WINNING AGAINST ODDS
The skaters were off together, almost like a line of well-drilled
soldiers on the double-quick, and, as they glided forward, there came a
shrill burst of cheers from the student spectators.
“Rah! Rah! Freshmen! Elmwood Freshmen!” cried the members of that class,
to urge on their comrades.
“Boom! Boom! Boomity-boom Seniors! Siss!” came the peculiar cry of the
four-year lads.
“Sophomore! Sophomore!
Rah! Rah! Rah!
Going like a trolley car!”
That was the second year boys cheering.
Then came the call of the Juniors:
“June! June, beautiful June.
We’ll win the race and win it soon.
Siss!
Boom!
Rah!
Juniors!”
The line was a trifle broken now, as one or two forged ahead of the
others, and among them was Tom. Yet he was holding himself in check,
and narrowly watching the others, for the race was not a short one, and
he knew the danger of getting winded too early in it, and spending his
strength so that he had none left for a final spurt.
Jack was even with his chum, though he was not as good a skater as was
our hero. Sam Heller was a little behind, but in practice he had done
well, and Tom knew that in his enemy he had a dangerous rival.
Bruce Bennington was skating well, the only one of the Seniors who
seemed to stand a chance, while a member each of the Junior and
Sophomore class was up in the front now.
“Everyone is holding back,” said Jack to Tom.
“Yes, waiting for a break. I’ve a good notion to give it to ’em, and
take a chance.”
“Don’t you do it. Let some one else set the pace. Hold back. We want to
win this race for the Freshman class, and we’re depending on you.”
“Hope I don’t disappoint you. There goes Blaisdell for the Juniors. Come
on!”
One of the skaters had spurted and at once the others increased their
speed to keep up to him. The race was now on in earnest, and soon half
the distance was covered, with no one markedly in the lead. Several had
dropped out, hopelessly distanced, but there were enough of each class
left to make the result doubtful.
“I wonder what Sam is going to do?” mused Nick Johnson, as he watched
his crony. “He’d better get busy.”
The skaters had turned, and were coming back toward the starting point.
They could hear the cheers of their comrades, and the cries of the
followers of the various classes could be distinguished.
“Better hit it up, Tom,” advised Jack.
“I will. Here goes!”
Tom struck out with more speed and power than he had previously used. He
imagined he was once more chasing the runaway iceboat, and he gripped
his fists and clenched his teeth as he made up his mind to win.
But, even as he spurted, others glided up, almost beside him, and one of
them was Sam Heller. Tom watched out of the corner of his eye, and it
seemed to him that Sam was edging over toward him.
“I wonder what he’s doing that for?” mused Tom.
So near were they to the finish line now that the calls of the class
cheerers came clearly through the cold, crisp air.
“Come on, Freshmen! Come on! Win! Win!”
“Don’t let ’em beat you, Seniors!”
“Skate. Skate. Oh you Sophs!”
“Juniors forever. Juniors to the front!”
Thus the students cheered.
“I’m going to win!” whispered Tom fiercely to himself.
The finish line was a hundred feet away. Tom looked ahead, and saw a
confused mass of excited spectators, waving flags and banners, tossing
caps in the air, dancing about and uttering yells at the tops of their
voices. He looked to left and right and saw on one side of him, Bruce
Bennington, and, on the other, Sam Heller. Jack Fitch was not in sight.
“I guess Jack’s out of it,” mused Tom, regretfully.
He gathered himself for a final effort, and, just as he struck out with
increased force he saw Sam lurch over toward him.
“Look out!” Tom yelled.
The bully returned no answer. He seemed to have lost control of himself.
Nearer and nearer he glided toward Tom.
In vain did our hero try to get out of the way of what in a flash he
knew to be an intentional attempt to foul him. But he could not escape
without swerving so far to one side as to mean the loss of the race.
“Look out for yourself!” warned Tom, determined to give way no longer,
and he braced himself for the shock.
It came an instant later, when Sam’s skate struck Tom’s, staggering him.
“Excuse me!” panted the bully, unnecessarily loud. “I couldn’t help it!”
Tom said nothing, but he thought a lot.
Then he felt himself falling. There was but one thing to do, and Tom did
it. He was staggering forward, trying in vain to remain upright long
enough to cross the line. The only way he could do it was to gain more
momentum than that caused by Sam’s foul interference. That was to jump,
and Tom did it.
Up in the air he rose, remembering the time he had cleared barrels on
the ice in an obstacle race.
Up and up he went, fairly hurling himself forward. As he did so he had a
confused glimpse of Sam Heller sprawling on the ice, and tumbling over
and over. Tom also saw Bruce Bennington looking at him in astonishment.
Our hero also had a glance at representatives of the Junior and
Sophomore classes fairly doubled up in a desperate effort to win the
race.
“But I’ll do it! I’ll do it, if I don’t break a skate when I come down,
or trip,” thought Tom, desperately.
The jump had accomplished the very purpose for which the plucky
Freshman intended it. Just as when you trip, and fall forward, if you
can suddenly jump, and equalize the momentum given the upward part of
our body, while overcoming the inertia of your feet, caused by the
contact with some obstacle--just in this way Tom had jumped.
He saw the finish line but a few feet ahead. The next moment, amid a
perfect riot of cheers, he came down with resounding force on the ice,
his steel runners ringing out in the frosty air.
For a second he feared that he could not keep his balance, but by a
desperate effort he did, and with great speed he slid across the mark,
and fairly into the crowd of students bunched beyond it. Tom was unable
to stop himself.
A quick glance showed that he was alone when he crossed the finish mark.
He had won the race against big odds!