A shade of disappointment came to the faces of the spectators, for that was far below the Fardale record.
Rains, however, winked quietly to Bascomb, as if to say that the first jump was a teaser, just to see what Merriwell would do.
Frank now took his position, ran swiftly and lightly down the turf, and made the jump. He seemed to be doing his best, or nearly that, yet he did not reach but a little beyond Rains' mark.
"Seventeen feet, six inches and a quarter," announced one of the measurers.
"I wonder if that is anywhere near his limit?" thought Paul, as he slowly walked back to the starting point. "I think I will have to give him a stint this time."
As he faced the mark, he gathered his energies in every part of his body, felt his muscles strain, knew his nerves were at their highest tension.
"He's going to lay himself out this time," said one of the spectators to another. "Seventeen feet will not be mentioned again."
Down the strip shot Rains. He reached the mark, and went flying through the air like a bird, bringing a cry to the lips of those watching, for they saw he had gone far ahead of the first jump.
"That was a beauty!" exclaimed Bascomb, speaking to Wat Snell, who stood watching.
"It was a good jump," said Snell; "but Merriwell will beat it."