“Go!” she shouted, and the girls sprang away, each doing her very best from the start. For the quarter-mile run leaves little space for jockeying. It is soon over, and the contestant who gets off ahead is quite frequently the winner.
The six girls were not so unevenly matched; and they started well on a line. For the first few yards they kept together.
But then the pace began to tell. For fifty yards, say, they were matched to a degree; then it was plain that only two of them had the “sand” to keep up that killing pace for long.
Bobby and one other forged ahead. Breast to breast, their arms working in unison, their stride equal, the two girls passed ahead of the others and shot along the track with unabated swiftness.
The girls behind were panting, and falling back. One wavered and dropped out entirely when she had run but a furlong. The others clung to the track, however, doing their very best to record a fair time, at least. They had learned under Mrs. Case to play the game out, no matter how badly they seemed to be beaten.
Bobby and the girl with her felt the strain growing, however. Unless the runner is experienced, the dogged perseverance of a close opponent is likely to rattle one at the last moment. As the two came down the stretch and the watching girls began to cheer and “root” for their favorite contestant, the runners felt their nerve going.
A misstep now would cause the loss of the race to one, or to the other. Bobby tried not to see the girls along the track, or to think of the one pounding away beside her.
She was breathing with comparative ease herself; but the sound of the other girl’s breathing pumped in her ears, louder and louder! And how loudly her footbeats were, too!
Could she only get away from those sounds—leave them behind her—clear the rushing air about her of those noises!
There was the line stretched across the track. She knew it was there because Laura stood with it in her hand. If she could only breast that ribbon first!