Still Dick clung to hope, thinking it possible Morgan might do something that would surprise every one.
Necker was satisfied. He knew he had done his handsomest and that he would fall back if he made another attempt. He had added some inches to his own best record, besides defeating Merriwell.
Dade Morgan, slender, graceful, and electric, walked toward the starting point.
“Who is he?” was the question asked by many in the stand.
“Oh, he’s one of Merriwell’s team,” was the answer. “He won’t cut much ice.”
In all his body Morgan felt the current of life running strong. He believed himself physically at the top notch. He was full of confidence.
In his college days he had never covered twenty-one feet, but something told him he was a better man than he had been in those days. He was matured; his powers were at their flood.
Crouching, he set his teeth and gripped his hands. He started slowly and surely, gathering speed and power. When he reached the take-off mark he was flying. Into the air he went, shooting forward like a bird on the wing. On and on he sailed. It was all over in a moment, but the spectators rose.
They knew Morgan had landed almost in the tracks of Necker.
Denton Frost actually staggered.