For the Honor of Randall Part 47

"Say! I never saw such a bunch of babies!" complained Kindlings. "You'd forget your heads if they weren't fast."

He hurried here and there, looking after the lads as if they were children, unable to do anything for themselves. And, with all this, Kindlings himself expected to take part in several events, and he had grimly made up his mind to win some of them, at least.

"There goes the Boxer Hall crowd," commented Tom, looking from a window of the dressing room, that gave a view of the field. "They're out for practice."

"See anything of Langridge?" asked Sid.

"Yes, he's there, and Gerhart, too. I've got to run against him--Langridge I mean."

"And Gerhart is in the broad jump, I hear," added Sid. "Well, don't let that worry you."

"I'm not," replied Tom, as he completed his preparations.

"Come on, fellows, get a move on," pleaded Holly, and soon those who were going to fight for the honor of Randall tumbled out of the dressing rooms, and trotted across the track and field.

"There they are, boys! There they are!" yelled Bean Perkins, wildly waving a much-beribboned cane at his crowd of shouters. "All together now! Give 'em, 'We're going to beat the three of you, and take your warlocks home!'"

The song was given with a will, and from then on there was a pandemonium of sound, as the shouting contingents of the various colleges sought to put heart and courage into their representatives.

There was a final consultation of the arrangement committee, the starters, timers, judges were given their instructions, and the contestants were told to get in readiness. There had been some warm-up practice, and scores of eager lads were but awaiting the crack of the pistol.

"Remember boys," Holly impressed on the Randallites. "We can't expect to win every event, but we've just got to get five out of the eight to clinch the championship. We've already lost the hurdle race, but if we get the mile run, the broad jump, the pole vault, a hammer throw and one other we can win, for they count the most. Get more if you can, but remember, we need the five."

Wallace, the Exter manager, pa.s.sed by, nodding to Holly and the others.

"Everything all right?" he asked.

"Sure," answered Holly heartily.

"No bad feelings, I hope, on account of our protest?"

"Not a bit. We're going to win anyhow; so what's the difference?"

"Nothing like feeling confident," commented Wallace, with a laugh.

"Sorry I can't wish you luck, but we need this championship ourselves."

"Come on now," ordered Kindlings, bustling up. "The fifty-six pound weight throwing comes first. On the job, Dutch. I hope you beat me, and the same to you Barth." George Barth had been subst.i.tuted, some time back, for Bean Perkins, who said he would be of more service to Randall cheering for her, than competing in the weight-throwing contest.

"Oh, we'll win all right," a.s.serted Dutch Housenlager, with an air of easy confidence, at which Kindlings shook his head.

There was a silence while the announcer made the statement about the opening event, and then, as the various contestants came forward, there were cheers for the representatives of each college.

"Everybody ready?" asked the judge, as he glanced at the twelve contestants lined up before him, for each college had entered three in the fifty-six event.

There were nods of a.s.sent, and then a coin was flipped to determine the order of succession. It fell to the lot of Fairview to go first, with Boxer Hall following, then Exter and finally Randall. Kindlings was glad of this, for he regarded it as an advantage for his lads to try to beat the records previously made by their opponents.

The Fairview lads stepped forward. They were husky, clean-cut young fellows, and as the first one took his place in the white, seven-foot circle there was a little murmur of applause.

He grasped the weight confidently, and soon had it swinging well. He let go with a puff of exertion, and watched anxiously as the distance was measured.

"Eighteen feet four inches," was the announcement.

"We're safe so far," murmured Kindlings for he knew what Dutch could do.

In quick succession the others of Fairview heaved the big ball with its triangular handle. The record of the first lad was somewhat bettered, but it was soon seen that Fairview could not hope to win, for the distances the other contestants had done in practice were fairly well known.

Boxer Hall bettered Fairview in this contest, her best man's distance being twenty-one feet, five and a half inches.

"We've got to go some to beat that," murmured Dutch.

"Oh, you can do it," declared Kindlings, hoping to put heart into the big lad.

Now came Exter's turn, and with confidence her first contestant took his place. He equalled but did not beat Boxer Hall, and the second man fell below. Then came the third.

The lad on whom the hopes of Exter now depended was a magnificent specimen. Tall and fair, a very picture of an athlete, he stooped over and grasped the handle of the weight. There was a smile on his lips, and he seemed to look at Dutch as though challenging him individually.

"Go as far as you like, old man," murmured the Randall representative.

"I'll catch you."

There was a gasp of astonishment as the weight sailed away--astonishment and admiration mingled for, it was easily seen that this throw was, so far, the record-breaker.

"Wow!" gasped Kindlings as the weight landed. "Look out for yourself, Dutch."

"Twenty-eight feet, eight inches!" sung out the score keeper. It was a good throw, not equaling the best of the amateur records by a foot, but still very fair.

"Now, Dutch, it's up to us," said Kindlings in a low voice. "I'll go first, Barth will follow, and you hold yourself for the last. Remember we've _got_ to win!"

"Um!" grunted Dutch, as Kindlings stepped into the circle.

He did not beat the Exter player's throw, in fact being three feet behind it, and Barth was but little better.

"Come on, Dutch!" ordered Kindlings, and then from the grandstand came one of Randall's songs chorused by Bean Perkins and his throng.

There was a hush as Dutch took up the weight, and as the muscles of his legs swelled out during the preliminary swinging of it, it seemed as if he might win, for he was in perfect trim.

Over his head sailed the weight, to fall with a thud on the turf--a thud that seemed loud amid the hush that followed.

There were anxious faces watching the scorer as he and his a.s.sistants measured the distance, for everything now depended on this record Dutch had made.

"Twenty-eight feet," sung out the official, and Dutch felt his heart sink. "And five inches," added the scorer. "The weight throwing contest goes to Exter by three inches, with Randall second."

There was a riot of cheers from the Exter grandstand, and gloom and silence on the part of Randall. She had lost the first event.

"He beat me by three inches--three inches," murmured Dutch, as if he could not understand it.

"Never mind," consoled Kindlings. "You did ten inches better than you ever did in practice, Dutch. It was a great throw, and--Oh, well, we've got a chance yet."

The preparations for the throwing of the sixteen pound hammer were now underway. The Jersey twins, Pete Backus, and Holly were entered in this, and as they had all done well in practice the hopes of Randall ran high.

"Beat 'em, boys, beat 'em!" called Tom Parsons, as the quartette went forward to meet their opponents. At that moment Wallops, who, with some of the other Randall messengers, was on the ground approached Tom.