice, entreaty, and triumph as Keeler, his long legs working like a well-lubricated machine, his freckled face overspread with an easy and confident smile, swept superbly by the exhausted Manning and two other runners and crossed the line, as Carl had predicted, an easy winner.

When the tumult had subsided to some extent the trial heats in the senior twenty-yard dash were begun, the track being diagonally across the floor, and bunch after bunch of white-clad youths raced like the wind toward the tape. The pole vaulting came to an end with a record-breaking accomplishment of nine feet two inches by a member of the upper middle class, and the running high jump began. Then, All out for the two-twenty, and hurry up! came the command from somewhere, and Stewart and Trevor struggled through the throng toward the dressing-room to throw aside their wraps.

A minute or two later five boys stood on their marks awaiting the report of the starters pistol. Trevor found himself by the side of Dunlop; then came Stewart, Milkam, and Wharton. There was a golden haze of floating dust in the air, and the faces of Stewarts father and mother and of Carl Gray were indistinct across the building.

Ready!

Get set!

There was an intense silence about the starting-line, but from above came a deep sound of lowered voices, subdued laughter and the tramping of restless, excited feet.

Bang!

And ere the report had wholly died away the five runners were a quarter-way about the track on the first of the three laps constituting the two hundred and twenty yards.

As they passed under the left side of the gallery the seniors leaned over in an endeavor to catch sight of them and urged their two heroes, Wharton and Milkam, with eager cries. Then the turn was made, and Trevor, glancing upward fleetingly, saw a long row of faces peering down with open mouths from which came shouts of Nesbitt! Nesbitt! Dunlop! Dunlop! A long banner of upper middle class colors writhed serpent-like above him, and then he was under the gallery, running swiftly. Now and then he caught a blare of a merry two-step from the hard-worked band. He glanced aside. Stewart was even with him, his face anxious and somewhat pale. Wharton, Milkam, and Dunlop were strung out behind, but all well in the race.

Up in the gallery, on the left, sat Dick Hope among the seniors. Beside him were Williams and a stout, red-faced youth whose real name was Todd, but who was more generally known as Toad. Dick watched the runners circle the end of the building.

First laps done, he said. That roommate of mine, Nesbitt, seems to be something of a runner.

Sure, answered Todd, Is Ighness is all right, if he is a bloody Englishman.

Id rather be English than Dutch, Toad, grinned Williams.

Shut up, you; Im no more Dutch than you are. Here they come! Brace up, Wharton! and Todd leaned over the railing and waved his cap wildly in air.

You might as well save your breath, I guess, said Dick. Whartons out of it, and sos Milkam. The races between Nesbitt and young Earle. And as we cant win it, I hope Earle will. Hes a decent, plucky youngster; and well, anything to beat upper middle, you know.

Youre not very loyal to your chum, grinned Williams.

He has no business being in the upper middle, responded Dick calmly. By Jove, look there!

Across the gymnasium the runners were speeding down the back-stretch, Trevor and Stewart, side by side, leaving the other three farther and farther behind at every step. Wharton and Milkam were practically out of it; Dunlop was ten yards to the bad, but running strongly and apparently still capable of retrieving his lost ground. At the turn Trevor hugged the inside of the track and Stewart, smaller, lither, and speedier-looking, snuggled in close behind him. Dunlop, head back, a look of grim determination on his face, spurted until he had gained a position but a scant two yards behind Stewart.

Good boy, Dunlop! shouted Williams, while from across the building came a wild cry of joy from dozens of throats.

I guess thats his last spurt, muttered Dick; hes showing the pace.

And so it proved. The bell rang warningly, and the shouting from excited partisans increased in volume as the last lap commenced. Trevor, still ahead, increased his speed. Stewart accepted the challenge promptly, and Dunlop, after a brave but futile effort to keep his place, was left behind. Milkam and Wharton plodded along easily a full half lap in the rear until the latter, spying Dunlops predicament, suddenly spurted, and entered the lists with him in a contest for third place, leaving Milkam, bewildered, hopelessly last.

At the second turn Trevor had given place to Stewart. When the two entered the back-stretch Trevor drew alongside his rival again, stayed there for an instant, and then drew ahead. The gymnasium was a babel of voices. The last lap was half run, and Trevor had put two yards of track between him and Stewart. Many yards behind Dunlop and Wharton were having a hot race of their own wholly unnoticed, for every eye followed the two youths whose flying feet were now pounding the incline at the third corner.

Is Ighness wins easily, said Todd, shouting to make himself heard above the shrieks of his neighbors. Dick nodded. He was sorry to see Stewart beaten, but surprised to find himself suddenly experiencing a sensation of pride in the work of his roommate. After all, he had run a great race and deserved to win; and really, when he came to think about it, Nesbitt was handicapped by greater weight, and

Earles closing up! cried Williams.

And so it was. With the contest almost over, the younger boy had forged ahead, and at the last turn secured the inside of the track. Trevor was wobbling! Twice he swerved unsteadily, but as the home-stretch was reached appeared to pull himself together with an effort, and gallantly strove to pass Stewart. But the latter, running steadily and seemingly untired, not only held his own, but tacked another two yards onto his gain and breasted the tape an easy winner! And how lower middle did yell!

Dunlop and Wharton fought it out to the end side by side, the former securing third place by the smallest of margins.

Well, what do you think of that! exclaimed Williams in deep disgust as soon as he could make himself heard. Why, Is Ighness had the race in his pocket!

I think Dick hesitated.

What do you think? Dick smiled.

I think Nesbitt was beaten, he answered.

Williams viewed him in painful disgust.

I think youre nutty, he growled. Dont you suppose I can see when a mans beaten?

Not always, I guess, replied Dick enigmatically.

Whereupon Williams begged Todd to bathe Dicks head, and in the fracas that followed the amazing result of the two-hundred-and-twenty-yard dash was for the time forgotten.

CHAPTER VI

THE RELAY RACE

That evening was destined to be one of triumph for Stewart Earle and the lower middle class. In the relay race that followed the two-hundred-and-twenty-yard dash the juniors had never a chance from first to last, and lower middles fourth man cantered home almost in time to tag the juniors last runner ere he left the mark. Stewart and Trevor viewed the contest squatting on the floor beside the seats occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Earle and Carl Gray.

Stewarts mother had welcomed victor and vanquished with impartial favor, although her pride and pleasure in her boys success was patent to all. Stewarts father smiled near-sightedly at Trevor, and assured him that he had made a remarkable race, but his words didnt disguise for a moment the fact that he had expected Stewart to win, and that he was somewhat surprised at Trevors thinking for a moment that he (Trevor) stood any chance of victory. Even Stewart appeared uncomfortable at his fathers tone, and strove to change the subject lest Trevor should feel hurt. But the latter was genuinely glad that Stewarts parents had witnessed a victory for their son and had never a thought of disappointment or envy. As to the reason for his sudden and unexpected giving-out, however, Trevor had little to say, and when Carl suggested that perhaps he had insufficient training since the recess he eagerly acknowledged that that might have had something to do with it.

But I never had a hope of winning, Stewart had cried, after the second round! I just kept on going because well, you know just to make as good a showing as I could. When you fell behind I was so surprised that I almost stopped.

The sixty-yard hurdle-race proved of exciting interest to Mr. and Mrs. Earle, and every one else, for that matter, and was won in the closest kind of a finish by a senior class fellow in the remarkably good time of eight seconds. The one-mile run followed, but failed to awaken much enthusiasm from the audience, who were impatient for the final event, the senior-upper middle relay race. When the mile run was half over Trevor shook hands with Mr. and Mrs. Earle, and, encouraged by their hearty wishes for his success, hurried off to the dressing-room. Kernan, captain of the upper middle team, took him aside and questioned him anxiously.

Im afraid youre not very fit, Nesbitt. I was going to run you last, but I guess Ill let Chalmers have the final and put you second. How do you feel?

Spiffin! answered Trevor heartily, never felt better. Dont get it into your noddle that Im done up, old chap, and dont change the order on account of that two-twenty dash. That was judgment more than anything else

Judgment! ejaculated Kernan. I didnt see much judgment in it!

Thats your stupidity, Kernan. Cant stop to explain now; but just you go ahead and let me run last, like a good fellow, and I promise you you wont regret it. Kernan frowned hesitatingly; then his face cleared and he slapped Trevor on the back.

All right, Nesbitt; run last you shall. I dont pretend to understand that two-twenty, but Ill trust you to do your work. Weve got a stiff race, I guess, but were not beaten yet. The seniors will put Taylor last, I expect; hes a good man, all right, but if we can hold onto them until the last round I think you can down him. What do you say?

I say you give me a fairly even start with Roy Taylor, and Ill beat him out! answered Trevor doggedly.

Thats the stuff! Of course, I cant promise the even start, but Ill do my best, Nesbitt; and youll do yours, I know, and

Ready for the relay! All out, fellows!

Trevor, Kernan, and the other two members of their team, Chalmers and Johnston, hurried to the starting-line, followed by four very proper-looking boys wearing the senior colors. The band, hidden from sight by a fringe of shouting juniors at the end of the gallery, played for all it was worth. The seniors and upper middle fellows were cheering the members of their teams individually and collectively, and the uproar was tremendous.

Professor Beck, athletic director, and at present that court of last appeal, the referee, gave the instructions in quick, clear tones as the first two contestants stood on their marks. The professor was a short man who wore glasses, who always dressed faultlessly, whether for a principals reception or an afternoon on the campus, whose slightest turn of the head or crook of the finger bespoke authority, and whose voice, ordinarily low but incisive, could swell into a very fair imitation of a speaking-trumpet on short notice. For the rest, he understood boy nature from A to Z, and beyond, and could turn a good track athlete out of anything except a wooden post, given the opportunity. Hillton fellows, when graduated from the narrow prejudices of the junior year, worshiped two local deities Professor Wheeler, the principal, and Professor Beck; and there was a well-defined notion prevalent that should some beneficent Fate remove from the academy all the rest of the faculty things would not only continue undisturbed, but would run better than ever.

I have dealt at some length on Professor Beck because he is a person of much importance. When he dies may the day be far!  his portrait will hang beside those of the founder and past principals in the chapel, to be outwardly guyed and inwardly reverenced by succeeding generations of loyal Hilltonians.

Now, get them off quickly, commanded the professor. The starter cried his perfunctory On your marks! Get set! and then the little pistol barked with all the ferocity of a toy spaniel, and the great event of the meeting, the senior-upper middle one-mile relay race, was on.

Johnston, for the upper middle, and a youth named Cummings, for the seniors, shot off together, and began their quarter mile as though they had but one lap to accomplish instead of six. The pace was too good to last, and every one knew it, including the runners, and so, when they had made the first round of the track, they slowed down as though by mutual consent, and went at the contest in businesslike style. Seniors and upper middle classmen cheered their respective candidates, and hurled taunts across the hall.

To this chanted aspersion the upper middle fellows replied with howls of derision, and started upon their own poetic catalogue of the deficiencies of the rival class, the first verse of which ran as follows:

There were five more verses to it, and while it lasted the seniors, led by Dick and Todd, could only cheer incessantly and stamp their feet in a hopeless endeavor to drown the song.

Meanwhile the first quarter of the race was nearly over, and Johnston and Cummings, the former leading by a scant ten yards, were spurting along the back-stretch. Then the senior runner reached the line, touched hands with the next man, and dropped from the track tired and breathless just as Cummings came up and Chalmers took his place in the race.

As Johnston crossed the line Dick slipped his watch back into his pocket. Fifty-seven and four fifths seconds! he bawled into Williamss ear. Johnston ought to have done better by three fifths.