Yet Dick insisted, and gamely tried to hobble back to the jumping path. The effort was vain. Things swam around him, and with a long sigh of disappointment he sank back on the ground. "All right, I'll quit," he said, and a moment later Johnson cleared the height, and the games were done.
Clinton--Fenton--Hopevale
30 32 34
It had been the closest meet in the history of the schools. Half an hour later, as Dick left the locker-room, leaning on Allen's shoulder, he heard Dave Ellis' voice, holding forth to a knot of admiring supporters from Hopevale.
"Turn his ankle? Not a bit of it," he was saying. "That's an old gag. He knew when he was licked. He's got no sand. He won't go into the Pentathlon now."
Dick shook off Allen's detaining hand and thrust open the door. "Sounds natural, Dave," he said, meeting Ellis' surprised glance with a rather grim smile, "but if it interests you to know it, he will go into the Pentathlon, and perhaps he'll make you hustle, too." He banged the door behind him and limped away, his hand on Allen's shoulder, down the stairs.
CHAPTER VIII
[ON DIAMOND AND RIVER]
The track meet was over, and Hopevale had scored three points toward the cup. Another victory, either in the ball game or the boat race, and the competition would be ended. And this victory they were bent on winning, while the other two schools were equally determined to wipe out defeat, and to overcome their rival's lead, in the three contests which remained.
On the Saturday after the track games came the first round in the base-ball league. Luck was with Fenton; they had the good fortune to draw the bye, and the small party of boys who went to see the game between Clinton and Hopevale was composed largely of experts, anxious to "get a line" on the opposing teams, and to note the strong and weak points in their play.
Until the last two innings it was a close and interesting contest. Prescott, the Clinton pitcher, proved a puzzle to his opponents, but his support was none of the best; and thus, while the Clinton team hit the Hopevale pitcher freely, the home nine, on the other hand, put up a splendid fielding game, and for seven innings the score was a tie, five to five. And then, in the eighth, there came, for Hopevale, one of those unhappy times, when things go from bad to worse with the rapidity of lightning. A base hit, a base on balls, and a sacrifice put men on second and third, with only one out; and then a clean two-bagger between center and right scored them both. After which the Hopevale team, in the slang of the game, "went up into the air."