As their event was scheduled to come off at the very last of the meet, Frank and Larry could take things easy, while waiting for the time to arrive when the long-distance race would be called.
“Have you noticed that quite a lot of our dark-faced friends of the gypsy camp are present?” Lanky asked his chum, as they stood waiting for the crack of the pistol which would send the sprinters on their furious rush over the short distance that had been marked out for them.
“Yes, and I saw a couple talking with a farmer,” replied Frank, laughing. “Guess they’ve got a dicker on with him, from the way they acted. Say, they’ll be glad they took your advice, and held over here. Perhaps they’ll do the biggest day’s business ever. Look at that Clifford football snapback, will you? They say he’s winged lightning on the short dash; and I want to see if it’s so.”
“Well, the referee is gettin’ ready to send the bunch off, so keep your good eye peeled on him then; because if he can go that fast, we might lose sight of him altogether. Wow! they’re off, Frank! That was a great start, I tell you!”
CHAPTER XX
CLIFFORD’S NEW HOPE
Almost before some of the crowd knew it had begun, the fifty-yard dash was over. Coddling had won!
“White Wings just flew the coop, and landed the first prize!” whooped a wild Clifford enthusiast, as he jumped up and down in his excitement.
“And we’ve got a few surprises like Coddling up our sleeve, Columbia!” cried a second proud student, who wore the colors of the down-river school.
“He did carry it off, sure as anything!” remarked Lanky, feeling a little discouraged. “And I thought our man, Paul Bird, had a sure thing.”
“Paul entered in the wrong class there,” remarked Frank. “Just wait till you see him run in the hundred-yard race, and the quarter-mile. They’ve got them so scattered that he can rest up good, between each one. Didn’t you notice that while the Clifford fellow went like the wind at first, Paul was cutting down his lead in great shape when they crossed the line?”