Friday came, eventually, as Fridays have a way of doing, and it came
like a breath from the Northland where ice and snow and cold are. The
air set one's teeth on edge and one's flesh a-tingling, but there was no
frost. That was destined to come a week later, and, over night, convert
the summer into the pageant of autumn, the scarlet king at its head, his
crimson, gold and purple banners flaunting gaily.
When Nibs appeared on the campus in the morning, he was besieged by a
horde of the faithful, who wanted to know if the weather was "going to
make any difference."
"You bet it won't; not to me," he replied, with a sort of vocal
swagger, and with a marked enunciatory underlining of the pronoun.
"You don't mean to say you're going to prance up and down State Street
in those dinky flapping white pants of yours, bare-legged, in such
weather as this, do you?" inquired Jimmy, with a most perceptible sneer
in his voice.
"Yes, I am. I shan't think of the cold," was the brave reply.
"Rah! Rah! Rah! Nibsey!" yelled a little pug-nosed freshman on the edge
of the crowd, and the cry was taken up lustily.
"Oh, shut up, you fellows," said Nibs, blushing; "leave your yelling
till after the race, can't you?" But he sensed an expansion of his
chest, just the same, an expansion that, for the moment, made his
waistcoat feel uncomfortably tight.
Meanwhile, Billy Shaw was being besieged in precisely the same manner at
another point on the campus. With considerable less than Nibs'
braggadocio he informed his followers and backers that so far at least
as he was concerned, there would be no postponement of the race. And he,
too, was cheered forthwith.
Thurston Hubert, a Law, large with importance,--he had been chosen to
fire the pistol for the start--was in the little crowd that surged
around Billy. He gave it as his opinion that the weather was "great for
a running event--simply great." But by six o'clock the mischievous
mercury had dropped another five degrees.
They were a muffled, overcoated lot of young men, who, an hour later,
began to gather in State Street.
From all directions they came, and they formed in double line from the
Psi Upsilon House to the end of the course, precisely one-quarter of a
mile. Waiting, they shouted, jeered one another, spoke disrespectfully
of a whimsical Nature that had given them without warning so keen a
touch of winter, and otherwise disported as college men have a way of
doing, when they are waiting for something to occur.
Along the outer edge of the street's double course were many vehicles,
for the Town's interest in the extensively advertised event was almost
as great as the Gown's; and in that day the lines between the two were
not so closely drawn as they are now. Girls, there were, waiting in
several of the carriages; young women of the institution; serious-faced
girls, but still girls, and being such, interested in deeds of prowess,
and devoted, with a sort of holy devotion, to the doers, as were the
women of Greece in the olden time.
It was quarter-past seven when the familiar figure of the president was
seen to issue from his house and come down the South Walk. Knowledge of
his approach was passed along the double lines. The jeering ceased; the
disrespectful allusions to the weather ended, and at the top of the
course a sophomore, in a tall-collared sweater--then a novelty--who was
bolder than his fellows, shouted, "Rah! Rah! Rah! The President!" The
good man stopped, and, turning his head slowly, surveyed the ranks
seriously. Then he smiled such a smile as fifteen thousand men and women
in this country, and far countries, remember with a little tightening of
the throat that comes with the memory. Removing his hat, he bowed,
acknowledging the cheer, the sign of genuine, deep affection, that had
greeted him. And while he stood there on the walk, smiling, a louder
cheer ripped the atmosphere, a cheer that rose and rose, higher and
higher until it seemed the heavens above must crack from the detonation.
For THEY had appeared; and the president turned to glance up the course,
and what he saw caused the smile upon his kindly face to broaden, and he
laughed, but the laugh was low, and not heard in the turmoil.
They approached the starting point from opposite directions. Billy Shaw
was accompanied by Thurston Hubert, he whose function it was to fire
the pistol, his hat cocked over one ear, a cigarette between his lips,
the smoke of which he artistically exhaled through his nostrils without
removing the tube--a feat that none but an upperclassman is known ever
to have accomplished.
Billy was wrapped in a blue and green bath-robe, the hem of which was
not deep enough to hide his bare, big-boned ankles. He wore his spiked,
soft shoes, and had walked from his room--not without some little
triumph--in the middle of the street. He was bareheaded, as was Nibs.
The latter's lank form was enveloped in a great mackintosh with a deep
cape. He carried his running shoes in his hand.
As the two came face to face at the starting point their eyes met a
second time, and again a challenge leaped between them.
In the excitement attendant upon their arrival the crowd did not take
notice of the little things, and the significance of that meeting and
the look was lost. That is, lost to all but one man--whom no one knew; a
stranger, who thus far had looked on smiling. He had crossed the street
some ten minutes before and joined the crowd unobserved. He had spoken
only once. When the throng cheered the president he had touched on the
arm a youth who stood beside him, and asked, "Who's that?" Informed, he
had continued to smile saying, "I thought so;" at the same time taking a
cigar from his waistcoat pocket and lighting it. He was tall, this
stranger, and his face was long and thin, but not unhandsome, for his
eyes were brown and gentle. His little, flat hat sat close upon his
head. Of unusual height, his lengthy legs were concealed by the long
light overcoat he wore. From his shoulder, by a strap, after the manner
of the day, dangled a fat hand-bag. He had not cheered thus far. He had
only smiled and pulled at his cigar, sending up huge feathery clouds of
opalescent smoke.
Leaning forward now, he glanced along the line to the starting point.
The moment had arrived. The contestants had flung off their wrappings
and stood forth in their trappings. It made one shiver to see them;
clothed only in their gauze, sleeveless shirts, and the white flapping
breeches of the sport.
Hubert and Jimmy conferred aside, while the bare-legged Mercurys stood,
now on one foot, now on the other, blowing in their hands, and flinging
their arms transversely across their breasts to counteract the cold.
The crowd cried its impatience. The stranger craned forward again.
"Back up!" called Hubert. "Keep back down there, you fellows!" and the
crowd obeyed, forming a splendid gantlet of spirited youth.
The contestants took their places side by side.
Hubert's arm rose, and seeing the pistol pointed heavenward several of
the young women in the carriages screwed their fingers into their ears.
"Ready!"
There was a dead silence. The arms of the champions shot forward and
back, rigid.
"Sett!"
Like perfect machines, they crouched at the word with one accord.
At the crack of the pistol there was a swift in-taking of breath along
the lines.
As they shot forward the double ranks of the gantlet fell together like
a house of cards and the crowd surged upon the heels of the runners.
The president had proceeded to the end of the course. Looking back he
saw them coming. He saw them straining, neck and neck, the nerves and
cords below their ears standing out round, like ropes. He saw their lips
drawn back, thin and livid over gritted teeth. He saw their bulging
eyes, eyes that in turn saw nothing; and he heard the crowd at the rear.