“My meaning is too deep for gladiatorial brains like yours,” said Tommy, edging off. “I’ll explain later.”
The Hillburyites came by a special train in solid phalanx, happy and hopeful. The year’s records were in their favor by a considerable margin. Dickinson and Curtis were the only men really feared, for Todd they considered as good as beaten, and the rest of the Seaton team, while allowed a certain number of points in accordance with the general principle of chance, were assessed at a low valuation.
At half-past two the Seaton bleachers, packed to their full capacity, were bellowing their welcome to the hundred-yards men, who had just appeared at the head of the stretch. Lary, the Hillbury champion, and Dickinson were side by side,—the former a short, solid, muscular figure, quick in every motion, the latter tall and lithe, and deliberate even to slowness. Melvin watched the preparations with an unexpected fear creeping into his heart. Was this solid, business-like person with the knotty legs and confident manner to steal a start on the Seaton captain and keep ahead to the finish? Crack! sounded the pistol and away went the men, rising from the crouching position with an instantaneous leap and throwing themselves forward into their strides.
It was true! Lary was ahead at the start by five yards, his short-legs flashing over the unscarred surface of the track as the wings of a buzzing insect beat the air,—behind him Dickinson and Travers, and behind still farther the second Hillbury runner, who did not count in the score. For five seconds the three came on with the same apparent interval, then number two crept away from number three and up toward number one. Eight seconds, nine, ten, the stop-watches registered. A fraction more and the short sprinter was at the tape, Dickinson but six inches behind, and Travers in third place!
How the visitors howled at this, the first augury of the day’s success! The great Dickinson beaten in the very first race! The announcer’s big megaphone roared forth the record,—it equalled the best of either school. The points gained—Hillbury five, Seaton three—were chalked on the board; and the crowd, like a hungry dog who waits greedily for a second piece of meat, turned expectant to the next event.
The half-mile was conceded to Willbur of Hillbury. In the Seaton estimates, however, Maine of Seaton had been counted on to win second place and Faxon third. Willbur ran a beautiful race that set the Hillburyites wild with pride, establishing a new dual record; but unfortunately for Seaton, the second man, who was twenty yards behind, proved to be, not Maine, but Towle of Hillbury, while Maine made a very poor third. The score went up—Hillbury twelve, Seaton four—and the hearts of the Seatonians down. The beginning was bad.
Meantime the shot-put, which had been started with the first run, was drawing near its end. Here at last was encouragement for the home team, for every prize fell to the wearer of a red S. Curtis was ahead as usual, with Farlow, a big two hundred pounder, second, and Trapp third.
“We’ve evened it up now, Toddy,” cried Melvin, joyfully, as the men came out for the high hurdles. “We want seven points here, you know.”
“I’ll do my best,” said Todd; “that’s all any one can do. That Rawson may beat me, after all. They say he can do it in seventeen flat.”
“Nonsense!” retorted Melvin. “Go in and beat him.”