THE FACULTY RACE
When Paddy awoke the next morning his first act was to throw back the
blinds and look eagerly at the thermometer hanging outside the window.
It recorded fourteen above zero, and he gave a grunt of satisfaction
as he scurried to the fireplace, raked the embers together, and added
a fresh log. There was no likelihood of either snow or rain marring
the skating surface of the river, and the state of the thermometer
precluded a thaw. Paddy was in the best of spirits all the forenoon, as
he and Wallace and the other members of the committee scurried from the
school grounds to the village, and from the village to the scene of the
coming contest on the river.
The “skating carnival” had been proclaimed far and wide; its fame had
even reached the neighboring towns along the Hudson, and at two o’clock
the boat-house float and steps and the river bank, as well as the
frozen surface thereabouts, was thronged with townspeople from Hillton,
Euston Point, and other hamlets. Of course the academy turned out in
full force; the junior class attended in a body prepared to aid their
champions by every feat of lung and throat. A clear stretch of smooth
ice about ten yards from the shore had been roped off for the track
whereon the sprints and a hurdle race were to be contested, while a
series of red flags--borrowed from the golf club--marked the course of
the half-mile and mile events. There was an appearance of dignity and
importance about the scene that pleased Paddy mightily, and made him
carry his bright blue badge with great pride.
Dave, with his usual hopefulness, had entered for everything for which
he was eligible. Don was down for the hurdle race and a half-mile
event, and Wayne had entered for the mile race for novices. Paddy was
to take part in the class event and the mile. The afternoon was a
perfect one for the sport. The sun shone dimly at times, the breeze,
too light to interfere with speed, was nipping cold, and the ice was
in fine condition. Professor Beck had consented to act as referee, and
several of the other professors wore judges’ badges and tried earnestly
to understand their duties.
There were many entries for the half-mile handicap and a lower
middle-class fellow won it easily from scratch. In the mile race for
novices Wayne finished well up in the first crowd and was quite elated.
Both Paddy and Dave were entered in the mile event, and the former
won from a field of some twenty fellows by a generous ten yards. Dave
struggled along bravely and cheerfully, and seemed well satisfied with
sixth place. When the class race was called twelve boys stood on the
mark, three entries from each class, and the juniors gathered in a body
at the starting place and cheered their men and their class loudly and
tirelessly until the contestants sped away over the shining course,
their runners ringing musically on the frosty air. Dave was one of the
chosen three representing the seniors, Paddy held the hopes of the
upper middle class, and the lower middle banked on the fleet youth who
had previously won the half-mile handicap. The juniors placed implicit
faith in a small and wiry boy who looked scarcely over thirteen years
of age. The twelve kept well together for the first of the three laps
constituting the mile, but when the flags were reached the junior
champion sprang to the front, followed by the three senior class
fellows, and the balance strung themselves back along the course, Paddy
laboring manfully to hold himself in for the last half lap. As the
skaters sped by the point where Wayne and Don were watching, the former
recognized one of the lower middle-class entries as Carl Gray, and drew
Don’s attention to him.
“Gray?” said Don. “Oh, the fellow that comes to see you every week on
that mysterious business? Well, he skates well, doesn’t he? He ought to
finish pretty decently, I should think. Paddy’s just dying to ‘go up
head,’ isn’t he? And look at old David; wouldn’t you think he was an
ice wagon on runners? Poor old chap! I believe if somebody got up a
flying match he’d enter.”
“He ought to have known better than to have got in the lead so early in
the race,” said Wayne.
“Well, I guess he thought that if he didn’t get in front now he never
would,” laughed Don. “But he’ll not be there after this round.”
And he wasn’t. When the last spin over the course began, it seemed
as though Dave stood still, for the entire field of skaters, with
one exception, sped by him ere the remaining distance was one fourth
traversed. The single exception was the small junior who had forced
the skating and who was now too used up to keep his lead. A hundred
yards from the finish eight of the ten leaders were so closely bunched
as to render guessing the winner a difficult feat, and Wayne and Don,
shouting loudly for Paddy, didn’t know who had won until the judges
gave out the result a moment later: Breen, first; Gray, second;
Wallace, third. The upper middle had captured first place, the lower
middle second, and the seniors had to be content with the third prize.
Dave and the small junior fought stubbornly for precedence and the
latter won by a yard, and Dave was enthusiastically presented with a
piece of ice, in lieu of a booby prize, by a delegation headed by Don.
Meanwhile a flight of six hurdles, two and a half feet in height,
had been put in place, and Don and three other fellows--one of them
Greene--were on the mark. Hurdle racing on skates is a difficult
accomplishment, even when low hurdles are used, and success depends
not alone on speed. The contestant who has not undergone the hardest
practice over the bars and learned to take them in much the same manner
as does the hurdler who is running on cinders, might as well save his
breath, and possibly a hard fall. Of the four contestants entered Don
was acknowledged the best, since his long training at track hurdling
enabled him to perform on ice in beautiful style. Although not so
speedy a skater as Greene, he was a more perfect hurdler, and he was
looked upon as the winner. The jumps were placed thirty yards apart,
and the entire distance to be raced from starting line to finish was
two hundred and ten yards. At the report of the pistol the four started
well together. Conroy, a lower middle-class fellow, took the lead and
covered the twenty yards intervening between the line and the first
hurdle at fine speed, but only to come an inglorious cropper at the
first leap and to find himself utterly out of the race ere it was well
begun. Greene, and Jackson, the fourth man, took their hurdle side by
side, and were halfway to their second before Don was in the air. At
the third hurdle, however, Jackson was behind, and Don and Greene were
rising for the jump at the same moment. And now form over the obstacles
began to tell, for while Greene was able to cover every intervening
twenty yards at a faster pace than Don, the latter gained ground at
every hurdle, taking off at his full speed and in each case barely
topping the wood, while Greene perceptibly decreased his speed before
each leap and always jumped from three to six inches higher than was
necessary.
Cheers for the boys filled the air as they raced for the last hurdle,
Don a bare foot in advance of Greene, and Jackson just taking his fifth
jump. At the sixth hurdle Greene’s performance was even clumsier than
before, and Don’s skates clanged down on the ice at the very moment the
former was rising to the jump. But in another moment the two were again
almost side by side, for on the level Greene’s speed told, and it was
nip and tuck to the tape. But Don managed to hold the slight advantage
gained at the last hurdle and Greene accepted second place by the
narrowest sort of a margin.
“If you were as fast on skates as I am, or I was as crack a hurdler as
you are,” he told Don laughingly, “one of us would be a wonder.”
A half-mile straight-away race followed, but Don, who had entered for
this event, stayed out, being too winded to do himself justice, and
the race was won by the small junior, who had somehow found his speed
again. And then the event of the day was called, the great faculty
race, in which Professor Wheeler and a mysterious Unknown were to
compete over the mile course. Conjecture as to the identity of the
Unknown was still rife, and as Professor Wheeler, on a fine new pair of
full-clamp skates, advanced to the starting line, the throng watched
and waited impatiently for the other competitor. All the professors
were present, even “Turkey,” and not a few wore skates. It might be
any one of them. Professor Beck skated to the line, and a murmur of
“It’s Beck!” arose, only to be drowned by a second murmur of “No, it’s
Longworth!” as the junior instructor in mathematics also approached.
“Who is the other competitor, sir?” asked Wallace, who was to act as
starter. The principal looked toward the shore.
“He is coming now, Mr. Starter,” he answered smilingly. The throng
about the line followed his gaze and gasped in wondering amazement.
Skating toward them, and leaving a ripple of amused laughter in his
wake, his head covered with a fur cap whose lappets were drawn down
over his ears, with a long woolen muffler wrapped about his throat
and a pair of old-fashioned wooden skates strapped to his feet,
came--Professor Durkee!
A moment of silent surprise was broken by a laugh that quickly resolved
itself into a loud cheer. On the outskirts of the crowd, where they
could not be seen, impish juniors doubled themselves up with laughter.
More dignified seniors shouted hoarsely to keep from following the
example, and even Professor Beck smiled broadly at the odd figure of
the principal’s rival for honors. Whether Professor Durkee was aware
of the sentiments aroused by his appearance none can say; if he was he
carefully concealed the fact; and after a few explanations from the
referee the two professors stood on the mark, silence fell, the pistol
banged, and the great faculty race was on!
Professor Wheeler sped away up river at a pace that soon dropped the
English instructor yards behind. But fellows who knew the length of a
mile on ice shook their heads and predicted that the pace was too good
to last. Perhaps Professor Durkee thought so too, for he made no effort
to win the side of the flying principal, but skated serenely on, his
coat tails and the ends of his knitted gray muffler flying in the wind.
“Isn’t he a sight?” asked Don, with a grin.
“Oh, he’s something to dream of,” giggled Paddy. “But he can skate, can
old ‘Turkey’! He has a style like--like--a scarecrow.”
At that moment Dave flew frantically up.
“What do you think?” he gasped. “It was ‘Turkey’----”
But the words were taken out of his mouth by Wayne, who slid out of the
crowd and embraced Paddy to keep from falling.
“Say, fellows, it was Professor Durkee that we saw on the river last
night.”
“And chased!” supplemented Dave.
“Get out!” cried Don. “Who said so? How do you know?”
“Recognized him!” answered Wayne. “Knew him as soon as I set eyes
on him. I told you last night that it was a man, and that he wore a
muffler thing around his neck. Remember?”
“And I know too,” said Dave. “He looked just as he does now when I saw
him.”
“Well, the desavin critter!” exclaimed Paddy.
“I’ll just bet it was him!” said Don. “He had been practicing and
didn’t want us to see him.”
“Yes; and I’ll bet he’ll beat ‘Wheels’ all hollow!”
The boys crowded their way to a place by the course. Far up the ice the
flying figures were making the turn and heading back to the starting
point. It was difficult to discern which was ahead, but presently as
they drew nearer Professor Wheeler was seen to have maintained his lead
of about twenty yards. Cheers, loud and prolonged, greeted the skaters
as they made the turn and commenced the second round.
“Go it, ‘Turkey’!” yelled the throng, all forgetful of respect in the
excitement of the moment.
“Bully for ‘Wheels’!” cried others, and only ceased when Professor Beck
was seen smiling broadly at Professor Longworth. Up the river once
more sped the racers, the ludicrous figure of the English professor
maintaining its position behind the principal and never gaining or
losing. The latter was slackening speed a little now, and many fellows
were remarking, “I told you so!” in superior tones. But Professor
Durkee refused to take advantage of the other’s lagging, and as they
turned at the flag and headed back, the watchers saw that the relative
positions were still the same. Down toward the starting point they came
again, and again cheers welcomed them. Professor Wheeler had plainly
overtaxed himself in the first lap and was now trying to recuperate.
He was a very graceful skater, using a long strike and handling his
feet easily and well. Professor Durkee, on the other hand, possessed no
style, kept his body quite rigid, and took rapid, short strokes. And
what, with his flying coat tails and muffler and his wildly swinging
arms with a red mitten at the extremity of each, he was in truth a
strange and humorous spectacle.
Around the flag they went, the principal still holding his lead of
twenty yards, but looking a bit worried, and the English professor,
his queer old face solemn and inscrutable under the fur cap, seemingly
content to let the other keep the advantage. It was the last lap now,
and as the two drew away upstream champions of each grew loud and
excited in their claims.
“Why, ‘Wheels’ can leave him at the flag if he wants to!”
“Course he can. He’s just letting ‘Turkey’ down easy.”
“Oh, can he? Well, just you wait and see! Why, ‘Wheels’ is done for
already; he’s plumb beat!”
And so on, while the contestants reached the farther end of the course
and made the turn. And now the spectators thronged the ropes that
guarded the finish, cheering excitedly. Down the ice sped the skaters;
a quarter of the remaining distance was traversed when a shout arose.
“Durkee’s closing up!”
And so he was. His feet were moving so fast over the frozen surface
that they were just a blur to the sight, his coat tails were flapping
gloriously, and he was closing up the gap! But the principal was yet
game, and with a hundred yards or so still to cover and with Professor
Durkee close behind him he spurted again to the front and had put
several more yards between him and his rival ere the latter was aware
of it. And then--well, then the red mittens moved so fast hither and
thither that they looked like a streak of fire, the muffler ends stood
out straight in the wind, the coat tails followed suit, the wooden
skates bit and clanged on the ice, the little professor became a small
cyclone, and the watchers held their breaths, too astonished to even
cheer.
Now the coat tails were even with the principal, now they had passed
him and were flapping derisively in his face, and now they were far
beyond reach. And then amid the delighted acclaim of hundreds “Turkey”
crossed the line like a specially constructed whirlwind and won the
faculty race by a dozen long yards!