BY ONE POINT
“Don’t touch him!” was the cry as sympathetic friends rushed to
Arthur’s assistance. “Let him alone! Let him finish! Come on, Thompson!
You can do it! Here he comes!”
Broadwood was yelling madly, encouragingly to her plucky runner, who,
seeing his adversary’s plight, was making one final effort to wrest
the victory from him. But he was still yards behind when Arthur found
his feet unsteadily, cast a look to the rear, and limped, swaying and
clutching, toward the finish. Once across it he sprawled face down in
the road before willing arms could reach him, and the Broadwood runner,
crossing the line the next instant, stumbled over him and measured his
length, too, on the ground.
“Bully work!” commented Alf, his pen busy again. “That gives us tenth
place and Broadwood eleventh. Say, this is getting rather too close
to be interesting. What we need is two more runners just about now,
before Broadwood finishes her last man.”
“And one of them is coming,” said Dan excitedly. “It’s a Yardley
runner, isn’t it, Tom? See his white shirt?”
“Yes, it’s a Yardleyite, all right,” Tom muttered.
“Sure?” asked Alf, trying to glimpse the distant road. “Then that makes
our sixth man and the score is――by Jove, fellows! What do you think?”
“We don’t think; what is it? Are we ahead?”
“We’re just even; 39 to 39!”
“Oh, your score is crazy,” said Tom.
But Alf went over it, while Felder finished amid the plaudits of his
schoolmates, and found it correct.
“That means, then,” commented Tom, “that we’ve got to get the next
runner in or lose the shindig. I guess I’ll take a nap until the
excitement’s over. I have a weak heart.”
“That’s right,” agreed Dan nervously, “this _is_ sort of suspensous.”
“Whatever that may be,” added Alf. “Gee, I wish some one would come
along and get it over. What time is it? How long will it take us to get
back? What are they cheering about now?”
“Just to keep their courage up, I guess,” answered Tom.
The minutes dragged along while anxious eyes searched the distant bend
of the road impatiently. And then, finally, a shout went up from the
throng.
“Broadwood! Broadwood!” shrieked the Green’s supporters.
“That right?” asked Alf. Dan nodded.
“Then we’re dished!”
“Hold on, Alf, there’s another fellow just behind him. Never say die!”
Yardley’s cheers drowned Broadwood’s now, for the second runner was
all in white and the distance between him and the man ahead was not so
great, after all. The crowd flowed over onto the road, amid the appeals
of the officials for “Track, please! Track! Everyone off the road! Let
them finish! Give them room!”
Far up the road sped Green and Dark Blue, but as they came nearer
and nearer it was evident that Dark Blue was gradually lessening the
distance between him and his foe. Inch by inch, foot by foot the
Yardley runner conquered the space, and a hundred yards from the finish
he was almost within reach of the Broadwood man. Dan gave a whoop of
delight.
“Do you see who it is, Tom?” he cried.
“No, but he’s a little cuss. Say, it isn’t――――”
“Yes, it is, it’s Gerald!”
“Get out!” gasped Alf.
“It is, though, isn’t it, Tom?”
“Gerald for a dollar!” cried Tom delightedly. “And he will get him yet!”
“The plucky little beggar!” exclaimed Alf. “Can he do it? Think of the
race depending on him, Dan! Wouldn’t that jar you? Is he gaining?”
“I――I don’t believe so,” muttered Dan anxiously. “He cut down a lot,
but he’s just about holding his place now. He runs well, too, and looks
fresher than the other chap. Oh, gee, Alf, why doesn’t he try harder?”
A groan went up from the Yardley watchers, for the Broadwood runner had
suddenly sprung away and now a good four or five yards separated him
from Gerald, and the finish was almost at hand.
After that first attempt to leave Hiltz behind Gerald had subsided into
a pace that kept him just at the other’s heels. There was time enough
yet, for it was evident that Hiltz was fast getting weary. And then, a
minute or two later, Arthur Thompson drew up to them, passed them and
went ahead, running at a good speed but looking pretty white of face
save where a flaming disk of crimson burned on each cheek. Gerald saw
his opportunity and seized it. He sprang forward, passed Hiltz and fell
in behind Arthur, letting the latter make pace for him. Hiltz made one
despairing effort to follow and then gave up the struggle, trotting
along for a minute more and finally subsiding to a walk as the two
others left him behind.
The last mile was almost half covered when Bailey, of Broadwood,
overtook them, running as though he had not already put three and a
half miles behind him. Thompson accepted the challenge and the two
gradually drew away from Gerald who tried to keep up with them but
found it impossible. Then Felder passed slowly, turning to give Gerald
a drawn but encouraging smile. And then the last turn was in sight.
Gerald glanced back to see if Hiltz was dangerously near. He wasn’t,
but the tall Broadwood chap who had stood beside him at the start was
coming up hard. Gerald had scant idea now of figuring in the result
of the contest, but since Hiltz was out of the running the newcomer
offered him other rivalry. So Gerald let out another notch, more to see
what he could do than for any other reason, and for awhile kept the
Broadwood man behind. But Gerald didn’t care a great deal, now that
he had worsted Hiltz, and so presently, when Loughan, of Broadwood,
spurted, he only half-heartedly contested honors with him, being
content to fall in behind and to ease up sufficiently to get some
relief from the ache and pull at his tired lungs.
He expected to find, when the turn was past, that the race would be
over and thought to meet his fellows homeward bound on the road. But
a quite different sight met his wearied gaze. Off there at the finish
the road was black with fellows and the sound of their cheering came
plainly to him. His heart leaped. Perhaps, after all, he was still in
the running! At least, he wouldn’t chance it. Up came his head then and
his legs began to twinkle faster over the rutted road. Little by little
he reduced Loughan’s lead, delighted to find that he still had strength
and breath in his tired, aching body. Quite clearly now the wild,
imploring cheers of Yardley and Broadwood reached him and he no longer
doubted that something, whether much or little he didn’t know, depended
on his beating that boy ahead.
The finish was barely a hundred yards distant now and Gerald was almost
up to Loughan, and the knowledge came to him that he was in better
shape than the other and could win if the distance was only great
enough. And then, suddenly, the other bounded forward and in half a
dozen strides had opened up as many yards between them. Gerald with
a gasp called every muscle and ounce of remaining strength into play
and spurted gallantly after him. But the line was coming toward them
fast and the distance between blue ribbon and green shirt lessened but
slowly. And yet lessen it did, for the Broadwood man had shot his last
bolt, and shot it too early, and ten yards from the line Gerald was
even with him.
The air was full of sound, deafening, thunderous. Gerald set his eyes
on the line and strove to draw away from that bobbing blur of green
beside him. Three strides――another――and the green was still there,
although how he knew it he couldn’t have told, since his eyes never
left the finish in all that final agonizing effort. Another stride――and
another――and there was a new note in the bedlam of sound. The blur of
green was no longer there and the finish line was under foot! If only
he could keep his legs a moment, an instant longer. But it was no use!
He felt his limbs giving way beneath him; he struggled for breath and
fell forward, groping blindly.
But eager arms caught him beyond the line, and at a little distance,
Alf, trying hard to keep his pen steady, was setting down the final
score:
YARDLEY, 52; BROADWOOD, 53.
Gerald had won the Cross-Country by one point.
SUMMARY
Yardley Broadwood
1 Goodyear 1
2 Scott 2
3 Maury 3
4 Crossett 4
5 Andrews 5
6 Wagner 6
7 Sherwood 7
8 Holder 8
9 White 9
10 Thompson 10
11 Bailey 11
12 Felder 12
13 Pennimore 13
14 Loughan 14
―――――――――――――――――――――
Total 52 53