DEAR SIR: I understand the conditions perfectly, but am still
confident that Richard will win. He must win. Give him the
enclosed note just before his last trial. On no account allow him
to see it before, nor permit any considerable interval between the
reading and Richard's last jump.
Sincerely yours,
MARGARET LEE FAIRFAX.
TO MR. WALTER BROWN.
Now, I confess that when I finished the reading I really questioned the
sanity of the "chatelaine" of "The Oaks." What effect could a note have,
no matter how worded, upon easy-going Dick Fairfax? What appeal could
she make that would add the necessary feet to his jump? It made me think
of boyish stories of the age of chivalry, when talismanic words were
efficacious. I read this short note over as carefully and even more
wonderingly than the first black-bordered letter written by the same
hand. Then I put it away in my pocket, resolved to follow instructions
implicitly, no matter how foolish they might seem. I should have nothing
with which to reproach myself, and would give Mrs. Fairfax no occasion
for fault-finding. So the matter was left, and Dick went on with the
rest of the team, perfectly contented with himself and all around him.
The games that year were not particularly interesting, except the one
event for which we were so poorly prepared, and in which even Tom
Furness did not have the courage to claim a single point.
It was a clear day after a three-days' rain, and the track was heavy,
which happened to suit us. We had a couple of "mud larks" who scooped
the sprints, though a dry-track would not have given them a place.
Dick spent most of the day watching the contests, as disinterestedly as
if he was a native of the Isle of Java. He was clothed in a big gray
blanket wrap and an omnipresent smile. The wrap had crimson cords and
tassels, was extremely becoming, and more than one pair of bright eyes
looked at him approvingly from the grand stand. Our Virginia jumper was
certainly the handsomest and most distinguished-looking of all the
contestants, and the girls always wish such a man to win, and are
surprised and disappointed when some raw-boned chap with carroty hair,
freckled face, and not a regular feature beats out their favorite. It
was a glorious day, the sun bright, the sky cloudless, the seats
crowded, and the college cheers like volleys of infantry at short range.
When the "running broad" was on, and the numbers were called, Dick did
not answer to his, and we were forced to look him up, the clerk
meanwhile fussing and fuming, and using language more forceable than
polite. At last I found him looking dreamily across the track at a
pretty girl in the grand stand, as if this was his only business. He
followed me with a bored look, and several backward glances delayed his
sufficiently leisurely footsteps.
There was another delay on account of the ground; for, as frequently
happens, the soil in the box where the men landed was so soft that it
broke back several inches. Seever was the first man, and I did not want
him to throw away a single chance. A spade was sent for and the loose
earth flattened down a bit, but it took considerable time. The clerk,
measurer, and almost every one else were put out but Dick, who had
thrown himself full length on the soft turf by the side of the path, and
bore the delay with extreme fortitude.
Most of the other contestants had taken a trial jump or two to get their
strides and make their marks, but Dick waited contentedly for his number
to be called, and would have been just as well satisfied if he had been
skipped altogether.
Seever was the first of a large field, and when his number was announced
he threw off his wrap and walked down the path. He was one of the most
awkward men I ever saw, but as honest as he was homely. All his
opponents wished him well, and several of them, as they sprawled around
on the grass, had a joke or a bit of chaff for him as he left them. I
always like to see the first trial of the "running broad." There is the
narrow cinder-path, the whitewashed joist, and the soft earth, smoothed
by repeated rakings ready to receive the prints of the spiked shoes.
After that it is tedious until the weeding-out process is completed, and
the three best men fight it out for the places.
I could have told within three inches of what Seever would do before he
made his jump, for he was extremely steady, and had been at it for four
years, and reached his limit. He came down the track awkwardly, but at a
good speed, caught the joist firmly with his big foot, rose in the air
with a grunt, and landed with a thud. The measurer announced twenty feet
one-quarter inch without hesitation, for Seever always jumped high, and
kept his heels together. Two or three others tried, and then came Frost,
our second man, a little fellow with curly black hair. He was a bit
better or worse than Seever, but inclined to be careless, and to-day it
cost him dear. He overstepped the joist so far that he wrenched his
ankle badly and was forced to retire, limping off to the dressing-room
on a couple of the boys' shoulders.
Dick was almost last, and when he was called, he rose slowly, with a
yawn, threw the gray wrap over Seever's head, and walked down the path
as if he cared not where it led. When he turned, he looked up to the
grand stand and gave the little blonde in the blue dress a glance and
smile, for which he was most liberally applauded. At first only a few
pairs of little gloved hands clapped, but they were persistent; others,
who supposed for some reason or other applause was the proper thing at
this time, joined in, and Dick received quite an ovation, although he
had done nothing and was expected to do nothing.
I can see him to-day as he looked then. His arm out for his sprint; his
bare legs, brown and sinewy, but smooth and graceful as a girl's; his
whole figure a model for an artist. He was much surprised at the
applause, for he was not used to it, and did not expect it. The color
rose in his dark cheeks as he started down the path, quickening speed
with every step, until just as his college cheer sounded its first sharp
note he caught the joist, and bounded into the air. It was a perfect
jump, barring a little lack of determination, but with much more fire
than usual. I watched as the measurer pulled out his tape, and was
pleased enough when he gave the distance as twenty-one two. I had been
thinking all the day of the mother down in the old home, whose heart was
so bound up in the success of her boy. I would have given a month's
salary to have been able to send her the telegram she hoped for.
One after another, tall and short, stout and slender, good and bad, had
their three trials, and Dick was in the finals by an inch and a half.
Poor old Seever was out of it, and Dick was the only string we had left.
All of our people were perfectly satisfied at this, and Tom was smiling
as a Cheshire cat. I had absolutely no hope that Dick would do better
than third, for after his first attempt, although the applause had been
louder than ever, he had taken no notice of it, and had apparently lost
all interest in the sport. Being accustomed to his surroundings, he went
through his performances in a perfunctory fashion, showing a fraction
over twenty feet, and then a fraction under. Indeed, he had become his
old listless, careless self again.
In the finals he did first nineteen-nine, and then, despite the
desperate effort I made to stir him up with sharp words, he fell back to
his old maddening distance of nineteen-six and one-half.
The other two competitors, a little fellow with light hair, and a big
chap with not much hair of any color, had respectively twenty-two one
and one-half, and twenty-one and three-quarters inch to their credit.
All seemed over but the shouting when Dick walked slowly down the
cinder-path for his last trial. No applause did he get either, except
from the gloved hands, for men do not like to see an athlete without
determination, no matter how well they may like him in society.
As he walked down the path, I followed along a little behind him on the
turf. I waited until he put his hand out, in exact accordance with
instructions, and then I handed him his mother's message. He looked at
me a moment with surprise, then took the black-bordered note and broke
the seal.
He read it hastily, and the color left his face as if a mortal fear had
stricken him. Into his eyes there came first a far-away look, then one
of the fiercest determination. He crumpled the note in his left hand,
faced around for his sprint, and was off like a flash. I watched the
lithe figure and followed it, but Dick had landed long before I reached
the joist. He had caught the timber much as he had done on the April
morning, and had thrown his knees high as before. I saw him cut the air,
and my heart came into my mouth as I thought of a win and a broken
record both. But it was not to be. I saw him land in the end of the box,
far beyond any other jump; but, to my horror, he had reached too far
with his feet, and though he made a desperate effort, he balanced a
moment, and then threw himself on his back and side. He picked himself
up without a word, and throwing his gray wrap over his shoulder pushed
his way through the little crowd of contestants and officials, and
strode off toward the dressing-rooms without even waiting for the
measurer.
I had eyes now only for the tape. The footmarks were plain as possible,
and on the right and several inches back were the prints of Dick's thigh
and elbow in the brown earth. The measurer pulled the tape out
carefully, and I saw his finger slide by the twenty-two mark, where they
hesitated a moment. He examined the broken ground with eager eyes, and
at last his thumb stopped at the three and one-quarter inch. The little
fellow who had made the twenty-two one and one-half was close by my
side, and I heard him sigh at the sight. He had another trial; but the
first place had seemed his already, and now he must fight for it with
only one more chance. I was quite sure that Dick's jump was good enough,
and so it proved. Richard Spotswood Fairfax was a winner. I was delayed
a little, and when I reached the dressing-room I learned that the boy
had dressed hurriedly, and driven off in a carriage by himself, without
a word for any one. When I reached the hotel, he had taken his
departure, waiting neither for congratulations nor farewells.
The first telegram I sent that night was to Virginia, and the first
letter I read, on my return, was one with a black border.