Frank knew how much there was in the start of a short dash, and he felt that Random had obtained an advantage; but that made no difference with him, for he was there to do his best.
For a third of the distance no one obtained much of a lead. Then Random began to pull away.
But he could not get away from Merriwell, who clung to him like a leech, not more than two yards separating them.
It was soon seen that the race lay between Random and Merriwell, with Random apparently having the best of it.
Two-thirds the distance was covered, and still Random held his advantage.
Then a genuine Yale yell came from Frank’s friends, who had gathered in a group near the finishing point.
That cheer seemed to act like an electric spur on Merriwell. Half the distance between him and Random was closed quickly, and then with a leap he was at the side of the Santa Barbara man.
A single moment they hung thus, and then, as the tape was approached, Frank shot to the front, and was a winner by about two feet.
“’Rah! ’rah! ’rah! Yale!”
Wallace Random was greatly chagrined, for he had felt certain of that race when it was almost finished. Then, in an astonishing manner, Frank Merriwell had reached his side, passed him, and won the dash.