ON THE HARRAPIN
Saturday saw quite a big crowd gathered in the afternoon at the
athletic field, to witness what they called the “elimination trials.”
By this means all who could not take part in the grand meet the
following week would be weeded out.
There were plenty of young people present from both Bellport and
Clifford; for it was expected that these trial heats would prove
almost as interesting as the real thing later on. Of course this was
a Columbia day entirely, a sort of home affair, since only local boys
could compete.
One event after another was carried out by the judges who were
appointed to decide upon the merits of the numerous candidates. Even
sack racing was indulged in; and the antics of fat Buster Billings
when he strove with might and main to come in ahead of his more nimble
rivals afforded great fun. He even started to rolling when unable to
get on his feet again after a fall, and might have won, only that this
method of making progress was declared barred by those in charge.
Some of the jumping tests were well carried out; and those who watched
and figured on the marks made nodded their heads as though satisfied
that Columbia had a good chance in this quarter.
The high-jumpers also held a carnival of their own, and brought out
loud cheers by their showing; while the pole-vaulters, the shot-putters
and hammer-throwers and the short-distance sprinters gave every
evidence of being grimly determined not to lose the prizes offered in
their departments, if grit and pluck and muscle could win out.
Finally, at four o’clock the long-distance runners lined up; and as
this was the last, as well as the most important event, on the program,
everybody crowded around to witness the start. There was a lot of
cross-fire talk between some of the ambitious aspirants and their
friends on the side lines.
Besides Frank, Lanky and Bones Shadduck, the three who were fully
expected to carry off the honors, and get tickets to enter the Marathon
in the big meet, there were almost a dozen others, who seemed to have
hopes of developing into wonders; or else meant to start, just for the
fun of the thing.
Since that day in school, when the fire occurred in the basement,
nothing had been seen or heard of Bill Klemm and his two cronies, Asa
Barnes and Watkins Kline. Asa’s father, the local butcher, had been
searching all over the country for his son; but thus far nothing had
been heard from him. It was believed that, thinking they must have
caused the destruction of the school by fire, the frightened trio
of boys were hiding far away, not daring to return home. And among
the crowds that gathered on this Saturday, their names were often
mentioned, as all sorts of queer theories were advanced to account for
their disappearance.
But then, as they were most unpopular boys, no one cared very much
about it. And really the games that were being carried out were ten
times more worth talking about than the fortunes of such a town bully
as Bill Klemm, or his followers, who were trying to walk in the same
trail he followed.
It had been determined that since this was only a trial race, with the
result really a foregone conclusion, the boys would not have to go
over the entire circuit as laid out for the great meet. Instead of ten
miles, they would cover just half that distance.
With the crack of the starter’s pistol the long line jumped away.
Several ambitious beginners immediately sprinted, and took the lead.
“Look at Ginger Harper, would you?” cried a spectator; “why, he’s a
wonder, for a fact. He can run around the rest of that bunch, and not
half try. There he goes, grabbin’ off the yards like fun. It’s going
to be a procession, with Ginger first!”
“Is it?” remarked Jack Eastwick, with a grin of pity for the ignorance
of the shouter, who was a particular friend of the Harper boy, he knew;
“maybe so, maybe not.”
Those who knew better saw that the good runners did not start at
headlong pace. They held back in a bunch, and were saving their wind.
In a run that covers five or ten miles it is the height of folly to
make any effort at great speed at the start. By degrees experienced and
knowing runners get into their stride, and in this fashion are able to
finish strongly. That home stretch to them means everything, and when
the crack of the pistol announces that it has been entered, they seem
to exhibit all the freshness of those just starting.
So the last of the runners disappeared from sight, and the crowd went
back to watch a few more minor events while waiting for the return of
the five-mile contestants.
“Pretty near time they began to show up; isn’t it?” asked Jack Comfort,
who was well pleased with the showing he had made that day, and fully
assured that he would be the one selected to compete for Columbia with
the weight-throwing and shot-putting squad.
A shout was heard just then.
“A runner in sight!” passed along the lines, and immediately everything
else was neglected, while the crowd formed a long double lane from the
outskirts of the field to the tape, which the contestants had to breast
in order to have their time taken.
“Who is it? Ginger Harper making it a sweep?” cried one, mockingly.
“Say, Ginger’s been back here these ten minutes and more,” called out
another. “He gave out at the first half-mile stone, and came home to
see the run-in!”
“It’s Frank Allen!” arose the shout.
“You’re all mistaken, for it’s Lanky Wallace. Don’t you see how tall he
is; and aren’t we all of us on to his way of running!” whooped Buster
Billings, red in the face with all he had been attempting in various
lines.
“Lanky Wallace leads!”
“Three Lankies for cheers!” shrieked Red Huggins, who always managed to
get his sentences twisted when excited, and as some of the boys said,
“got the cart before the horse.”
“And he’s beat his best time by a whole lot, too!” announced another
enthusiast.
Some of the Bellport and Clifford boys were seen comparing watches
as Lanky came bounding along with tremendous strides, making for the
tape-line, and apparently they were staggered to realize what small
chance their athletes had in comparison with this wonder.
“If he kept to the track he’s the best ever!” one fellow said, shaking
his head as though he could hardly believe it.
“There’s another runner, and this time it is Frank Allen!”
“With Bones close behind him; and the field out of sight!”
“Oh! some of those fellows will be comin’ in for the next hour!”
laughed Buster.
Lanky shot along the double line of shouting admirers, and breasted
the tape in gallant style. And had Frank been there to notice, he
would have smiled to see how the winner’s first thought was to cast a
contemptuous look over to that quarter where pretty little Dora Baxter
stood clapping her hands gleefully, just as though for the moment it
was forgotten that she and Lanky had ever had a falling out.
Frank was delighted with the wonderful time made by his long-legged
chum. Surely Lanky had improved very much since the last time they
entered for a long-distance run. And if either of the rival schools
could show a better runner, he would have to be a marvel indeed.
Of course the three who were to enter for Columbia were those who had
come in first, second and third. The fourth did not arrive for ten
minutes or more after Bones Shadduck passed the tape; and when most of
the crowd had left the field the others were still showing up--some
limping from stone-bruises, and others utterly fagged out from the long
grind.
And if five miles could put them in this condition of exhaustion, it
was very evident that they could not have a grain of hope of ever
getting over the entire course of double that distance.
Lanky had gone to the dressing-room, and soon appeared in his ordinary
clothes. He took his honors meekly; indeed, Frank suspected that the
boy would really have cared more to hear one girl say a single word of
admiration, than to hear scores load him down with praise.
But Dora had gone off with a group, and was not to be seen. Evidently
she had rightly interpreted that look of scorn Lanky had thrown toward
her at the moment of his triumph, as though to tell her he did not care
to see her applauding anything which he might do.
“Hey! Lanky, come and go back with us to town on board the _Harrapin
Belle_!” said Ben Allison, whacking the tall boy between the shoulders
as he started off alone.
“Oh! don’t care if I do, Ben,” replied Lanky, never dreaming to what a
strange end this trivial incident might lead him; “if your boat isn’t
too crowded.”
“Huh! nothing’s too good for you this day, Lanky,” replied the other;
“and I’d pitch a few of the others overboard to make room for the boy
who’s going to bring victory our way next week. We’re sure proud of the
way you covered that five-mile course to-day, and that’s the truth.
Here, hook your arm with mine. It’s an honor to be seen walking with
you, Lanky, let me tell you.”
“Is it?” queried Lanky, gloomily; “some people don’t think that way,
Ben. But I’m wondering if Frank Allen couldn’t have run me a hot race
if he wanted.”
“Rats! Frank did the best he could,” retorted Ben. “I heard him say so.”
And so, arguing in this friendly spirit, they finally came to the
river, where a number of boats of all sorts lay, having come for the
most part from the other towns.
The _Harrapin Belle_ was a big launch that Ben’s father had bought
early that season. It had been second-hand, but was in fair condition.
More than a dozen boys and girls were going back to town on board,
having been invited by generous Ben, and evidently bent on enjoying a
little river trip to vary the monotony of things.
Lanky discovered, when it was too late, that Dora and Walter Ackerman
were aboard, sitting far up in the bow. He kept away from that quarter
studiously; and, as the boat started up the river, busied himself in
appearing to be utterly care-free.
They had not gone more than a few hundred yards before the pilot
managed to run against some sort of snag, which was unseen above the
surface of the water. No particular damage to the boat resulted; but
there was quite a little shock. And then came a scream in a voice that
seemed familiar to Lanky.
Springing to his feet he dashed toward the bow. The boat was floating
with the current now, the power having been turned off. Several of the
boys and girls were bending over the side, gazing in alarm at something
that was occurring there; and among them Lanky could see Walter
Ackerman.
But he failed to discover Dora; and the truth broke upon him that it
must be the girl who had once been so dear a friend to him, who had
fallen into the river at the time of the collision!