“The Star Spangled Banner, oh, long may it wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.”
The flag, his flag, “Old Glory,” never stained by defeat since it was flung to the breeze, victorious in every war for a hundred years, its shining stars undimmed by time, the pride and boast of the greatest country on God’s green earth! His feverish fingers touched the sash at his waist. “We have met the enemy and they are ours.” The Star-Spangled Banner!
Now he was running like a man possessed. Gone was pain, gone were bruises, gone the deadly weariness that dragged him down. His feet had wings. His heart sang. His eyes shone. He seemed inspired by superhuman strength. Like an arrow he shot past the Frenchman who was staggering on gamely, and step by step he gained on Dorner, the gallant German, who had been dubbed by his admirers “The Flying Dutchman.”
Flying he certainly was, spurred on by the wild yells of the German crowds, mad with joy at seeing their colors in front. But the shouts died down as Bert slipped by like a shadow, relentless as fate, close on the heels of the leader, grimly fighting for every inch.
And now the Stadium loomed up, gay with flaunting flags, and packed to the doors with a countless multitude wild with excitement. The word had been flashed along that a German was leading, and the crowds were on their feet, screaming like madmen. The Emperor and royal family, all ceremony thrown aside, were standing and shouting like the rest. The American contingent, despair eating at their hearts, sat glum and silent.
The twenty-six miles had been measured to end at the very doors, and the remaining three hundred and eighty-five yards of the Marathon distance was in the Stadium itself. Dorner entered first and Pandemonium reigned. Then a second figure shot through, running like the wind, at his belt the Stars and Stripes. And now it was America’s turn to yell!
Down the stretch they came, see-sawing for the lead. Before them gleamed the tape that marked the finish. No one had ever yet broken that tape ahead of Bert in a race. He swore that no one should do it now.
Nearer and nearer. What was it the fellows had said? “For the college.” “For the team.” “For the flag.” “For America.” He nerved himself for the last desperate spurt. Once more he called on the stout heart that had never failed him yet. A series of panther-like bounds, one wild tremendous leap and he snapped the tape. Again America had matched its best against the world, and again America had conquered!