Bert Wilson, Marathon Winner

by J. W. Duffield

Supper despatched, they hunted up Drake, and together with Tom talked with him until it was close to eight o’clock. Then they walked forward, and descended to the seamen’s quarters. At intervals other athletes, who had been ‘let in’ on the secret, kept dropping in, until a goodly company had arrived.

“Well, ye’re on toime, Oi see,” remarked Donahue, “and how do ye feel, youngster?” addressing Drake. “Are ye ready to have yer back broke?”

“About the same as you are, I guess,” replied Drake, nonchalantly, and his companions grinned. It was evident that their candidate was without fear, at any rate.

The preliminaries were soon arranged, and Drake and the sailor faced each other at opposite extremities of a cleared space perhaps twenty feet square. Bert had been selected to act as second for Drake, and a big Swede, Olsen by name, had been nominated as Donahue’s second. Both Drake and the sailor were dressed in gray flannel shirts and short athletic trunks, and under this thin covering their splendid physical development could be plainly seen.

Donahue’s muscles were knotted and bunched, while Drake’s lay flatter and were much less prominent. To the untrained eye the sailor seemed much the stronger of the two, but Bert knew better. Otherwise they were much the same height and weight, and there seemed little to choose between them.

The referee gave the starting signal, and Drake and the seaman approached each other warily, each stepping lightly as a cat. In spite of their boasting before the contest, each man realized that he would have all he could do to win, and they were careful accordingly. At first they circled agilely round and round, each seeking for a favorable opening. Suddenly Drake sprang in, but before he could secure the hold he wanted, the nimble sailor had leaped aside, and for a few seconds they stood looking at each other. Then the wary circling began again, but this time it was Donahue who rushed in. He was more fortunate than Drake, and secured a hold. Drake also got a good grip on him, however, and for a moment they stood quiet, gathering their strength for the real struggle. Then with a sudden giant heave Donahue sought to lift his adversary off his feet, but Drake was as supple as a snake, and with a convulsive movement tore himself out of the sailor’s grasp and sprang free. Donahue was after him in a trice, and again they grappled, but this time it was Drake who got the better hold. With a heave and a lunge he lifted his giant opponent entirely clear of the floor, and sent him crashing down on his side. He followed up his advantage like a flash, but in spite of his great bulk the sailor was very quick, and had recovered somewhat, so that, try as he might, Drake was unable to put him on his back. Finally he was forced to give up the attempt, and the seaman sprang to his feet. They were about to engage again when the referee stepped in and declared a short time for rest. Both men were panting heavily, and were evidently in need of it.

They retired to their respective sides of the square, and Bert anxiously asked Drake if he felt all right. “Sure thing,” responded the latter, “give me a minute to get my wind and I’ll be as strong as ever. That fellow is a mighty husky brute, though. I’ve certainly had my hands full with him.”

On his part, the big Irishman felt surprised that he had not ended the contest before this, and so expressed himself to his second. “Begorry,” he muttered. “The young felley knows all the tricks o’ the game, and then some. I went to jam me elbow into him when we were mixin’ it up there, and he blocked me as neat as ever you see. Curse me if the young spalpheen didn’t seem to be ixpictin’ it.”

“Yah, he bane foxy one, you bet,” responded the Swede, “but you yust go in an’ smash him up now. He bane easy for you.”

At this point the referee announced the recommencement of the contest, and again the wrestlers fenced for a hold. Then they dashed in, grasped each other, and for a moment stood motionless as though rooted to the spot. Gradually, each began to exert his strength, ounce by ounce, seeking by sheer brute force to bend the other backward. Their muscles swelled and stood out under the skin, but at first neither seemed to gain an advantage. Then, slowly, very slowly, the big sailor bent backward—further and further—until he could stand it no longer. With a yell he collapsed and went to the floor, with Drake on top of him. In a second the athlete had the giant’s shoulders touching the floor, and the referee called a “down.”