Frank Merriwell's Races Part 60

The swell set of New York occupied the boxes. Fathers and mothers, sisters and brothers, cousins and aunts of the contestants were on hand, watching with eagerness for the appearance of those in which their interest centered.

In some instances the parents of the young men engaged in the contests were plainly from the country. Their manners, their dress, their language indicated this. It was a wonderful occasion for them, and their hearts almost ceased beating when the favorite for whom they were watching showed himself and made his brave effort in some trial of strength and skill. Happy were they if he acquitted himself n.o.bly.

The blue of Old Yale dominated one great section of seats. And when a Yale man won in some of the contests hundreds upon hundreds of strong-lunged young men arose to their feet and sent the college slogan pealing forth, while that great ma.s.s of blue fluttered and swayed as if swept by a fitful tempest.

It was Yale against the field, and Old Eli was acquitting herself n.o.bly.

One of the private boxes was occupied by the Hon. Andrew Flemming and his family. His wife and his two daughters were there. In a corner of the box sat two lads who were talking earnestly in guarded tones. They were Tom Thornton and Andy Emery.

Thornton and Emery had been entertaining Fred Flemming's sisters, but now, for the moment, they had drawn aside and were earnestly discussing some point that seemed to interest them greatly.

"It must be that the matter is settled, and Yates has been subst.i.tuted for the one who is missing," said Thornton; "but it seems rather astonishing that Flem should be so sure Merriwell would not appear."

"But he did seem sure," nodded Emery. "He told me over and over that Merriwell would not be here to run."

"And you must know enough of Frank Merriwell to be sure he would be here if he could get here, even if he had to crawl on his knees."

"That's right."

"Then what has happened to Merriwell?"

"You tell!"

"I can't. I know Flemming would go to any extreme to carry out his desires. In fact, he is altogether too reckless and headstrong. I knew he did not mean it when he told Merriwell he was ready to bury the hatchet, and I have felt that he was not talking to hear his own voice when he told us Merriwell would not be on hand to race to-night."

At this moment Fred Flemming entered the box. His face was flushed, and there was a look of triumph in his eyes. He spoke to his mother, and then addressed himself to the two boys, saying:

"It's all right."

Some event below attracted the full attention of all in the box save the trio in one corner.

"Yates will run?" asked Emery, eagerly.

"You bet your filthy!" nodded Fred. "I told you he would."

"But where is Merriwell?"

Flemming smiled mysteriously.

"It is evident," he said, "that Mr. Merriwell decided not to attend the tournament."

"Look here, Fred," said Thornton, nervously, "you haven't done anything that will get you into trouble, have you?"

Flemming snapped his fingers.

"What is it to me if Merriwell sees fit to stay away?" he asked. "He may tell some sort of a wild story, but it seems that he was afraid to appear and run. All I ask of you fellows is that you keep your mouths closed on one point."

"What is that?"

"I don't care to have you breathe to a living soul that I knew in advance that Merriwell would not be on hand."

"We'll not say a word about it."

"Yates had no idea that he might be called on. I found it necessary to keep with him all the time and see that he did not get geared up. Then I had him where he could be found by the committee in case he was needed."

"And----"

"And he was found."

"He has gone to prepare for the race?"

"Sure."

"That settles it! Merriwell has failed to show up!"

A wild Yale cheer turned their attention to the arena at this moment.

Big Hickok was preparing to put the shot, and he had been greeted in this manner by his admirers as he stepped out.

Hickok was a giant, and Yale had the utmost confidence in him. Thus far the best record made by any other man was forty-one feet and five inches. Hickok must do his very best to beat that.

The cheers died away as the Yale Goliath poised himself for the effort.

He crouched, and then the heavy iron sailed through the air and fell with a thud to the ground.

The tape was quickly drawn, and then the score went up.

Forty-two feet and three inches!

Once more Yale let herself loose, and it seemed that the roof must crack.

Hickok quietly declined to take the two remaining trials open to him. He was the last man on the list, and Yale had won. The hammer-throwing was to follow, and he was entered for the contest.

In the hammer-throwing contest Yale had another opportunity to yell, for Hickok was again the winner over all others, making a record of one hundred and twenty-three feet and nine inches.

The contests followed each other in swift succession, and Yale more than held her own. There was no reason why the wearers of the blue should not be jubilant.

At last, the races came on. Up in the Flemming box were three lads who were anxiously awaiting the announcement of the one-mile run.

Despite the triumph which he felt, Fred Flemming betrayed a sort of hilarious nervousness as he chatted with his sisters and his friends.

Watching Fred closely, Tom Thornton saw that he was under a strain. And again Thornton wondered what had become of Frank Merriwell.

Princeton won one of the shorter races, and Harvard won another. In each of these a Yale man was second.

"If Mr. Merriwell had contented himself with being less ambitious, he might be here to-night," said Flemming, in an aside to his college comrades.

Emery and Thornton exchanged glances. There was a significance about such language that could not be misunderstood. Thornton shivered a bit, and, unconsciously, drew back from Flemming.

The excitement of the evening was at its highest pitch thus far. The contestants for yet another race were getting into position, and, in another moment, they were off like a pack of greyhounds.