Bert Wilson, Marathon Winner

by J. W. Duffield

“Gee, Bert,” said Dick, “I can’t tell you how I felt when I saw you go down in that mix-up. Just when you were getting ready to make your run, too. I’d been studying your gait right along and I knew by the way you were going that you had plenty in reserve. I was counting the race already won. But when you went into that tangle of legs and arms, I figured that it was all up with us.”

“I thought so myself,” answered Bert, “that is, as soon as I could think anything. At first my head went round like a top, and for a second or two I didn’t know where I was. Then I saw the heels of the fellows way up in front and I made up my mind that they should see mine.”

“And they did all right,” chuckled Drake, “but it was a hundred to one shot that they wouldn’t. That run of yours was the pluckiest thing I ever saw, as well as the speediest. Like the ‘Charge of the Light Brigade,’ it sure was a forlorn hope.”

“Well,” said Bert, “it’s like baseball. The game’s never over until the last man is out in the ninth inning, no matter how far the other fellows may be ahead. As it was, I only got there by the narrowest of squeaks. That winged-foot fellow put up a nervy fight. By the way, how is Brady? I hope he wasn’t hurt by the tumble.”

“Oh, he’s all right,” answered Axtell. “He scraped a big patch of skin off his thigh, but he came staggering along and finished among the first ten. The showing he made was good enough to guarantee that he’ll be taken along with the rest of us.”

But just then Reddy the tyrant—a very good-natured tyrant at present—intervened, and although they protested that they were too excited to sleep, shooed them off to their berths.

“Tell that to the marines,” he grinned. “Ye’ll be asleep before your head fairly touches the pillow.” And, as usual in things physical, Reddy was right.

The next few weeks were exceedingly busy ones. Examinations were coming on and Bert was up to his eyes in work. He had never let sport interfere with his studies and his standing in the class room had been as high as his reputation on the track. Then there were the countless odds and ends to be attended to that always accumulate at the end of the college year. Every day, without fail, Reddy put him through his paces, having in mind the forthcoming ocean voyage when regular training would be difficult and limited.

Tom in the meantime had returned, still bearing some traces of his terrible ordeal in the mountains. The poison had been eliminated from his system, thanks to the doctor’s skill and the careful oversight of Mr. Hollis, but he was not yet his former self. It had been decided that a sea trip was the one thing needed to bring about his entire restoration to health. Dick had no such excuse, but he had put it up to his parents with so much force that he simply must see the Olympics that they had at last consented. By dint of much correspondence and influence exerted in the right quarters, they had been able to arrange for passage on the same steamer that was to convey Bert and the rest of the Olympic team. So that the “Three Guardsmen,” as they had been dubbed because they were always together, rejoiced at the prospect of a summer abroad under these rare conditions. And there were no happier young fellows than they in America on that memorable day when they went over the gang-plank of the steamer that was to carry them and their fortunes.

The Northland had been specially chartered for the occasion. The contestants alone numbered nearly two hundred, and when to these were added trainers, rubbers, reporters, officials and favored friends, this figure was more than doubled. The Olympic Committee had done things in lavish style, and the funds contributed by lovers of sport all over the country had given them abundance of means. They had learned from previous experience the disadvantages of having the athletes go over on the regular liners. The rich food of the ship’s tables, the formality that had to be observed, the class distinctions of first, second and third cabins and the difficulty of keeping in condition had wrecked or lessened the chances of more than one promising candidate.