CHAPTER II
WHAT A LAUGH DID
A few minutes later Don was sitting in a corner of the grand stand,smothered in a pile of blankets and with his injured ankle bound in wetbandages. Beside him were two boys of about his own age, one of whom,the lad whom he had addressed as Paddy, was solicitously slopping coldwater from a tin can over his ankle at frequent intervals. Nothingserious, Professor Beck had decided, only a strained tendon; and so Donhad been helped to his present position, from where he could watch therace run out. He looked pale and woe-begone; but he managed to smilenow and then in answer to Paddy’s sallies.
“Paddy” Breen--his real name was Charles--had been given his nicknametwo years before, when he was a little red-headed junior too small toresent it had he been so inclined. Paddy’s forbears had been Irish ageneration or two back, and although there was little about the boyto suggest the fact, barring his red hair and gray eyes and sunnynature, the name was somehow distinctly appropriate, and it had stuckto him through his junior and lower middle years and promised tostick forever. Paddy played center on the first eleven, a position forwhich his broad shoulders and hips and great strength eminently fittedhim. To-day he was attired in a faded and torn red sweater, a pairof equally disreputable moleskin trousers, two red and black stripedstockings whose appearance told a story of many battles, a pair ofbadly scuffed tan shoes, and a golf cap of such bold and striking tonesof brown, green, and scarlet as to stamp it at once as brand-new.
The lad who sat on the other side of Don was of even more generousbuild than Paddy Breen. Dave Merton’s shoulders were broad and setwell back, giving him a look of great power. He was, perhaps, theleast bit overgrown for his seventeen years, for he topped Paddy by aninch and Don by two. But he looked very healthy and happy, and was asgood-natured a fellow as any at the Academy. His hair was black and hiseyes dark, giving him a more somber coloring than his bosom companion,Paddy, but, like the latter, he preferred smiling to frowning. Dave hadtwo great ambitions in life at present--namely, to throw the hammerfarther than any other Hilltonian and to excel at study. The latterseemed quite within the range of possibility, but as for Dave’s hammerthrowing it was a school joke at which even Dave could laugh. PaddyBreen was a brilliant pupil; Dave Merton a hard-working one. Paddy wasan excellent football player; Dave an indifferent performer with theweights. Both were leaders in their classes--Dave was a senior--andpopular throughout the school. Their friendship was as much a joke asDave’s hammer throwing and the two were inseparable.
“Beaten?” Paddy was saying scornfully. “Never, me boy. Sure ’tis onlybeginning we are; just wait till we git our breath!” Paddy, as thoughto lend indorsement to his nickname, at times dropped into a brogueacquired with great labor from such classics as Charles O’Malley andTom Burke.
“I only wish we had begun earlier in the race, Paddy,” answered Donhopelessly. “Who is ahead in the bunch there, Dave--can you make out?”
The leaders, House and Beaming, were now far up the course and the nextgroup of runners were some distance behind. Farther back of them othercontestants straggled. Two runners were out of the race. A Shrewsburgboy had given up on the second round and was philosophically watchingthe contest from the top of a distant bank, and a Hillton fellow,Turner, had gone to the dressing room suffering with an attack ofcramp. In answer to Don’s question Dave studied the distant runners fora space in silence.
“Well, that’s Northrop in the lead all right, Don, and the next twofellows are St. Eustace men. Then Moore and a Shrewsburg chap, andanother St. Eustace man, and--and one of our team--I can’t make outwho.” Dave looked frowningly across the field.
“Which one?” asked Paddy. “The fellow with the long legs just takingthe hedge? Why, man, that’s Wayne, of course; no mistaking him.”
“So it is,” answered Don. “He’s doing well. It would be queer if hemanaged to keep his present place and got in third, wouldn’t it?”
“Well, he won’t,” said Dave, “for Jones has passed him. Good old Jones!Just look at him spurt!”
“Those two men just behind Northrop are Keller and Gould, of St.Eustace,” said Don. “Well, I guess we’re dished. House and Beamingare sure of first and second place; Northrop ought to get third;then either Gould or Keller is pretty certain to finish ahead ofMoore--perhaps both will; that would make the score something liketwelve to twenty-four, supposing we got three men in after Keller andGould.”
“There’s a good half mile to cover yet, my lad,” said Paddy cheerfully.“There’s lots may happen in that distance. Look there; those fellowsare changing all around. And, by Jove, fellows, look at Beaming!”
Beaming was dropping back and House was alone at the turn of thecourse. And some one--it seemed as though it _must_ be Northrop, ofHillton--was closing up the long gap between the leaders and the nextgroup at a fabulous pace. And even as the three boys on the grandstand strained their sight a second runner left the group as though itwere standing still and shot after Northrop--if it was Northrop. Therunners were too far off to allow of the watchers being certain as totheir identity, but a look of hope crept into Don’s face. There seemednothing to do save wait until the runners appeared at the railroad athird of a mile away, until Paddy spied a pair of field glasses inthe hands of a boy in the throng below and unceremoniously gainedpossession of them. He passed them to Don, and the latter, leaning forsupport on Dave and Paddy, swept the course with them.
“Northrop’s ahead of Beaming!” he cried. “And Jones is almost up tohim! House is leading by forty yards or more! A Shrewsburg fellow isrunning even with Keller and Gould! Paddy, we’ve still got a show!”
“Where’s Wayne?” asked Dave.
“And Jones?” asked Paddy.
“Wayne? I--can’t--see him. Hold on; yes, there he is! He’s at theback of the bunch; a Shrewsburg fellow’s passing him hand over fist.Jones is gaining, Paddy; he’s creeping up. There they go over the bankjump. Some fellow’s done up--it’s Keller; Jones has passed him.” Donexcitedly turned his glasses toward a point nearer home. “House stillleads and is spurting, hang him! Northrop’s fifty yards behind him, andBeaming--no, fellows, it’s Moore! Moore’s in third place!”
“What?” cried Dave. “What’s up with Beaming?”
“Don’t know; he looks tuckered. Hello!”
“What is it, Don? Talk out; don’t be so plaguey slow!”
“A Shrewsburg chap has gained fifth place and looks as though he weregoing to beat Beaming in the next twenty yards. What do you think ofthat? Jones and Wayne are both gaining. By Jove, fellows, we may get ityet! Let’s go down to the finish; help me down, Dave.”
“If only Jones and Wayne can last,” said Paddy, “we could win, couldn’twe? But Wayne--” Paddy shook his head as they descended from the standand went toward the finish line. “Do you think he can hold out, Don?”
Don shook his head dubiously.
At that moment Wayne was wondering the same thing. He had surprisedhimself by staying in the race up to the present moment. He had enteredthe contest only to oblige Don. “I don’t ask you to hurt yourself,” thelatter had explained. “Drop out when you are tired. It will be goodpractice and will save us from entering with only nine fellows.” SoWayne had laughingly consented. As he had passed runner after runner inthe first two rounds of the course he had begun to ask himself what itmeant. Don had told him that he had the making of a good long-distanceman, but he hadn’t given much heed to the statement; apparently Donwas right. After the first mile he had begun to suffer a little, andnow, with the race almost over, he would like to have dropped out andspent about ten minutes lying on his back, but it seemed a poor thingto give up so near the end, and so he found himself still poundingaway, with his legs very stiff and his breath apparently about to failhim at every effort. He realized that the ground had become softer andmore slippery and that snow was falling. Then he crossed the track andstruggled on toward the next obstacle, a three-and-a-half-foot hedge.
Wayne hated the he
dges. He was too heavy to hurdle them well, andhe invariably jumped short and lost precious time getting his feetuntangled. Luckily he was done with that nightmare the water jump,since on the last round it was avoided and the course led over thebrook by the railroad and thence straight down to the finish. As heapproached the hedge Wayne drew himself together for a last effort, andat the take-off put all his strength into the leap. But unfortunatelythe turf was bare at that spot and his foot slipped as he jumped.
“Thank goodness!” he thought, when he had stopped rolling. “Now I canlie here decently until the whole thing’s over with!”
But his sensation of joyous relief was rudely dispelled. Over the hedgeleaped a boy with a blue monogram on his shirt, who, as he caught sightof Wayne’s predicament, grinned broadly. In a trice Wayne had struggledto his feet and had taken up the chase race again, rage in his heart.
“He laughed at me, hang him!” he panted. “I’ll just beat him out if Idie for it!”
The St. Eustace boy was several yards ahead already, but Wayne threwback his head and ran desperately. A roar of voices from down thefield told him that the first man had finished. He put every ounce ofstrength into the struggle, thinking nothing of who was winning, onlydetermined to beat the chap who had laughed at him. And as he crossedthe railroad the knowledge that he was gaining on the St. Eustacerunner brought joy to his heart.
Down at the finish line the air was filled with the cheers of the St.Eustace supporters, who, though few in number, were strong of voice.House had finished first and captured the individual championshipand prize. And now, almost side by side, and struggling valiantlyfor second place, came the two Hillton men, Northrop and Moore, andthe wearers of the crimson went wild with joy and shouted until bothrunners had crossed the line, Northrop in the lead, and had been ledaway to the dressing room.
Don was busy with pencil and paper now, while Paddy looked over hisshoulder and Dave scowled up the course and waited impatiently forthe next runner to swing into sight around the corner of the littleknoll that hid the railroad track from the finish line. Then two whitefigures broke into view almost simultaneously.
“A Shrewsburg fellow and a St. Eustace fellow!” cried Dave. “I thinkthe last is Beaming. Yes, it is!”
The runner with the green S won the line a good three yards aheadof the almost breathless Beaming, and a little group of ShrewsburgHigh School fellows broke into applause. Beaming had to be well-nighcarried from the course, although protesting faintly that he could walk.
Don’s paper now held the following figures:
Hillton. St. Eustace. Shrewsburg. 2 1 4 3 5
“Two men each and we’re one figure ahead,” whispered Don. “There’s someone, Dave--three fellows. Who are they?”
“St. Eustace fellow ahead,” answered Dave.
“It’s Gould!” cried a voice from near by, and the supporters of thedown-river academy cheered wildly.
“Hurrah!” yelled Paddy. “Erin go bragh! There’s good old Jones! And aShrewsburg fellow hot after him.”
Don tried to jump, but found he couldn’t because of his strained ankleand contented himself with a hair-raising yell. Then he added a 6 tothe St. Eustace score, an 8 to that of Shrewsburg, and a 7 to Hillton’srow of figures. For Gould, Jones, and the Shrewsburg runner crossed theline in the order given amid the cheers of the three rival contingents.
“It’s a tie so far,” shouted Paddy, as he added up the few figures.“St. Eustace has twelve points, Dave, and so have we. By Jove! it alldepends on the next man, Don, doesn’t it? Can you see any one, Dave?”
“No one in sight yet. Let’s hope the first will be a Hillton chap,fellows. But even if it isn’t the score’s bound to be close. Wonderwhat’s become of ‘Old Virginia’?”
That was a nickname that Paddy had bestowed upon Wayne Gordon inallusion to the latter’s native State.
“I’m afraid Wayne’s dropped out of it,” answered Don, with a tremble inhis voice, “but still----”
“St. Eustace wins!”
Half a dozen voices took up the cry as a fleet-footed runner whosebreast bore the blue monogram came quickly into sight. The three boysgroaned in unison. St. Eustace’s fourth man was speeding toward thefinish.
“Done for,” whispered Dave.
“Wait a bit!” cried Paddy. “There’s two of them there. Who’s the secondchap?”
Paddy was right. Directly behind the St. Eustace runner sped a secondyouth, so close that he seemed to be treading upon the former’s heels.
“It’s one of our fellows, Don!” cried Dave.
“I don’t think so. I--oh, why doesn’t he come out so that we can see!”
“I’m afraid it’s another Shrewsburg chump,” said Paddy dolefully. “Oh,hang the luck, anyhow!”
“Wait!” cried Don. “He’s coming out! There--there he comes! He’s tryingto pass, and--and----”
“It’s Wayne!” cried Dave and Paddy in unison.
And Wayne it was. Slowly, doggedly, he drew from his place back ofthe St. Eustace man and fought his way inch by inch alongside. Thecheering spectators saw the wearer of the blue glance swiftly at theHillton runner and throw back his head. But the boy beside him refusedto be thrown off and down the course they came together, their tiredlimbs keeping time to the frenzied cheers of the throng.
“St. Eustace wins! Keller’s ahead!”
“Hillton’s race! Gordon leads!”
And then, high above the babel of a hundred voices, sounded a mightyshout from Paddy:
“Come on, ‘Old Virginia!’”
Wayne, racing along stride for stride with the St. Eustace runner,heard the cry and made a final, despairing effort.
And then the crowd was thick about him, Dave and Paddy were holding himup, Don was hugging him ecstatically, and the fellows were laughing andshouting as though crazy; and Wayne, panting and weak, wondered what itall meant.
It only meant that Hillton had won by a yard and that the final scorestood: Hillton, 21; St. Eustace, 22; Shrewsburg, 43.
For the Honor of the School: A Story of School Life and Interscholastic Sport Page 2
