CHAPTER XXIII
THE INTERSCHOLASTIC MEET
It had rained in the night, and the young grass was intensely greenin the great oval; the quarter mile of cinder track, fresh from therollers, was smooth, firm, and springy, and the newly turned moldbefore the vaulting standard gave forth a pleasant odor beneaththe rakes. The lime marks and circles shone glaring white in theafternoon sunlight and the bright colors of bonnet and dress and wrapvied in brilliancy with the banners of the contesting schools--withthe deep blue of St. Eustace, the brown of Warrenton, the blue andwhite of Northern Collegiate, the maroon of Maddurn Hall, the greenof Shrewsburg, the purple and white of Thracia Polytechnic, and thecrimson of Hillton.
The blue and white was most in evidence, for the Northern Collegiatestudents were on home ground, while the others were visitors fromfar and near. The collegiate band was discoursing brazen two steps,the circling grand stands were buzzing with talk and laughter, theofficials were hurrying, scurrying, hither and thither, and from nearby, behind the unlovely high board fences, the electric cars dronedand clanged as they drew up to the entrance and discharged their loads.And overhead arched a softly blue May sky just flecked with tiny wadsof cottonlike clouds. Northern Collegiate might have drawn a fairaugury from that sky.
The clerk of the course was busy placing the runners for the firsttrial heat of the one-hundred-yard dash. Presently the long line wascrouching on the mark, the pistol sounded, and the interscholasticmeeting had begun. Other trial heats followed until the contestants forthe sprints and the hurdles were sifted down to a few for each event.Meanwhile the broad jumpers were busy at the standard, and in the ovala little group were preparing for the shot putting.
The mile run was down on the card as the last event, and Wayne, who wasentered for that only, looked on from the far side of the field, one ofa group of many, in front of the dressing room. Paddy, who had in someway smuggled himself inside the ropes, sat beside him.
“We can’t see very much from here,” observed Paddy.
“Why don’t you go across, then?”
“I’m afraid that marshal will ask me embarrassing questions; he’s beenglaring at me suspiciously for the last ten minutes. They’re fixing thelow hurdles over there; hope Don will win. He looked worried a whileago, I thought.”
“I reckon he’s all right,” answered Wayne. “He was put out aboutGaffney.”
“What’s the matter with Gaff?”
“Ankles lame or sore or something. Don was afraid he wouldn’t be ableto jump much. But I guess he’s doing well enough.”
“They’re on the mark; three of them! Don and Perkins, and a St. Eustacechap.”
“Varian, I reckon. Don said he’d get second or third at least.”
“There they go!” The report of the pistol floated across the field towhere the boys were sitting. “Don’s taken the lead already! Go it, oldfellow!”
And Don, though he couldn’t possibly hear Paddy’s command, nevertheless“went it” so well that at the sixth hurdle he was ten yards to thegood, with Perkins close behind him. The white forms flashed up anddown in the sunlight for a moment longer; then the race was over, andHillton had begun the day bravely by capturing a first and a second,scoring eight points to St. Eustace’s one.
But Fortune’s face is ever turning, and in the next event, theone-hundred-yard dash, St. Eustace took first place and Hillton failedto score, the rest of the points going to Northern Collegiate’s speedysprinters. But in the four hundred and forty yards Hillton took bothfirst and second again, increasing her lead by eight more units andleaving her dreaded rival far behind.
And so it went, Dame Fortune smiling and frowning alternately on thewearers of the crimson, until the sun had begun to drop back of thecity roofs. Of the track events Hillton had now won three firsts, twoseconds, and one third; St. Eustace, two firsts and three thirds; andthe two schools had divided five points in the half-mile run, Whiteheadhaving finished side by side with Brown, of St. Eustace, after a spurtdown the cinders that brought the grand stand cheering to its feet.
Don had won the high hurdles in magnificent style from a Polytechnicyouth by a short yard, a St. Eustace hurdler securing third place.Warrenton and St. Eustace had fought desperately for the tape in thetwo-hundred-and-twenty-yard dash, and the latter had gained a closedecision, Hillton taking third place. Hillton had done well in thehurdles, fairly so in the middle distances, and poorly in the dashes;St. Eustace had excelled in the dashes and had failed to win betterthan third place in the hurdles.
The field events had sprung some surprises on the wearers of thecrimson. The pole vault had netted them nothing, the deep blue havingtaken eight points and Northern Collegiate one.
Gaffney’s weak ankle had interfered to some extent with his performancein the broad jump, and his best try, twenty-one feet eight inches anda half, only secured three points for his school, St. Eustace scoringfirst place. Again, in the high jump, the latter academy had excelledand both first and second places had gone to her clever youngsters.
In the shot putting both St. Eustace and Hillton had failed signally,although the latter had managed to capture third place, NorthernCollegiate, in the person of a big, broad-shouldered youth, easilywinning the event and breaking the only record of the meeting, with aput of forty-seven feet six inches. And so, with the hammer throw stillto be decided, and the mile yet to be run, the scores stood:
St. Eustace, 36½; Hillton, 29½; Northern Collegiate, 11; Scattering, 14.
But the hopes of the Hillton supporters were bright, for St. Eustacehad already dropped out of the hammer throw, and only Trowbridge, ofNorthern Collegiate, and Dave and Hardy had qualified for the finals;Trowbridge with a throw of one hundred and forty-three feet, Dave withone of one hundred and forty-two feet eight inches, and Hardy with oneof one hundred and forty feet four inches. And now Trowbridge had theball and wire for his final tries.
Victory seemed already his, and his freckled face held an expression ofradiant confidence. The previous competitors, together with the judgesand the scorer and a few privileged college men, watched with interestas he swung the weight around with long arms and sent it flying acrossthe turf. Then the tape was moved over, and in a moment the distancewas announced:
“Hundred and forty-six feet three inches.”
Trowbridge shrugged his shoulders as he took the hammer for the nextattempt and put more speed into the swing. But he used his feet poorlyand the figures dropped back to three inches under one hundred andforty-five feet. A shade of uneasiness darkened the confident face, andTrowbridge set his lips tightly as he raised the weight. Then the longarms whirled, the body spun around, and the hammer whizzed through theair. The tape was laid to the ground.
“Hundred and forty-seven feet nine inches,” said a judge.
Trowbridge stepped from the ring with a scowl, and Dave took his place.As the Hillton lad gripped his hammer his eyes fell on Paddy, who hadjoined the little throng, his desire to witness Dave’s work havingovercome his fear of the marshal. Paddy grinned encouragement, andDave, with a lurking smile on his serious countenance, responded with aportentous wink. Then the hammer went up, swung around in its wideningcircle, and flew away.
“Hundred and forty-three feet three inches.”
Once more, and again the tape and the careful measurement.
“Hundred and forty-eight feet five inches.”
A ripple of surprise and applause went through the audience. Trowbridgelooked sad. Paddy executed a quiet dance at the edge of the throng.Back came the hammer. Dave gripped it with an air of determination,and placed his feet with greater care than before. Up went the weight,around spun the boy like a dervish, once, twice, thrice; there was asudden quick stiffening of the muscles, a set to the shoulders, and thetwelve pounds of iron sped away at a tangent and ripped the sod at apoint farther from the circle than any preceding throw.
“One hundred and forty-nine feet one inch,” announced the judges. Davehad won first place for
Hillton.
He stepped out, dragging his beloved hammer after him, with a face thatstrove hard to hide his happiness. Hardy clapped him on the back as hepassed to join Paddy, and the latter beamed upon him like the Cheshirecat. Hardy went in, glad of Dave’s victory over Trowbridge, but hopingfor a victory, in turn, over Dave. But that was not to be. His firstthrow was a sorry attempt; his second scarcely better. But at the thirdtry he put his whole soul into the task and his whole weight behind theflying ball, and when the judges stepped back they announced:
“One hundred and forty-eight feet eleven inches.”
“Eight points to Hillton!” cried some one, and several boys clappedloudly. Then the group broke up, Dave, Hardy, and Paddy mingling withthe crowd that flowed across toward the dressing room, joy in theirhearts.
“Ready for the mile!” called a voice, and in answer a squad of boystrotted across the field toward the starting point. Wayne and Whiteheadwere in the van and Paddy waved to them as they passed.
“Go in and win, Old Virginia!” And Wayne nodded smilingly, and hopedthat his face wasn’t quite as white as it felt. Professor Beck, Don,and two Hillton coaches were waiting, and Don helped him off with hiscoat, and trotted along beside him while he limbered up.
“Wayne, this is what you’ve got to do,” he whispered. “Get to the frontas soon as you can and look for Sturgis. If he’s ahead, stay with himno matter what pace he sets. If he’s behind, wait for him. Pay noattention to any others. It doesn’t matter who wins as long as St.Eustace doesn’t get a place. Sturgis is their only man that we needfear; so freeze to him, and don’t let him get away from you. Look outfor tricks, though, for St. Eustace is going to try them, I’m sure. Ifshe can get first or second men in she’ll have us beaten; if she canwin third place she’ll tie us. Win if you can, but, whatever happens,_down Sturgis_!”
“Hurry up, milers!” called the clerk of the course. Don gave Wayne anaffectionate clap on the shoulder.
“Go in, old man,” he whispered, “and remember Hillton every minute!”
There were twelve entries for the mile. St. Eustace, beside her cracklong-distance runner Sturgis, had entered House and Gould, both mento be feared. Hillton was represented by Wayne and Whitehead, bothnew men and inexperienced; Hillton’s chances were not considered verygood by the other schools. Northern Collegiate and Shrewsburg had eachentered two runners, and the other schools were represented by one manapiece. Northern Collegiate was doing a deal of talking about a youthnamed Pope, of whom little was known to the other schools, and who wasspoken of as a “dark horse” that stood a fair chance of winning. Waynefound himself placed between Pope, who turned out to be a heavily-builtfellow of apparently nineteen, and a pale and nervous boy much youngerin years, whose brown ribbon bore in gold letters the emblem “W. A.A. A.” Gould had the place next to the inner edge of the track, andSturgis and Whitehead were together near the outer edge.
The spectators had begun to leave the grounds and the stands alreadypresented little barren patches. The shadow of the small buildingwherein was the dressing room stretched far across the oval, and thesun was fast sinking behind the forest of roofs and chimneys in thewest. Contestants in previous events were dressed and stood about theturf to watch the last and deciding struggle for the championship ofthe year.
Pope was restively digging his toes into the path while the penaltiesfor false starting were being explained with much vehemence by thestarter. The Warrenton runner on Wayne’s left was working his armsback and forth as though he was going to win the race on his handsand feared his elbows would get stiff. Wayne himself was undeniablynervous. It was his first appearance in a public contest, barring thecross-country run at Hillton the preceding autumn, and the thought ofwhat failure would mean was beginning to take the starch out of him.But nervousness was the one thing that had been prohibited above allothers; and so he tried to forget about the possibilities of failureand had begun to wonder, without much interest in the problem, howmany men it required to keep the grass cut on the big oval when thestarter’s voice brought his thoughts back at a leap.
“_On your mark!_”
Pope growled something to him about dull spikes and loose tracks, butWayne made no answer. He was looking straight ahead down the broadpath, his thoughts in a tumult.
“_Set!_”
Twelve bodies leaned farther forward and there was a perceptible soundof intaking breath up and down the line. Then, when it seemed to manythat another moment of suspense would make them shout or dance or dosomething else equally ridiculous, _bang!_ went the pistol, and theline leaped forward and broke into fragments as the runners sped away.
For the Honor of the School: A Story of School Life and Interscholastic Sport Page 23
