"THEY'RE OFF!"
"Somebody please give me the official list of entries; I'm not sure I
have it right," and as Cissie Anderson said this she looked around her at
the clump of enthusiastic school friends, both boys and girls,
surrounding her seat in the grandstand.
There were Flo Temple, Mame Wells, and several other girls, as well as
Semi-Colon, Cornelius Shays and a few other fellows who believed in being
comfortable during the long wait, while the contestants were absent.
"That's me, Cissie," Semi-Colon spoke up, flourishing a paper proudly.
"I've just come from the blackboard where they've posted the names of the
entries. You know each school was to be limited to four contestants?"
"Yes, but please give me the list," said Cissie, impatiently. "They're
beginning to gather around the starting line, and I want to be sure I've
got everything correct. Just think how small I'd feel if I cheered the
wrong one."
"You can cheer everybody," Flo told her, "until the time comes to welcome
the first runner, and then Riverport hopes to do herself proud."
"Mechanicsburg has four entries," Semi-Colon announced, purposely raising
his rather puny voice so that every one within a radius of twenty feet
might profit by his knowledge, "and they are Dolan, Wagner, Waterman,
and Ackers. The last named is called the Mechanicsburg Wonder, and they
all say he's going to win this Marathon in a walk."
At that there were scornful exclamations from the faithful Riverport
rooters.
"We've seen Ackers run plenty and good, when he played left tackle on
their football eleven!" announced one boy, jeeringly.
"And if I remember rightly he didn't run fast enough to make many
touchdowns, eh, fellows?" exclaimed another Riverport student.
"You wait and see, that's all!" they were told by an indignant girl
nearby, who undoubtedly had her home in the up-river town.
"Yeth," added her companion, a boy who lisped terribly, but was not
prevented by this affliction from speaking his mind in behalf of his
native town, "they thay thosth that laugh lasth laugh loudetht. Justh
wait, and thee which thide of your mouth you laugh from, fellowth."
"Well, I've got Mechanicsburg down all pat, Semi-Colon," observed Cissie,
who had smiled sweetly while this side talk was going on, "and now how
about Paulding?"
"Only three entries there," the answer came, "because Ogden was hurt on a
practice run yesterday afternoon, and it was too late to grind a
substitute into decent condition."
"Then they are Collins, Everett and Badger; is that right?" asked Cissie,
as she poised her lead pencil over her little pad.
"Correct," Semi-Colon announced. "You all know who Riverport's boys are
going to be, but all the same I'll just mention them. Their names seem
to roll off my tongue as easy as anything---Sid Wells, Colon, Bristles
Carpenter, and last hut far from least, our splendid all-around athlete,
Fred Fenton."
There was a generous clapping of hands around that section of the
grandstand; although the pair from Mechanicsburg looked scornful, and
shrugged their shoulders in truly loyal style, for they were faithful
rooters for their home town.
"There is no such thing as a handicap in this race, I understand?"
remarked a gentleman who apparently was a stranger in the vicinity, for
no one seemed to know him.
"Oh, no sir, such a thing isn't ever considered in a Marathon race,"
Semi-Colon immediately told him. "Every tub has to rest on its own
bottom, and the fellow who can stand the gruelling run best is going to
come in ahead of the string."
"There are eleven entries, I believe you said?" continued the gentleman,
who was evidently looking for general information, not being much of a
sporting patron, "and if they all start out in a bunch, I should think
there might be some little confusion."
"Not at all, sir," the boy assured him. "Each runner has a big number
fastened to his breast and back, so that he can be known at a distance.
In that way the judges can see any trickery that may be attempted. And
besides, although they may start off in a clump, before three miles have
been run the chances are they'll be strung all along the road, and with
numerous little hot sprints to get the lead."
"And while waiting for them to come in sight, what is going to happen
here?" continued the gentleman, waving his hand toward the open space
before the grandstand where preparations had evidently been made for
other entertainments.
"Oh! amuse the crowd, and keep them from getting too anxious," Semi-Colon
told him, readily enough, for his greatest delight was to spread
information. "The committee on sports has arranged several comical
entertainments. There's going to be several sack races to begin with;
climbing the greased pole for another thing; catching a greased pig for
another; and a three-foot race to wind up with."
"A three-foot race!" repeated the gentleman:
"I don't know that I've ever heard of that; would you mind explaining a
little further, my lad?"
"Oh! the contestants are entered in pairs, you see," Semi-Colon told him.
"They are bound together that way, one fellow having his left leg
fastened to his partner's right. It's a great sight to see how they
blunder along, and fall all over themselves. I know some fellows who
have been practicing the stunt; but even then, in the excitement they're
apt to get into a terrible muss."
"Well, all that ought to keep the people in good humor while the time is
passing, I should think," the stranger remarked, laughingly. "And now,
would you mind telling me a little about the rules of the great race? I
understand that the course covers twenty-five miles in all?"
"Yes, sir, if any contestant chooses to go over the entire distance," he
was informed by the willing Semi-Colon, who kept one anxious eye on the
spot where the various runners were now gathering, as though the time for
starting might be drawing very close now.
"What do you mean by saying that, please? Is there any way by which they
may shorten the distance?" continued the gentleman.
"That's just it, sir; at the upper end they can cut off three miles by
taking a short-cut through the woods and along the border of a marsh,
coming out on the other road at the toll-gate, and then turning toward
home."
"I understand what you mean, and I suppose that every one will undertake
that shortening of the journey?"
"Well, I hear there's some talk of a Mechanicsburg fellow who means to
run it out on the road all the way," Semi-Colon told his persistent
questioner.
"What reason would he have for doing so, son?"
"The old one of the hare and the tortoise, sir," the Riverport student
remarked, with a shrewd look. "You see, there's always some chance that
the fellows who try to make that cut-off may get confused, and lose their
way. If they strike the other road below the toll-gate, why they're
compelled to go all the way back so as to register."
"Register!" exclaimed the other, in a puzzled tone.
"Why, it's this way," he was informed by the willing and talkative
Semi-Colon, "the committee has laid out registering stations at certain
places along the course, where every runner has to sign his name in his
own fist, also the exact time of his arrival; then he is at liberty to
shoot off again as he pleases. One of these is just below where the
cutoff begins, and another at the toll-gate on the home road."
"Oh! I begin to grasp what you mean now," the stranger in Riverport
remarked, as he nodded his head. "All this is done so that there shall
not be the slightest taint of unfairness or cheating about the race?"
"You better believe there won't be, sir!" declared Cornelius Shays.
"Nobody will ever be able to say Riverport won on a foul, or by taking
any unfair advantage of her rivals. It's going to be a clean game and a
great victory!"
"When they line up, please tell me the numbers of your friends, and also
those from the other schools. I happen to have a pair of field-glasses
with me, and when the first runner comes in sight away up the road
yonder, I may be able to return your kindness by telling you positively
what his number is before you could distinguish it with the naked eye."
"There they are lining up now, Semi!" exclaimed Cissie, eagerly, and as
Sid Wells was a very particular friend of hers, it can be set down as
certain that her eyes picked him out of the eleven just as quickly as his
sister Mame could have done.
Accordingly, as the line swayed there, with the contestants listening to
the last plain instructions from the master of ceremonies, warning them
of what penalties would be sure to follow any fouling in the race,
Semi-Colon told the stranger in Riverport just which number represented
each entry.
"The first four numbers belong to Mechanicsburg, you see, Ackers leading
as One, Dolan Two, Waterman Three, and Wagner Four. Then come our
fellows, with Sid Wells Five, Fred Fenton Six, Colon Seven, and Bristles
Carpenter Eight. Number Nine is Collins of Paulding, with Everett Ten,
and Badger Eleven. There is no Twelve, you see, sir, because Ogden is
knocked out."
"Hold up now, Semi-Colon, they're going to make the start, and we don't
want to keep hearing you talking forever," a boy in the second row behind
called out; at which the shortened edition of the Colon family cast an
aggrieved glance back that way, but nevertheless held his tongue.
"Now, watch, he's going to fire the pistol!" gasped Cissie Anderson, with
her eyes fairly glued upon the line of young athletes who expected to
compete for the honor of winning the great Marathon.
Then came a spiteful little crack of the pistol the starter had been
elevating.
"They're off!" shrieked hundreds of voices, and a tremendous billow of
cheers rang out, to send the eleven runners on their way with a firm
determination lodged in each and every breast to strain himself to the
utmost in order to be the fortunate winner.
Up the road they went at a furious speed, bunched together in the
beginning, yet with several already showing signs of breaking away, and
taking the lead.