CHAPTER VI
THE RELAY RACE
That evening was destined to be one of triumph for Stewart Earleand the lower middle class. In the relay race that followed thetwo-hundred-and-twenty-yard dash the juniors had never a chance fromfirst to last, and lower middle’s fourth man cantered home almost intime to tag the junior’s last runner ere he left the mark. Stewartand Trevor viewed the contest squatting on the floor beside the seatsoccupied by Mr. and Mrs. Earle and Carl Gray.
Stewart’s mother had welcomed victor and vanquished with impartialfavor, although her pride and pleasure in her boy’s success waspatent to all. Stewart’s father smiled near-sightedly at Trevor, andassured him that he had made a remarkable race, but his words didn’tdisguise for a moment the fact that he had expected Stewart to win,and that he was somewhat surprised at Trevor’s thinking for a momentthat he (Trevor) stood any chance of victory. Even Stewart appeareduncomfortable at his father’s tone, and strove to change the subjectlest Trevor should feel hurt. But the latter was genuinely glad thatStewart’s parents had witnessed a victory for their son and had nevera thought of disappointment or envy. As to the reason for his suddenand unexpected giving-out, however, Trevor had little to say, and whenCarl suggested that perhaps he had insufficient training since therecess he eagerly acknowledged that that might have had something to dowith it.
“But I never had a hope of winning,” Stewart had cried, “after thesecond round! I just kept on going because--well, you know--just tomake as good a showing as I could. When you fell behind I was sosurprised 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 closestkind of a finish by a senior class fellow in the remarkably good timeof eight seconds. The one-mile run followed, but failed to awakenmuch enthusiasm from the audience, who were impatient for the finalevent, the senior-upper middle relay race. When the mile run was halfover Trevor shook hands with Mr. and Mrs. Earle, and, encouraged bytheir hearty wishes for his success, hurried off to the dressing-room.Kernan, captain of the upper middle team, took him aside and questionedhim anxiously.
“I’m afraid you’re not very fit, Nesbitt. I was going to run you last,but I guess I’ll let Chalmers have the final and put you second. How doyou feel?”
“Spiffin!” answered Trevor heartily, “never felt better. Don’t get itinto your noddle that I’m done up, old chap, and don’t change theorder on account of that two-twenty dash. That was judgment more thananything else----”
“Judgment!” ejaculated Kernan. “I didn’t see much judgment in it!”
“That’s your stupidity, Kernan. Can’t stop to explain now; but just yougo ahead and let me run last, like a good fellow, and I promise you youwon’t regret it.” Kernan frowned hesitatingly; then his face clearedand he slapped Trevor on the back.
“All right, Nesbitt; run last you shall. I don’t pretend to understandthat two-twenty, but I’ll trust you to do your work. We’ve got a stiffrace, I guess, but we’re not beaten yet. The seniors will put Taylorlast, I expect; he’s a good man, all right, but if we can hold ontothem 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 I’ll beathim out!” answered Trevor doggedly.
“That’s the stuff! Of course, I can’t promise the even start, but I’lldo my best, Nesbitt; and you’ll do yours, I know, and----”
“Ready for the relay! All out, fellows!”
Trevor, Kernan, and the other two members of their team, Chalmersand Johnston, hurried to the starting-line, followed by four veryproper-looking boys wearing the senior colors. The band, hidden fromsight by a fringe of shouting juniors at the end of the gallery, playedfor all it was worth. The seniors and upper middle fellows werecheering the members of their teams individually and collectively, andthe uproar was tremendous.
Professor Beck, athletic director, and at present that court of lastappeal, the referee, gave the instructions in quick, clear tones asthe first two contestants stood on their marks. The professor was ashort man who wore glasses, who always dressed faultlessly, whetherfor a principal’s reception or an afternoon on the campus, whoseslightest turn of the head or crook of the finger bespoke authority,and whose voice, ordinarily low but incisive, could swell into a veryfair imitation of a speaking-trumpet on short notice. For the rest,he understood boy nature from A to Z, and beyond, and could turn agood track athlete out of anything except a wooden post, given theopportunity. Hillton fellows, when graduated from the narrow prejudicesof the junior year, worshiped two local deities--Professor Wheeler,the principal, and Professor Beck; and there was a well-defined notionprevalent that should some beneficent Fate remove from the academy allthe rest of the faculty things would not only continue undisturbed, butwould run better than ever.
I have dealt at some length on Professor Beck because he is a person ofmuch importance. When he dies--may the day be far!--his portrait willhang beside those of the founder and past principals in the chapel, tobe outwardly guyed and inwardly reverenced by succeeding generations ofloyal Hilltonians.
“Now, get them off quickly,” commanded the professor. The starter criedhis perfunctory “On your marks! Get set!” and then the little pistolbarked with all the ferocity of a toy spaniel, and the great event ofthe meeting, the senior-upper middle one-mile relay race, was on.
Johnston, for the upper middle, and a youth named Cummings, for theseniors, shot off together, and began their quarter mile as though theyhad but one lap to accomplish instead of six. The pace was too good tolast, and every one knew it, including the runners, and so, when theyhad made the first round of the track, they slowed down as though bymutual consent, and went at the contest in businesslike style. Seniorsand upper middle classmen cheered their respective candidates, andhurled taunts across the hall.
“The U. M. is a stupid pup Who laps his milk from out a cup; He may have sense when he grows up And gets to be a Senior!”
To this chanted aspersion the upper middle fellows replied withhowls of derision, and started upon their own poetic catalogue ofthe deficiencies of the rival class, the first verse of which ran asfollows:
“Said the Prof. unto the Senior: ‘You must alter your demeanor, For such ways I’ve never seen; you’re Quite as awkward as a hen; Your walk is most unsightly, sir; Pray place your feet more lightly, sir, And always bow politely, sir, To the Upper Middle men!’”
There were five more verses to it, and while it lasted the seniors, ledby Dick and Todd, could only cheer incessantly and stamp their feet ina hopeless endeavor to drown the song.
Meanwhile the first quarter of the race was nearly over, and Johnstonand Cummings, the former leading by a scant ten yards, were spurtingalong the back-stretch. Then the senior runner reached the line,touched hands with the next man, and dropped from the track tired andbreathless just as Cummings came up and Chalmers took his place in therace.
As Johnston crossed the line Dick slipped his watch back into hispocket. “Fifty-seven and four fifths seconds!” he bawled intoWilliams’s ear. “Johnston ought to have done better by three fifths.”
Williams nodded. “We’ve got the start of them, however,” he answered.
On the second lap Clark, the senior runner, increased the lead to agood fifteen yards, and from there on to the finish, Chalmers, try ashe might and did, could not close the gap, and the second quarter wasfinished in the good time of fifty-seven and one fifth seconds. Kernan,the upper middle team captain, entered the race with set, determinedface, and ere the first lap of the third quarter had been reeled offhad raised the flagging hopes of his classmates by a wonderful burstof speed that put him on equal terms with the senior runner, Morris.At the third corner he secured the inside of the track, and kept itduring the whole of the second, third, and fourth laps, although Morristried hard to reach him.
The shouting
from the upper middle seats was wild and continuous, andthe swirling banners waved riotously over Kernan as, with head back andbare legs twinkling, he sped along, every instant now lengthening thespace between him and the pursuer. And then suddenly the cheers andshouts of acclaim were changed to cries of alarm and dismay. There wasthe sound of a fall, and a white-clad form plunged to the floor androlled over and over. Kernan at the third corner had tripped on theincline.
Morris, racing along but a few yards behind, leaped over the rollingbody, stumbled, recovered himself after a few strides, and went on.Half a dozen fellows hurried toward Kernan, but he was on his feetagain before they could reach him, and, although he was plainly bruisedand sore from his fall, took up the running pluckily, amid cheers. Buthis task was a hopeless one. Morris had used the misadventure to goodpurpose, and now between him and the upper middle captain a third of alap stretched. Kernan, with white face, tried desperately to make upthe lost ground, and even succeeded in doing so to some extent, butMorris’s lead was too great, and that youth swept breathlessly overthe line, nearly a quarter of a lap to the good, and, touching theimpatient, outstretched fingers of Roy Taylor, sank exhausted to thefloor.
Trevor, poised for a quick start, heard Taylor’s feet resoundingover the first incline as Kernan, staggering by, touched his handfor a fleeting instant and toppled over. With a dash Trevor took upthe running. A quarter of a lap was more than he had bargained forwhen he had professed his ability to beat Roy Taylor, but he was notdiscouraged. He knew Taylor well; knew that that youth was a fast andsteady runner at quarter- and half-mile distances, but knew also that,while a spurt at the finish was quite within Taylor’s powers, a seriesof fast dashes had the effect of worrying and exciting him. Trevorlaid his plans accordingly. He realized intuitively that he was inbetter condition than his rival for hard and fast work; he had run inthe two-hundred-and-twenty-yard event, while Taylor had not been onthe track before that evening; a fact which, in Trevor’s present goodphysical shape, worked to his advantage; his former race, despite hisdefeat, had served to put him into excellent condition for this one. Heran easily, maintaining the distance between Taylor and himself, and atthe commencement of the second of the six laps constituting the lastquarter of the race he was still a quarter of a lap behind.
“That’s good work, Nesbitt,” cried Kernan, who, sprawled out on amattress, was at last beginning to find his breath once more. Theband was almost vainly striving to make its brazen notes heard abovethe shouting of the students, while pennants of class colors writhedserpent-like in the air, and seniors and upper middle classmen hurleddefiant cheers at each other across the intervening space. The lowermiddle boys and the juniors cheered indiscriminately, although therewas a tendency among the latter class to uphold the seniors. Dick,Williams, Todd, and their companions leaned over the railing andwatched the contest excitedly. Trevor and Taylor had begun the secondlap, the former with eyes intent upon the youth ahead, the latterrunning with a great show of style, and with an easy and confidentsmile upon his face.
“Taylor runs just as he does everything,” grumbled Todd, “with one eyeon the gallery.”
“He does like to show off,” assented Williams. “Hello!”
A roar went up from floor and balcony, and Roy Taylor, just mountingthe second incline, turned his head to see Trevor coming up on him likea whirlwind. Instantly he leaped away, and the seniors, for a momentdismayed, gave voice to their relief and approval. Trevor settled downinto his former pace, well satisfied, for by that unexpected spurt hehad taken off nearly a half of the distance that had separated himfrom his opponent. Taylor, as soon as he saw the danger over, settledback into his former even but not extraordinary pace, and finished thesecond lap running well within himself. The third lap began with moreencouraging prospects for the upper middle class.