THE BOY WHO WON--CONCLUSION
"It's Nick Lang, as sure as anything!" shouted a boy who happened to
possess an excellent pair of field-glasses.
"Nick Lang in the lead!" howled another; "well, what do you think of
that? Where, oh, where, oh, where is Hugh Morgan about this time;
and 'Just' Smith in the bargain?"
"But Nick is a Scranton High boy after all, and that's a heap better
than to see an Allandale fellow come in ahead!" cried another near by.
"Look! a second runner has turned the bend; and see how he is coming
up on poor wobbly old Nick hand-over-fist!"
"Hello! what's this mean?" whooped a visitor exultantly. "Surely I
know the second fellow's build. It's certainly our great Whipple!
He's going to cop the prize, boys! Give Whipple an Allandale yell
right now to encourage him!"
Even as a score of boyish throats roared in response to this entreaty
a third runner was discovered rounding the bend. He appeared to be
tearing along at race-horse speed, as though having a reserve stock
of power upon which to call in this closing half-mile of the long
race.
"Hugh Morgan!"
The words seemed to run like wildfire through the vast crowd.
Everybody repeated them, some with a growing delight, others with a
sense of impending disaster to the wild hopes they had been so
ardently cherishing; all according to the viewpoint they held.
Scranton's register was rising, while Allandale visitors began to
feel something was on the verge of happening to crush the budding
paean of victory that was ready to bubble from their lips.
Nick evidently knew that he had shot his bolt. He, doubtless, tried
frantically to encourage his legs to move faster, but they refused to
hearken to the call. Whipple was now rapidly closing the short gap
existing between them. At the same time it could be seen that the
Allandale runner veered a trifle, as though to give Nick a fairly
wide berth when passing.
Plenty of fellows noticed this fact, nor did they wonder at it. The
tricky character of Nick Lang was pretty well known, and they
believed he would not hesitate about throwing himself sideways, so as
to collide with Whipple when the other was in the act of passing him;
although such a vindictive act could, of course, not better the
position of the local runner a particle.
When Whipple actually took the lead a great roar arose from thousands
of throats. Doubtless many wild-eyed Allandale enthusiasts already
counted the victory as won. They could be seen commencing to throw
their hats and caps into the air, boy-fashion. Others, wiser,
gripped their hands, and held their breath while waiting to see the
actual finish of the great race.
Of a truth Whipple was doing splendidly, there was no gainsaying
that; but coming on back of him was one who appeared to be making
much better time. Hugh was gaining fast, they could see. The only
question that remained to be settled was whether Whipple had it in
him to increase his pace sufficiently to cross the tape first; or, on
the other hand, if Hugh Morgan was able to speed up still more, and
close the gap.
How the shouts rang out. Everybody seemed to be cheering madly at
the same time. Men stood up, and waved their arms; girls embraced
each other, though not an eye was turned away from that wonderful
finish of the great Marathon race.
Now, Hugh had apparently released his final effort. He was gaining
faster and faster. Whipple seemed to know that he was in deadly
peril. He, too, looked back over his shoulder in alarm, possibly
meaning in desperation to almost burst a blood vessel if he found
that his rival was about to overtake him.
That proved his eventual undoing, though the result was no longer in
doubt. He lost his balance, and, being so exhausted that he could
not stand longer, pitched headlong to the ground, just as the fleet
Hugh jumped into the lead, raced twenty steps further, broke the
extended tape, and thus won the race.
How the heavens seemed to fairly quiver with the roars that broke
out! It had been a most thrilling finish for the greatest race ever
run in all the country. Time might come and time might go, but never
would those who had been so fortunate as to witness the conclusion of
the Marathon forget the thrilling spectacle.
Hugh bore his honors meekly.
He utterly declined to let some of the Scranton fellows pick him up
and bear him around on their shoulders, as they threatened to do.
After the prizes had been duly awarded the assemblage broke up, and
the roads leading out of Scranton were soon blocked with hundreds of
vehicles of every description carrying home the visitors.
Even Allandale and Belleville had no reason to be disappointed over
the general results, for their young athletes had fared very well,
all things considered. Of course, most of them would rather have
seen the Marathon won by a representative from their school than to
"scoop in" all the other prizes grouped together; but since it had to
go to Scranton, they voiced the opinion of most people when they
declared they were glad Hugh Morgan had won it, and not Nick Lang.
Even though overwhelmed with congratulations on every hand, Hugh did
not forget his promise to "Just" Smith. As soon as he could get into
his street clothes he hunted a fellow who chanced to have his
father's flivver handy, and easily won his consent to take him along
the road in the direction of Belleville, in order to find poor "Just"
Smith, and get him home again.
This they did without any mishap, and it may be easily understood
that the disappointed boy hailed their coming with great joy. He
knew all about that gruelling finish of the big race in the bargain,
some of those Allandale chaps passing by in vehicles having readily
informed him as to the winner, and what a tremendously thrilling
sight the finish had been.
Of course, since "Just" Smith had not once glimpsed the figures of
his assailants, and as conviction can hardly rest upon a burst of
vindictive boyish laughter, there was no public denunciation of Nick
Lang and his cronies. Everybody could give a good guess, however, as
to who was guilty; and after that Nick was destined to feel himself
more ostracized by his schoolmates than ever before.
The great athletic tournament had proven to be a complete success,
being marred by no serious accidents, for which many a devoted mother
in Scranton gave thanks that same night, even though her boy may not
have won undying fame through gaining a prize. Hugh himself was more
than satisfied, though he would have been almost as well pleased had
it been poor "K. K.," "Just" Smith, or Horatio Juggins who had won
the big race, so long as the honor of Scranton High was upheld.
That was to be the finish of the fall sports, but with winter so near
at hand, and that vast field being put in order for flooding, it
might readily be guessed the boys and girls of Scranton were in line
for considerable more fun while Jack Frost held sway over his frozen
dominions. That this supposition proved to be a correct one may be
judged from the title of the fourth and following volume in this
series, which can be had wherever boys' books are sold, and bearing
the suggestive title of "The Chums of Scranton High at Ice Hockey;
or, A Wizard on Steel Runners." Get it, if you have enjoyed reading
about Hugh Morgan and his loyal comrades in this and previous books;
you will find it just as deeply interesting as anything that has gone
before, since the boys of Scranton enter upon a fresh line of healthy
competition, this time upon the ice.
THE END