SPRINGDALE LEADS
“_Go it, Kirke!_”
Perry turned to find Lanny at his elbow, Lanny enveloped in a brown
bath-robe and minus his crutch. Then the shouts of the crowd at the
finish drew Perry’s gaze down the track again as the flying figures
crossed the line. From back there it was hard to say who had been
placed, but presently, as the sprinters returned, Lanny hurried stiffly
to meet Kirke.
“All right, Orson?” called Lanny. Kirke shook his head, smiling and
panting.
“I’m out,” he answered. “Soper’s placed, though. I was fourth.”
“Hard luck,” said Lanny. “You’ll make it in the two-twenty, though.” He
returned to where Perry was standing. “Funny that Kirke let Soper beat
him,” he said. “He’s been finishing ahead of Soper right along, hasn’t
he?”
“Yes, but I think Kirke’s better in the two-twenty. Are you going to
run, Lanny?”
Lanny pursed his mouth grimly. “I don’t believe it will be running, but
I’m going to start just for fun.”
“But won’t it hurt your leg?” asked Perry anxiously.
“Doc says so, but he’s an old granny. I won’t be able to finish, I
guess, but I hate not to have a shot at it.”
“Griner!” called the Clerk of the Course. “Stratton! Stratton?”
“Withdrawn,” someone answered. The Clerk’s pencil went through the name.
“White?”
“Here,” replied Lanny as he took his place.
“Powers?”
“All right, sir.”
“Hill?”
“That should be Hull, sir,” said Lanny.
“Hull?”
“Here, sir,” replied Perry, joining the others.
“That’s all, then, Mr. Starter. Only four.”
“Are you all ready, boys?” asked the starter. “On your marks! Hold
on there, Number 7! Don’t try that or you’ll get set back. On your
marks!... Set!...”
The pistol banged and the four jumped away. Perry, on the outer side
of the straightaway, was in his stride the first of the three and,
halfway down the track, shot a side-long look at the others. Lanny was
not in sight, but the nearer Springdale youth was a yard or so behind
and the further one running about even. As the first three were to be
placed, Perry slowed up and took it easy, finishing a close third. Half
way down the track Lanny was being helped over the strings to the turf.
Perry, turning back, heard a timer say laughingly: “Fast time, Jim; ten
and four-fifths!” Lanny was seated on the turf ruefully holding his
injured knee when Perry reached him.
“I’m sorry, Lanny,” he said. “Did you fall?”
“No, I just found I couldn’t do it, Perry. How’s the track?”
“Fine! Say, I wish Kirke had got placed. They’ve got four to our two in
the final.”
“Never mind, you or Soper will get a first. Those chaps aren’t fast.
Give me a pull up, will you?”
Perry got back into his dressing-gown and joined the throng across
the field, at the finish of the 440-yards. Sears, Todd and Cranston
lined up for the Purple in the quarter-mile and Springdale placed five
runners at the mark, amongst them Davis, the Blue’s captain. It was
Davis who took the lead at the end of the first hundred yards and,
although hard-pressed by Toby Sears and a second Springdale runner,
kept it to the tape. At the turn Davis was two yards to the good and
Sears was leading the third man by a scant two feet. Todd was in fifth
place and the other Clearfield entrant in seventh. At the beginning
of the stretch Sears gained half the distance separating him from
Davis, and until well down the track it looked as if he might get the
lead. Davis, however, had plenty of reserve and forty yards from the
finish it was evident that Sears had shot his bolt. Davis finished
first by three yards and a second Springdale runner ousted Sears from
second place almost at the tape. Springdale had made a good start with
eight points to Clearfield’s one, and the Blue’s adherents cheered
approvingly.
The high hurdles followed and again Springdale triumphed, getting
first and third place. Beaton finished second but was disqualified for
upsetting too many hurdles, and Peyton got the honor. The time was
eighteen seconds flat and bettered the dual meet record by a fifth of a
second.
In the final of the 100-yards dash Perry and Soper were opposed to four
wearers of the blue. Perry, digging his holes, tried to recall all
the good advice Mr. Addicks had given him, but couldn’t remember much
of anything. His heart was beating very fast, and he was as nearly
frightened as he had been for a long time. He looked over at Soper,
who had drawn the inside lane, and saw that even that more experienced
runner was plainly nervous. Then the starter’s voice came and Perry
settled his toes in the holes, crouched and waited.
“Set!”
Some over-anxious Springdale sprinter leaped away and it had all to
be gone through with again. But at last the pistol sounded and Perry,
without knowing just how he had got there, found himself well down
the track, his legs flying, his arms pumping up and forward and down
and back, his lungs working like a pair of bellows and the cries and
exhortations of the spectators in his ears. A youth with blue stripes
down the seams of his fluttering trunks was a good yard in the lead and
Perry, with three others, next. Someone, and Perry silently hoped it
wasn’t Soper, was no longer in sight. Perry put the last gasp of breath
and last ounce of strength into the final twenty yards in a desperate
effort to overtake that Springdale runner, but it wasn’t until they
were almost at the tape that he knew he had gone ahead, and then, as he
threw his arms up, a third white-clad figure flashed past!
A half-minute later Perry learned that Soper had won and that he had
finished in second place by a scant two feet. Soper’s time was ten and
a fifth. Perry had feared that the form which had flashed to the front
at the tape had been that of a Springdale runner and was so relieved
that it didn’t occur to him until some time later to either regret that
he had not finished in first place or congratulate himself on capturing
second. But Guy Felker, after hugging Soper, almost wrung Perry’s hand
off.
“That was bully!” he repeated over and over. “That was bully! We get
eight out of it and didn’t count on more than four! You’re all right,
Hull! Better rest up now, boy. Remember the two-twenty’s coming. Hello,
Lanny! What do you say to that? Wasn’t it bully?”
Perry received Lanny’s praise and, rather embarrassed, went back for
his robe. He wondered if Mr. Addicks had seen him, and he tried to
catch sight of that gentleman in the audience. But half the folks were
still standing on their feet and shouting and it was no use. He wished
Mr. Addicks might have been down here on the field to-day. As he passed
the blackboard a boy was writing the new figures down.
“Clearfield, 12; Springdale, 15,” was the announcement.
He tried to figure out how that could be, but was far too excited. When
he had wrapped his robe around him he went back to the dressing-room
for a rub, crossing the track just ahead of the half-milers who were
coming around the turn. He stopped and watched them pass. Todd was
running in third place, hugging the rim closely, and Lasker was on
his heels. Train was one of a bunch of four who trailed a couple of
yards back. Springdale had entered five men to Clearfield’s three.
Perry missed the finish of the half-mile, but Beaton brought the news
into the dressing-room presently. Only Lasker had been placed, winning
second. Linn of Springdale had finished first by nearly thirty yards in
two minutes, eight and two-fifths seconds. Todd had been in the lead
for the whole of the third lap but hadn’t been able to keep it. He and
Train had been a half-lap behind at the end.
“What’s the score now, Arthur?” asked someone.
Beaton shook his head wryly. “Springdale’s about twenty-one, I think,
to our fifteen. We’ve got to begin and do something pretty soon. Guy’s
got first in the high-jump cinched, though. They’re almost through.”
“How’s the shot-put getting on?” Perry asked.
“Not finished yet,” replied Beaton. “I guess they’ve got it, though.”
He hurried out in response to imperative requests for low hurdlers,
and Perry followed presently. The 220-yards-hurdle trials had brought
out seven entrants and so two preliminary dashes were necessary.
Fortunately, perhaps, the two Clearfield candidates, Beaton and Peyton,
were not drawn for the same trial. As a result Peyton easily won in his
event from three Springdale fellows and Arthur Beaton finished second
without hurrying in the next trial. Then the hurdles were quickly
lifted aside and the milers began to assemble at the starting point.
Springdale had been conceded this event two weeks ago, but in his
last time-trial Smith, of Clearfield, had gone over the course in the
commendable time of five minutes and six and two-fifths seconds and the
Purple was entertaining a secret hope that Smith might somehow prove
too good for the Blue’s crack runner. Eight fellows started, three for
Clearfield and five for Springdale. The policy of the latter school was
evidently to start as many fellows in each event as possible on the
chance of displacing a Clearfield entrant. In the present case it was
speedily apparent that at least two of Springdale’s milers were not
expected to finish.
At the end of the first of the four laps the race had settled into two
divisions――Smith, Toll and Tupper, wearers of the purple C, running
well ahead with an equal number of Springdale fellows, and the other
two of the Blue’s force lagging a hundred yards behind. Wallace, the
Springdale hope, was allowing one of his teammates to set the pace and
was right on his heels. Two feet behind him trotted Smith, followed
by Tupper, a third Springdale runner, and Toll. The six were hugging
the rim and watching each other craftily. In that order they passed
around the first turn. Then Toll began to go ahead and the challenge
was accepted by the third Springdale man. Toll finally ran even with
Wallace in the backstretch and on the next turn dropped into the lead.
The half-distance found daylight between Wallace and Smith, and the
former pace-maker fell back into fourth place. At the turn Toll began
to hit it up. Wallace sped close behind him. Smith came next, some
four yards back. Strung out behind Smith were a second blue runner,
Tupper, and, dropping back every moment, the last Springdale runner. In
that order they came down the straightaway, passed the mark and went
doggedly on, to the ringing of the gong announcing the last lap. The
stands were shouting confusedly. The leaders passed the two lagging
Springdale runners before the turn was begun. As Toll led the way into
the backstretch it was evident that he was about done for and a rod or
two further along Smith fairly leaped into the lead, taking Wallace by
surprise. But the three or four yards which he gained were quickly cut
down. Tupper closed in on Wallace but could not pass him, and as the
next turn was reached began to fall back.
Smith, with Wallace close on his heels, entered the straightaway,
running desperately. Behind him, some ten yards back, came a second
Springdale man, and, twenty yards or so behind him, Tupper and a third
wearer of the blue were fighting it out. For a moment it seemed that
Smith might win, but fifty yards from the tape Wallace uncorked a
sprint that swept him past Smith and well into the lead, while the next
Springdale runner, head back, challenged Smith for second place and
slowly closed up the distance between them. Wallace crossed a good six
yards ahead and Smith, running now on pure nerve, saw the second blue
adversary edge past him a few feet from the line.
Smith staggered as he crossed and fell limply into the outstretched
arms of Skeet. Tupper finished fourth, almost as exhausted, and the
others trailed in one by one. The pace had been a fast one, the
winner’s time being caught at five minutes, five and one-fifth seconds,
and Smith, finishing third, had run the distance well under his best
record.
By that time the result of the high-jump was being announced, and
Clearfield had won first place and halved third. Felker had cleared
the bar at five feet and six inches, a Springdale jumper had secured
second place with five feet and five and a half inches and Todd had
tied with a Springdale fellow at five-feet-four. A moment later the
figures showing the score were changed again. With just half the events
decided, Clearfield had 21½ points and Springdale 32½.