THE RELAY RACE
Only the actual competitors were allowed to leave town for the Boston
meet, so unless he could contrive to receive mandatory invitations from
friends to spend Sunday in Boston, or devise especial business to call
him peremptorily to the city, the average student must abandon all hope
of seeing the contest. Wolcott Lindsay, who lived in Boston, went home
for the Sunday, and got an invitation for Durand. One boy had to visit
his dentist, another his guardian, a third a doctor, a fourth to buy
absolutely necessary clothes which could not be procured at Seaton. The
twins, who took an extraordinary interest in the event from the moment
they learned that their neighbor was on the team, canvassed at great
length the prospects of getting away. Duncan was on study hours and
could hope for no favors, but he persuaded his brother that the only
fair way was that Donald, whose scholarship usually secured him the
favor of teachers, should ask permission on certain plausible grounds,
and the two then draw lots for the privilege of going, the one left
behind in any case to represent Duncan. Unfortunately for the scheme,
when Donald applied for his permission he was obliged to confess that
he had received no specific invitation to visit his aunt in Brookline,
and that in the whole course of his stay in Seaton he had never,
until this particular Saturday, felt the serious nature of his family
obligation. So the scheme came to naught, and the Pecks stayed at home.
The huge space of the Mechanics Building on Huntington Avenue was
circled by deep fringes of spectators packed in double galleries and
crowded close to the outer edge of the thirteen-lap track. Here were
phalanxes of boys from Boston schools, straining their throats in
crying up the courage of their schoolmates; college youths in rival
camps, their emulous cheers varying through a wide range, from the
staccato spelling of some college name to the "three long Harvards" of
the Cambridge men; women and girls who brought to the contest tense
interest and strong sympathy, if not expert knowledge; men who loved
athletics for their own sake, who, if they did not "delight in the
strength of a horse," certainly "took pleasure in the legs of a man."
It was like a dozen tournaments and a dozen audiences crowded into one.
Saturated with the feeling that the Seaton-Hillbury struggle was the
event of the day, and new to the whole medley of many institutions
contesting in ceaseless uproar, Owen was at first both bewildered and
discouraged. In the terrific din the crack of the starter's pistol
and the bellowing of announcers were well-nigh drowned by the blare
of band music, the cheers of untiring supporters, and the recurring
waves of general applause. He watched the Harvard-Pennsylvania relay
match, in which veterans ran like blooded race horses amid tremendous
excitement, and felt still more disheartened. The place seemed so
vast, the interests of contestants so diverse, the big college teams
so all-important, that the Seaton-Hillbury race could hardly prove
more than one of the minor details of the meet,--in fact, might be
carelessly managed or neglected. And yet, as he knew well, to the
impatient waiters for a telegram at Seaton, there was but one contest
in the day's programme; and no explanation that it was but a small part
of a great performance would be accepted in palliation of defeat.
There seemed no end of contests and no beginning, but just one long
series of overlapping performances. In the area belted by the big
wooden track a cloud of contestants had been engaged in running off
interminable heats in the forty-five yards dash. Jeffrey, the Seaton
representative, did not reach the semi-finals. Meantime, giants of
many medals and astonishing records, gathered by invitation from all
points of the compass, were tossing the sixteen-pound shot in the
space reserved for that amusement. The six hundred yards handicap men
were strung out, according to the privileges they had received from
the handicapper, a third of the way round the track; but near the
starting-line they were herded like cattle and sent off in a drove.
Rob's courage was at its lowest ebb as he witnessed the wild scramble
at the first corner, where one unfortunate fell against the legs of
another, and put three men out of position. It was hard to obtain a
fair chance under these conditions.
But Rhines of Seaton got a place at the finish, and the waiting relay
man felt better. Immediately afterward, he was pursuing with breathless
attention a fiercely fought contest between two rival Boston schools,
in which the leadership shifted with every lap, and the victor passed
his competitor within ten feet of the finish line. The announcer
shouted out the time, which proved to be but a trifle slower than the
college men had made, the crowd roared, the camp of supporters of the
victorious team just opposite yelled and threw their blue banners in
the air,--oh, no, the big teams weren't the whole thing by any means!
"Good, wasn't it!" said a fat man, beaming at his friend in the corner
of a seat near where Rob was standing. "But if you want to see two
teams fight for their lives, you just wait for the Seaton-Hillbury
race. They're terribly scrappy fellows."
It may not have been a compliment, but Rob took it as such, and held up
his head; yet how he longed to have the whole thing successfully over,
or at least for the return of the old sense of individual security
which he had always felt on the ball field, even under the most
untoward circumstances.
The Seaton-Hillbury men were called. Away over in the distant
corner, a little knot of spectators became suddenly excited; a tall,
broad-shouldered fellow stood forth and swung his arms. Before him were
the boys who had had to visit their tailors, their dentists, their
doctors, their guardians, their dear relatives in city or suburbs. The
familiar Seaton cheers rang out, feeble and far away, yet filled with a
message of confidence and support. Rob felt the thrill of gratitude as
he recognized Wolcott Lindsay leading the cheering, and saw the little
group swelled by recruits from Seatonians in college, who pressed in
about the nucleus. The team was not friendless in the great hall.
The pistol cracked and the first pair were off, Rohrer of Seaton and
Leyland of Hillbury. Neck and neck they ran to the first turn, where
the Hillbury man got the inside and kept it for a whole lap, with
Rohrer close at his heels and just outside. As they flashed by, Rob
counted excitedly _one_, and followed them with his eyes as they swung
round on the second circle. On the back stretch Rohrer tried to pass,
but was crowded out at the turn and for the second time the pair swept
by. This time Rohrer reached the curve even with his man, clung to him
as he rounded the end, and once more on the back stretch drove himself
to gain the inside at the turn. In his intense interest in the contest
Rob had forgotten that his own labor was just about to begin; but
Collins, faithful, watchful Collins, put him on his guard; and as the
exhausted pair came straining in, like horses lashed across the finish
line, Rob stood ready with yearning muscles and quivering nerves to
touch hands with Rohrer and speed away. Rohrer gave him a lead of three
good yards.
Could he keep this lead? For the first hundred yards, yes, or for a
long stretch in which endurance was of equal value with speed; but for
the intermediate distance, for the three hundred ninety yards which was
the length of course he had to run with Kurtz, he had no confidence in
his powers. One thing, however, he was determined on. Whether Kurtz
was ahead or behind, whether he was gaining or losing, he would run his
stretch to the limit of his powers.
Around the first curve he was safe. On the back stretch Kurtz was
gaining,--he knew it from the roars of the crowd,--but he still kept
the pole at the second curve and crossed the starting line still ahead.
Then Kurtz appeared at his elbow, passed by, swung into the curve just
before him, gained on the back stretch, and passed the starting line at
the end of the second lap ten yards ahead. Strong panted and quivered
as he saw the distance grow, and Collins set his lips together and
clenched his hands; but neither had a word of blame for the runner as
he passed them on his last lap. "After him!" cried Collins. "Run it
out!" screamed Strong. And Rob, hopeless but game to the end, dug his
spikes into the track and drove himself steadily forward.
Yes, Kurtz was faster, but--not stronger. At the turn they were still
ten yards apart, on the straightaway beyond but seven separated the
contestants. Around the last curve Rob steadily plodding gained three
more on his weakening antagonist. When some seconds later, Strong,
trembling with eagerness, touched his hand and darted away like a wild
animal after its prey, Hillbury was but three yards ahead.
"I lost it!" gasped Rob, on Collins' shoulder.
"Not a bit of it!" retorted Collins. "You've done all I meant you to
do. Kurtz was their best man. Look at Strong beat the stuffing out of
that Hapgood!"
It was even so. Strong was trying Kurtz's trick of rushing by
his antagonist with a burst of high speed, and trusting then to
discouragement to keep the Hillbury man behind. When he crossed the
starting line for the first time he had a lead of five yards; at the
end of the second lap his margin was twelve. When Benton took up the
race for the final heat, he was indebted to his captain for a ten
yards' start.
And here, to the joy of the crowd and the fright of the Seatonians,
came an unexpected development. Royce of Hillbury went at his task with
startling vigor. On the first round he gained four yards, on the second
three, on the back stretch of the third he was close at Benton's
elbow, but Benton still held the inside as they rounded the curve; and
the yard lost on the outside run the plucky Hillburyite could not make
up. He was still a yard in the rear when Benton breasted the tape at
the finish line.
It was Rob's first and last race. Delighted yet regretful, trembling
in every limb, and suddenly deprived of his strength like Samson under
Delilah's shears, he dragged himself into the dressing rooms for his
bath and rub down. Here he was congratulated and thanked by Lindsay and
Durand and others of the thin cheering line. Here they brought him his
prize, which he received with joy tempered with humility. If Strong and
Rohrer had not done better than himself and Benton, the prizes would
now be in other hands.