SID’S GREAT JUMP
“Oh Tom!”
“Good old boy!”
“You did it! You did it!”
“I knew you would! Oh Tom!”
Everyone seemed to be calling to him at once. A score of arms sought to
clasp Tom Parsons, a double score of hands were shot out to pat him on
the back.
“Good old Tom!” cried Holly Cross, as he ran up to help support the
half-exhausted runner.
“You’ve done your share,” complimented Kindlings.
A figure burst through the throng surrounding the winner.
“Oh Tom!” a voice cried. “I knew you could do it!” Frank Simpson clasped
his chum in his arms. There was not a trace of envy--only the best of
good fellowship.
“Well, I thought of you,” said Tom, when his breathing was less labored.
“I--I ran for you, Frank. I pretended it was your contest, and I played
it as well as I could.”
“Couldn’t have been better,” declared the Big Californian. “Now come
on--the girls want to see you,” for Frank had been sitting near Miss
Tyler and her friends.
“Oh, wait until I wash up,” protested Tom, but Frank would not take “no”
for an answer, and, slipping a big robe around his chum he led him away
to receive the congratulations that awaited him.
Tom’s father came down from the grandstand to meet him.
“Oh boy!” he cried. “You did it! I’m going to telegraph your mother!”
And then, with a hand clasp, he pressed his son to him, and hurried on
to wire the good news.
“The girls are waiting for you!” he called back as he laughed, and Tom
blushed.
“Congratulations!” exclaimed Madge Tyler, as Tom climbed his way to her
and the others. He was being greeted on all sides by those on the
grandstand, but he had eyes for only one.
“I guess you were the mascot,” he whispered, as he sat down in a place
Miss Tyler made for him. Tom clasped her hand.
“And our poor college isn’t in it,” said Ruth Clinton sadly.
“There’s a chance yet,” declared Mabel Harrison.
“Not with Sid Henderson to do the broad jump,” asserted Tom confidently.
Madge Tyler hastily made a bow of yellow and maroon and pinned it on one
lapel of her jacket, to balance the colors of her own college.
“You’re a traitor!” exclaimed Helen Newton.
“I am not. I’m only paying respect to the victor,” said Madge with a
laugh.
“We need the jump points; don’t we, Tom?” asked Frank, as he managed to
find a place near the runner, who was the hero of the hour.
“We sure do. But I guess we can depend on Sid.”
Preparations for the final event were going forward. The games were
almost over. But, so close had been the contests, and so well distributed
were the points that even with all the hard work on the part of her
representatives, Randall could not win unless she got the last event.
Otherwise there might be a tie between Boxer Hall and Exter, that would
have to be played off later, if either got another first place.
The jumping contestants were out on the field. They were receiving their
last instructions, and drawing for places. Sid got fifth chance.
There was a lull in the proceedings. The band had rendered several
airs, and the cheer leaders and their cohorts were getting their voices
in shape for the final songs.
“All ready!” called the starter. “Come on now, finish things up.”
“How about you, Sid?” asked Holly, as he stood beside the lad on whom,
as it had on Tom, so much depended.
“I’m all right,” was the confident answer. “I don’t know what these
other fellows are going to do, but I’ll do my best.”
“We know that, Sid.”
Then the take-off was cleared, and the jumping began.
There was not the sensationalism about the running broad jump that there
had been about the mile run, but to a lover of games there was much of
interest in it. There were some good, clean jumpers, too, and Randall’s
lads were not a whit behind their opponents.
In turn the representatives of Fairview and Boxer Hall made their
trials. There were two of each, and Sid came fifth, the first one to try
for Randall.
“You’ve got to beat nineteen feet, eight inches,” said Kindlings to his
chum. “Can you do it?”
“I’ve done nineteen, seven--that’s the best,” was the low answer, “but
I’ll try.”
Sid gathered himself for the run, and took-off beautifully. He came
down a good two inches beyond the best previous mark, and there was a
shout of delight as this was noted.
“I claim a foul!” was the sudden remark of an Exter player. “Henderson
overstepped the take-off mark.”
At once there was a storm of protest, and some acquiescing voices. Holly
and Kindlings insisted that Sid had not fouled, and, after some delay,
and not a little disputing, in which hard words were passed, it was
agreed that Sid might try again, after the last contestant.
The cheers that had sprung up when it was rumored that Sid had won, were
hushed, and in tense silence the Randallites awaited the final outcome.
An Exter lad had covered an even twenty feet, and this was by far the
best record for that event in the league. Already Exter was cheering in
anticipation of victory. But Sid had another chance.
“Can you do it?” asked Holly.
“I don’t know. It’s a big jump to beat, but I’m just mad enough to do
it. Of all the unfair protests----”
“That’s right. Get good and mad,” suggested Holly. “They deserve to be
beaten, and I believe they will be. Jump as you never jumped before,
Sid!” and he clapped him on the back.
The course was cleared, and, amid a hush that was almost unnatural Sid
made his preparations.
On he came with a rush, rising beautifully into the air as he reached
the take off. This time there was no question but what he had leaped
“cleanly.”
Forward he hurled himself, straight through the air, like some animal,
until he came down with a thud. And, as he did so, he knew, in his own
heart, that he had jumped better than he had ever jumped before.
A moment later came the confirmation.
“Twenty feet--two inches!” yelled the announcer. “Sid Henderson
wins--Randall wins the championship--Randall wins!”