Others followed. The bar went up, nine feet, nine feet three. Varrell, who had three inches handicap, and Dearborn, scratch man, were now alone. Both men cleared nine feet six, which was four inches higher than Wrenn had ever reached. At nine seven he failed, and Dearborn just touched. The event was Varrell’s on his handicap.
“Fine, Wrenn,” said Melvin, giving his hand a good grip as he sat down. “Think of the little practice you’ve had compared with Dearborn. Your form was bully, too, and that’s important for improvement in pole vaulting. Oh, we two may become great prize winners yet. Here goes for my exhibition.”
He spoke with a smile on his lips, which made it clear that his last words were uttered in jest. Varrell looked after him rather enviously, as he took a few confident steps and went lightly over the bar at its first position. Melvin did not need to consider what the spectators might think of his audacity; nor to struggle to make a name for himself in school. A man with his athletic record and his rank and his general influence could afford to speak slightingly of a prize in a handicap meeting. To Varrell, who had hardly yet divested himself of the notion that he was still a stranger in the school, any prize that gave distinction would have been welcome. To win an important contest, to make a place for himself on some school team, to earn and wear a coveted “S,”—all this was a part of an unconfessed ambition. So he envied Dick, not for the honors which he had won, but for the ability which had enabled him to win them.
The jump took its wearisome course. At five feet the contestants began to drop out. Benson, the scratch man, and Melvin were alone able to clear five feet three. Both went over at five four; then Melvin failed and Benson, with a jump two inches higher, won first place.
“Another middler victory!” growled Marks, whose class patriotism was strident.
“I should have won,” said Dick, contentedly pulling on his sweater, “if I had taken the three inches they were going to give me. As Dickinson and I did the handicapping, we didn’t want to be charged with taking any unfair advantage, and so put ourselves down at scratch.”
“That’s well enough for Dickinson, but simply suicide for you. You’re just learning and Benson’s been at it ever since he’s been in school.”
“I should have liked to see him do six feet,” said Melvin, calmly. Marks muttered something unintelligible, and turned to Curtis. “Don’t you fail us anyway!”
Curtis nodded and grabbed the shot. His first put was close to the record, his second touched it, his third went ten inches beyond. That gave him a new record and the event, and put Marks again in good humor.
“John Curtis is the man for my money, as I’ve always said,” he announced significantly to Melvin. “He never goes back on you.”