"Is that all you've got to say?" asked Carle, sullenly, after a brief period of silence. "Because if it is, I've got something I'd like to do."
Yes, that was all. Owen could think of nothing else to say, and took his dismissal willingly. It had been an unpleasant scene, but brief; he had tried to do his duty in the matter, and even if he hadn't been wholly skilful, he felt relieved that it was all behind him. Poor Mr. Carle!
THE RELAY RACE
Only the actual competitors were allowed to leave town for the Boston meet, so unless he could contrive to receive mandatory invitations from friends to spend Sunday in Boston, or devise especial business to call him peremptorily to the city, the average student must abandon all hope of seeing the contest. Wolcott Lindsay, who lived in Boston, went home for the Sunday, and got an invitation for Durand. One boy had to visit his dentist, another his guardian, a third a doctor, a fourth to buy absolutely necessary clothes which could not be procured at Seaton. The twins, who took an extraordinary interest in the event from the moment they learned that their neighbor was on the team, canvassed at great length the prospects of getting away. Duncan was on study hours and could hope for no favors, but he persuaded his brother that the only fair way was that Donald, whose scholarship usually secured him the favor of teachers, should ask permission on certain plausible grounds, and the two then draw lots for the privilege of going, the one left behind in any case to represent Duncan. Unfortunately for the scheme, when Donald applied for his permission he was obliged to confess that he had received no specific invitation to visit his aunt in Brookline, and that in the whole course of his stay in Seaton he had never, until this particular Saturday, felt the serious nature of his family obligation. So the scheme came to naught, and the Pecks stayed at home.
The huge space of the Mechanics Building on Huntington Avenue was circled by deep fringes of spectators packed in double galleries and crowded close to the outer edge of the thirteen-lap track. Here were phalanxes of boys from Boston schools, straining their throats in crying up the courage of their schoolmates; college youths in rival camps, their emulous cheers varying through a wide range, from the staccato spelling of some college name to the "three long Harvards" of the Cambridge men; women and girls who brought to the contest tense interest and strong sympathy, if not expert knowledge; men who loved athletics for their own sake, who, if they did not "delight in the strength of a horse," certainly "took pleasure in the legs of a man." It was like a dozen tournaments and a dozen audiences crowded into one.
Saturated with the feeling that the Seaton-Hillbury struggle was the event of the day, and new to the whole medley of many institutions contesting in ceaseless uproar, Owen was at first both bewildered and discouraged. In the terrific din the crack of the starter's pistol and the bellowing of announcers were well-nigh drowned by the blare of band music, the cheers of untiring supporters, and the recurring waves of general applause. He watched the Harvard-Pennsylvania relay match, in which veterans ran like blooded race horses amid tremendous excitement, and felt still more disheartened. The place seemed so vast, the interests of contestants so diverse, the big college teams so all-important, that the Seaton-Hillbury race could hardly prove more than one of the minor details of the meet,—in fact, might be carelessly managed or neglected. And yet, as he knew well, to the impatient waiters for a telegram at Seaton, there was but one contest in the day's programme; and no explanation that it was but a small part of a great performance would be accepted in palliation of defeat.
There seemed no end of contests and no beginning, but just one long series of overlapping performances. In the area belted by the big wooden track a cloud of contestants had been engaged in running off interminable heats in the forty-five yards dash. Jeffrey, the Seaton representative, did not reach the semi-finals. Meantime, giants of many medals and astonishing records, gathered by invitation from all points of the compass, were tossing the sixteen-pound shot in the space reserved for that amusement. The six hundred yards handicap men were strung out, according to the privileges they had received from the handicapper, a third of the way round the track; but near the starting-line they were herded like cattle and sent off in a drove. Rob's courage was at its lowest ebb as he witnessed the wild scramble at the first corner, where one unfortunate fell against the legs of another, and put three men out of position. It was hard to obtain a fair chance under these conditions.