Ricos swept by, he had gained the first lap easily; but only a faint cheer greeted him. It was thought by many that the collision was intended, and all eyes were fixed on the little figure in the blue jersey, now the very last in the race, but who, having been assisted to his seat by the rose-coloured bath-robe, was now wheeling manfully along in the rear. Adelaide opened her eyes and waved her handkerchief as he passed the stand.
“Go it, Jim; go it! You’ve got the sand,” yelled the Woodpecker; while Stacey, the bath-robe cast aside, came forging up, running at Jim’s side; in his friendly anxiety to see that all was right, unconsciously breaking his own previous record as a sprinter. If he had been timed just then even his most enthusiastic friends would have been astonished. But, convinced that Jim was gaining, he contented himself with cutting across the Oval to note his place at the end of the second lap. Ricos had held his own, and passed the stand well ahead of all the other competitors; but Jim was making up and had distanced two of the laggards, his legs propelling like the driving-bars of an engine.
“He’s gaining!” cried Mr. Van Silver. “I should not wonder if he caught up with the other fellow; for, see, he has two more rounds to make.”
When he passed the stand for the third time and the starter rang the bell which announced that this was the last lap, Jim had passed all the others and was following Ricos at a distance of only a few rods. He looked up toward us with a pitiful smile on his wan face. “Cheer, boys, cheer!” cried the Woodpecker, “you don’t applaud half enough. Whoop ’em up, Tub! Hurry up, Jim! Hurry up! Go it for all you’re worth!”
“Take it easy—easy!” roared Stacey, who saw that the boy was straining every nerve. “Take your time, Jim. You’ve got him, now. Take—your—time!”
The spectators were nearly all silent. The boys belonging to other schools, seeing that there was no hope for their own champions, had ceased to applaud and were now deeply interested in the two cadets. Rosario Ricos had fainted, and Miss Noakes was calling shrilly for water, but even Mr. Mudge was so much absorbed in the contest that he paid no attention to her appeal. People near me held their breath in suspense. It reminded me of Gérome’s picture of the chariot race, and the fall had been not unlike the one described in “Ben Hur.”
“Why is it,” whispered Adelaide, “that Jim has tied a crimson ribbon just below his knee? Red is not a cadet colour; see it flutter against his leg.”
I saw the crimson streak to which she referred; but a swift intimation flashed upon me that this was no ribbon, but a little rill of blood flowing from a gash cut by Ricos’s wheel. I contrasted Jim’s face, deadly pale, with that of Ricos’s, flushed to a dark purple, and wondered whether his strength would hold out to the end. I need have had no fear, Jim was clear grit through and through. As he neared the goal he set his teeth and bent nearly flat, throwing no glance this time in our direction, but with graze fixed straight before him, he worked the pedals with wonderful velocity and swooped forward, like a little hawk, far beyond Ricos, and past the finish, on, on, as though the momentum of that final spurt would never be exhausted. The thunder of applause which burst forth at this exploit was something which I had never heard equalled. The spectators all stood upon the benches, the ladies waving their handkerchiefs, hats, and scarfs, crying and laughing hysterically. The men yelled and shouted themselves hoarse. Every kazoo, tin horn, rattle, and other instrument of torture sounded forth its discordant triumph. The boys stamped and hooted. The cadets, to a man, acted like raving maniacs. Even Buttertub, who had no love for Jim, led his gang with “Bully for Armstrong!” “Hi—yi—whoop, three times three and a tiger!” “Hooray! Hooray! Hooray! What’s the matter with Armstrong? He’s all right!”
“’Rah, ’Rah, ’Rah—ta-tara-da
Boomerum a boom-er-um.
Boom, boom, bang!”
But Jim was not all right. He heard the great roar of applause, but it sounded far, far away to his numbing senses. Then all the light went out of the sweet spring landscape, and he toppled over, bicycle and all, into Stacey’s friendly arms. No one was surprised to see him stretched upon the grass wrapped in the rose-coloured bath-gown, for it was a common thing for victors to faint just as they secured their laurels. “He’ll be up in a minute; Stacey is rubbing his feet,” Mr. Van Silver asserted reassuringly. “Good-hearted fellow, that Stacey. He’s devoted to your brother.” But Adelaide watched him anxiously, until a crowd of boys closed around him and hid him from her view. How terribly long he lay there—could anything serious be the matter? Suddenly Polo’s brother came running toward us. “Is there any doctor on the grand stand!” he shouted; “if so, he’s wanted immejiently.”