TREVOR’S VICTORY
“I don’t like Taylor’s letting ’Is ’Ighness creep up on him that way,”
objected Williams. “He was napping; and he’ll need every foot he can
get before the race is over.”
“Nesbitt’s doing some head-work,” answered Dick, with a note of
admiration in his voice, “and I wouldn’t be surprised to see him get
the best of Taylor yet. If he can keep up---- Look there!”
Trevor was at his former tactics. Just as Taylor reached the second
corner the upper middle boy fairly threw himself forward, and ere the
senior runner had taken alarm had closed up with him until a mere six
yards intervened. The upper middle fellows howled with delight, and the
seniors, striving to hide their dismay, cheered lustily. Taylor’s face
wore a scowl as he increased his speed and strove to regain his lost
lead.
But Trevor held what he had taken, took his pace from Taylor, and with
never a look to right or left, kept doggedly at the other’s heels. The
fourth lap started in a veritable pandemonium. Taylor was now but a
scant ten yards in the lead, and those who saw Trevor’s calm, intent
gaze fastened upon the other boy’s shoulders realized that, barring a
mishap such as had fallen to the lot of Kernan, he would, if he did not
actually win, at least finish so close behind Taylor as to make the
race one of the closest ever witnessed at Hillton, indoors or out.
This time Taylor was on the lookout, and when Trevor spurted was
ready for him and so held his advantage. Trevor was well satisfied,
for he had no wish to pass Taylor at that time, but only to tire and
worry him. His spurt lasted until the line was again crossed. And now
Taylor took the initiative and increased his speed, for, as Trevor had
expected, the short spurts had made him nervous. But shake off his
pursuer he could not, and with the lap half run but five yards lay
between the two.
“He’s a silly chump!” shouted Todd angrily, glaring across at the
speeding senior runner. “Why doesn’t he keep that for the last lap;
can’t he see he’s begun to spurt too early?”
“I have an idea that Trevor Nesbitt’s got him scared,” answered Dick.
“You just bet he has; he’s worried to death!” This from Williams, who
was scowling blackly. “He deserves to lose it.”
“And Nesbitt deserves to win it,” said Dick.
“Humph! You seem to have changed your tune!”
Dick accepted the gibe good-naturedly.
“I have; I think Nesbitt’s the headiest youngster I’ve seen in a long
while, and as for Taylor----”
The bell clanged loudly, announcing the beginning of the last lap, and
every fellow in the balcony was on his feet in the instant. As he took
the first turn Taylor glanced hurriedly back and met the unwavering
and, as it seemed to him, relentless stare of Trevor, and putting every
effort into his work again increased his pace. Everybody was shouting
now, but as the two runners passed under the seniors’ balcony one voice
sounded more loudly than all:
“Good work, Nesbitt!”
And Trevor heard it and recognized Dick Hope’s voice, and for an
instant a smile crossed his face. Then the second incline was under
his feet, and he had to use care lest he trip. But he got safely over,
and now the time for his final effort had come. Into the back-stretch
he sped, and the watchers held their breath, for foot by foot the lost
ground was being eaten up by his flying feet. Then a burst of applause
shook the rafters and Taylor, running despairingly, heard the other
lad’s feet at his side, strove to goad his wearied limbs into faster
strides, and found with dismay at his heart that he had reached his
limit.
At the third corner Trevor with a final effort leaped into the lead,
hugging the inside of the track. At the last corner he was a yard to
the good, and from there down to the finish line, where Kernan and
Chalmers and Johnston leaped frantically about the floor, he held his
vantage, and so toppled over into eager, outspread arms, aching,
breathless, and weak, but winner of the race. And as he stretched
himself gratefully on the mattress he heard the timekeeper announce:
“Last quarter, fifty-seven and one fifth; the mile, three forty-eight
and two fifths.”
When Trevor reached his room he found Dick seated in front of the fire,
a Latin text-book face downward in his lap, his arms over his head,
and his eyes closed. The fire was almost out, and the room was chilly.
Trevor as silently as possible placed another log in the grate, and,
disappearing into the bedroom, came out again with his dressing-gown,
which after a moment’s hesitation he spread over the sleeper’s knees.
Then he doffed his coat and cap, and standing by the fireplace held
his chilled hands to the blaze and looked down at Dick. And as he
looked he fell to wondering why it was that he and his roommate got
on together so badly. It was not _his_ fault, he told himself; he had
tried every way he knew to thaw Dick’s indifference. It was now ten
days since the winter term had commenced, and the two boys were as
much strangers to each other as they had been after Trevor’s burst of
confidence on their first night together. Trevor often regretted that
confidence; he sometimes thought that he had bored Dick with his family
photographs and history, and remembered with a flush that his roommate
had never responded in like manner. Of course, his cheekiness on the
stage-coach during that unfortunate drive had been the primary cause
of Dick’s dislike; and Trevor couldn’t blame the latter for taking
umbrage; only--well, he had apologized and explained, and it seemed
that the other ought to be willing to forgive. It was not that Dick was
nasty; he treated Trevor with good-humored politeness; fact was, Trevor
reflected dubiously, Dick was altogether too polite; his politeness was
of the sort which he imagined a judge might display toward the prisoner
in the dock. He wished that Dick would throw a boot at him so that they
could have it out and come to an understanding.
Dick moved restlessly and opened his eyes. His gaze encountered
Trevor’s and he smiled sleepily and stretched himself. Then he sat up
and looked about him perplexedly.
“Well, if I didn’t go to sleep!” he said. “What time is it?”
Trevor glanced at the battered alarm-clock on the table. “Ten minutes
of twelve,” he answered.
Dick yawned and suddenly spied the dressing-gown. He pulled it toward
him and looked at it in astonishment.
“What----?”
Trevor flushed as he answered hurriedly: “It was so bally chilly here
when I came in, you know; and I thought that maybe you’d catch cold. So
I threw that over you. Just pitch it on the floor there.”
“Thanks,” said Dick. “I expect it was chilly. I was going to put
another stick on the fire, and while I was thinking about it I suppose
I fell asleep. It’s pretty late, isn’t it? Well, to-morrow’s Sunday.”
He arose and the two began to prepare for bed. There was something in
Dick’s tone and manner quite friendly, and Trevor was puzzled.
“That was a great race you ran, Nesbitt,” said the former presently.
“The last one wasn’t so bad,” answered Trevor.
“Bad! It was fine!” replied Dick warmly. “It was the best bit of
head-work I’ve seen on a track. And I was glad you beat Taylor, even if
it did mean the loss of the race to the seniors. But I rather think I
liked the first race better.”
“Well, of course you would,” said Trevor. “Earle’s a friend of yours;
and he ran a good race. I--I didn’t much mind his beating; he seems
like a jolly good sort of a chap.”
“He is a good chap; and I know it pleased him like anything to win that
race, because his father and mother were there, you see.”
“Yes.”
“It would have been too bad if he’d lost it, wouldn’t it?” Dick was
smiling rather queerly, Trevor thought.
“I suppose it would,” he answered.
“Yes; and so you gave it to him.”
“What--what do you mean?” stammered Trevor, very red and uncomfortable.
“Why,” laughed Dick, “just what I said. You’re not going to deny that
you slowed down and let him win, are you?”
For a long moment Trevor was very busy with his nightshirt, which
suddenly exhibited an unwonted dislike to going on. Then:
“I fancy there’s no use denying it,” he muttered from the folds of the
mutinous garment.
“Not a bit,” answered Dick smilingly.
“You see,” explained Trevor presently, “Earle had set his heart on
winning, and it didn’t mean anything to me, you know; I hadn’t any
relatives looking on; and then his mother was so--so jolly nice about
it, and his father, and--and all, that I just thought he might as well
win. Doesn’t it--don’t you think it was all right?”
“Well, it wasn’t exactly fair, you know; but I guess it was something
even better,” answered Dick.
“Do you think Earle suspected anything?”
“I’m sure I don’t know; I didn’t see him. But Williams and Todd, who
were sitting with me, thought it was a straight race, and so I guess
Earle thought so too.”
Later, when the lights were out and the two were in bed, Dick broke the
silence.
“Are you awake, Nesbitt?”
“Yes,” came the reply from across the darkness.
“I’ve been thinking I’d take a good, long walk to-morrow after church;
up the river toward Port Wallace. Like to go along?”
“I should say so!” was the hearty reply.
“All right, I wish you would. Good-night.”
“Good-night,” answered Trevor. Then, as he burrowed his head
contentedly in the pillow, he thought: “I fancy it’s all right now, and
he won’t have to throw that boot after all!”