The Jester of St. Timothy's Part 12

"I thought Lou wasn't going to run, because of football; he hasn't been practising," said Carroll.

"I know, but the Pythians have got hold of him, and Dennison's persuaded him it's his duty to run. And I guess he's good enough without practice to win from scratch-giving that handicap!"

"Is Dennison the captain of the Pythian track team?" asked Irving.

"Yes."

"And who's captain of yours-the Corinthians?"

"Ned Morrill."

"Morrill's going awfully fast in the quarter now," said Blake. "I timed him yesterday."

"They've handicapped him pretty hard. And he's apt to be just a shade late in starting-just as Dave Pratt is apt to be just a shade previous,"

said Westby. "It ought to be a close race between those two."

"How much does Pratt get over Morrill?"

"Five yards. And if he steals another yard on the start-"

"Dave wouldn't steal it," exclaimed Blake indignantly. "You Corinthians would accuse a man of anything!"

"Oh, I don't mean that he'd do it intentionally," replied Westby. "But he's so overanxious and eager always-and he's apt to get away without realizing-without the starter realizing.-I wonder who's going to be starter, by the way?"

n.o.body knew; Irving did not enlighten them.

Westby bethought him to ask the same question of Scarborough half an hour later, when they were dressing in the athletic house.

"Mr. Upton has consented to serve," said Scarborough gravely.

Westby thumped himself down on a bench, dangling one spiked running shoe by the string.

"What! Kiddy!"

"The same," said Scarborough.

Westby said nothing more; he stooped and put on his shoe, and then he rose and came over to Scarborough, who was untangling a knot. He pa.s.sed his hand over Scarborough's head and remarked wonderingly, "Feels perfectly normal-strange-strange!"

Morrill came in from outside, clapping his hands. "Corinthians out for the mile-Heath-Price-Bolton-Edwards-all ready?"

The four named answered by clumping on their spikes to the door.

A moment later came the Pythian call from Dennison; Collingwood and Morse responded. The first event of the day was about to begin. Westby leisurely brushed his hair, which had been disarranged in the process of undressing; he was like a cat in respect of his hair and could not endure to have it rumpled. When it was parted and plastered down to his satisfaction, he slipped a dressing gown on over his running clothes and went out of doors.

The fall track meet was not of the same importance as that in the spring, which was a scratch event. But there were cups for prizes, and there was always much rivalry between the two athletic clubs, the Corinthians and Pythians, as to which could show the most winners. So for that day the football players rested from their practice; many of them in fact were entered in the sports-though, like Collingwood, without any special preparation. The school turned out to look on and cheer; when Westby left the athletic house, he saw the boys lined up on the farther side of the track. The field was reserved for contestants and officials; already many figures in trailing dressing gowns were wandering over it, and off at one side three or four were having a preliminary practice in putting the shot.

But most of those who were privileged to be on the field stood at the farther side, where the start for the mile run was about to take place.

Westby saw Randolph and Irving kneeling by the track, measuring off the handicap distances with a tape line; Barclay walked along it, and summoned the different contestants to their places. By the time that Westby had crossed the field, the six runners were at their stations; there was an interval of a hundred and forty yards between Collingwood, at scratch, and young Price of the Fourth Form.

Westby came up and stood near Irving, and fixed him with a whimsical smile.

"Quite a new departure for you, isn't it, Mr. Upton?" he said.

"I thought I'd come down and see if you can run as fast as you can talk, Westby." Irving drew out the revolver, somewhat ostentatiously.

"I hope you won't shoot any one with that; it looks to me as if you ought to be careful how you handle it, sir."

"Thank you for the advice, Westby." Irving turned from the humorist, and raised his voice. "All ready for the mile now! On your marks! Set!"

He held the pistol aloft and fired, and the six runners trotted away.

There is nothing very exciting about the start of a mile run, and Irving felt that the intensity with which he had given the commands had been rather absurd. It was annoying to think that Westby had been standing by and finding perhaps in his nervousness a delectable subject for mockery and derision.

Irving walked down the track towards the finish line. He found Barclay there holding the watch.

"You seem to be discharging your arduous duties successfully," said Barclay.

"Oh, so far." Irving looked up the track; the foremost runners were rounding the curve at the end of their first lap. He had a moment's longing to be one of them, stretching his legs like them, trying out his strength and speed on the smooth cinder track against others as eager as himself. He had never done anything of that kind; hardly until now had he ever felt the desire. Why it should come upon him now so poignantly he did not know; but on this warm October afternoon, when the air and the sunshine were as soft as in early September, he wished that he might be a boy again and do the things which as a boy he had never done. To be still young and looking on at the sports and the strife of youth, sports and strife in which he had never borne a part-there was something humiliating and ign.o.ble in the thought. If he could only be for the moment the little Fourth Former there, Price-now flying on in the lead yet casting many fearful backward glances!-Poor child, even Irving's inexperienced eyes told him that he could never keep that pace.

"Go it, kid!" cried three or four older boys good-naturedly, as Price panted by; and he threw back his head and came down more springily upon his toes, trying in response to the cheer to display his best form.

After him came Bolton and Edwards, side by side; and Collingwood, who started at scratch, had moved up a little on Morse and Heath. Heath was considered the strongest runner in the event for the Corinthians, and they urged him on with cries of "Heath! Heath!" as he made the turn.

"You've got 'em, Lou!" shouted a group of Pythians the next moment as Collingwood pa.s.sed. It was early in the race for any great demonstration of excitement.

It was Price whom Irving watched with most sympathy. When he got round on the farther side of the field, his pace had slackened perceptibly; Bolton and Edwards pa.s.sed him and kept on widening the distance; Morse and Heath pa.s.sed him at the next turn; and when he came down to the turn in front of the crowd, running heavily, Collingwood overhauled and pa.s.sed him. It was rather an unfeeling thing for Collingwood to do, right there in front of the crowd, but he was driven to it by force of circ.u.mstances; the four other runners were holding on in a way he did not like. The cries of encouragement to him and to Heath were more urgent this time; Bolton and Edwards and Morse had their supporters too.

Westby ran along the field beside Price, and Irving felt a moment's indignation; was Westby taunting the plucky and exhausted small boy? And then Irving saw that he was not, and at the same instant Barclay turned to him and said,-

"Price is Westby's young cousin."

Irving stood near enough to hear Westby say, "Good work, Tom; you set the pace just right; it'll kill Collingwood. Now drop out."

Price shook his head and kept on; Westby trotted beside him, saying anxiously, "There's no use in your wearing yourself all out." But Price continued at his determined, pounding trot.

"He's a plucky kid," said Barclay.

"Rather nice of Westby to take such an interest," said Irving.

Barclay nodded. From that point on it became a close and interesting race, yet every now and then Irving's eyes strayed to the small figure toiling farther and farther to the rear-but always toiling. Westby stood on the edge of the green oval, not far away, and when on the third lap Heath came by in the lead, ran with him a few moments and shouted advice and encouragement in his ear; he had to shout, for all the Corinthians were shouting for Heath now, and the Pythians were shouting just as loudly for Collingwood, who, pocketed by the two other Corinthians, Bolton and Edwards, was running fifteen yards behind. Morse, the only Pythian to support Collingwood, was hopelessly out of it.

Westby left Heath and turned his eyes backward. His cousin came to the turn, white-faced, and mouth hanging open; the crowd clapped the boy.

"Quit it, Tom!" cried Westby. "Quit it; there's no sense-" but Price went pounding on. Westby stood looking after him with a worried frown, and then because there was a sudden shout, he turned to look at the others.

There, on the farther side of the field, Collingwood had at last extricated himself from the pocket; he was running abreast of Bolton; Edwards had fallen behind. Heath was spurting; Collingwood pa.s.sed Bolton, but in doing so did not lessen Heath's lead-a lead of fully fifteen yards. So they came to the last turn, to the long straight-away home-stretch; and the crowd cl.u.s.tered by the finish broke and ran up alongside the track to meet them. Every one was yelling wildly-one name or another-"Corinthian!" "Pythian!" "Heath!" "Collingwood!"

Barclay ran across the track with one end of the tape,-the finish line; Mr. Randolph held the other. "Collingwood! Collingwood!" rose the shout; Irving, standing on tiptoe, saw that Collingwood was gaining, saw that at last he and Heath were running side by side; they held together while the crowd ran with them shouting. Irving pressed closer to the track; Westby in his dressing gown was jumping up and down beside him, waving his arms; Irving had to crane his neck and peer, in order to see beyond those loose flapping sleeves. He saw the light-haired Collingwood and the black-haired Heath, coming down with their heads back and their teeth bared and clenched; they were only fifteen yards away. And then Collingwood leaped ahead; it was as if he had unloosed some latent and unconquerable spring, which hurled him in a final burst of speed across the tape and into half a dozen welcoming arms. Heath stumbled after him, even more in need of such friendly services; but both of them revived very quickly when Mr. Barclay, rushing into the crowd with the watch, cried, "Within eight seconds of the record! Both of you fellows will break it next June."

The other runners came gasping in-and Price was still toiling away in the rear. He had been half a lap behind; he came now into the home-stretch; the crowd began to laugh, and then more kindly, as he drew nearer, to applaud. They clapped and called, "Good work, Price!" Westby met him about fifty yards from the finish and ran with him, saying, "You've got to stick it out now, Tom; you can't drop out now; you're all right, old boy-lots of steam in your boiler-you'll break a record yet."

Irving caught some of the speeches. And so Westby was there when Price crossed the line and collapsed in a heap on the track.