Sam turned in the direction of the unfamiliar voice and beheld trotting toward him a bareheaded youth, whose chief article of attire was a bath robe. Behind the bath robe strode Noyes, his blue-ribboned hat tilted back on his head, wearing upon his face an expression of desperate disgust.
“Look here, Archer,” began Kilham, eagerly, while still a dozen feet away, “I don’t want this thing. It belongs to you.”
The “thing” in question was the gold medal, which Noyes had carried off in a burst of delight but a few minutes before. “Give me the other one and take this,” Kilham went on, holding out the first prize to the astonished Seatonian.
“Why?” asked Sam, blankly.
“Because I won’t take it, because it doesn’t belong to me, because Rich here had no business to butt in and get it. I didn’t want to toss for the thing.”
A look of eager joy flashed into Sam’s face, only to fade away again as the character of the offer which Kilham was making came home to him. It was generous of Kilham, who had lots of prizes, to refuse to deprive his rival of the only good one which he had ever won. It was a fine thing to do; but Sam could not profit by the pitying generosity of a kind-hearted rival.
“It didn’t make any difference who tossed for it,” said Sam. “We accepted Noyes as your representative. The judges gave the race a tie, and we tossed for prizes. That settled it.”
“It didn’t settle anything,” returned Kilham, warmly. “Noyes had no more authority to toss for me than that kid there. I didn’t win the race and I’m not going to take the prize. You won the race. I almost got you at the finish, but not quite. You touched that thread before I did. I’m sure of it.”
Sam stared and pondered. “The judges declared it a tie,” he said at length.
“Then it will have to be a tie so far as the official record goes. We can’t dispute the judges, but we can divide the prizes as they ought to be divided. I won the second prize. I’ll have that or none!”