Crack! sounded the pistol a second later, and there was a spurt of fire and smoke.
Tom found himself well off with the leaders, and a hasty glance back showed Phil on even terms with him. Tom wanted to shout an encouraging word to his chum, but refrained as he knew he would need his breath.
Tom ran as he had seldom run before. He felt that he was in fine trim, and he almost wished it was one of the big events of the main meet, instead of a preliminary hurdle contest. Phil, too, was coming on.
Almost abreast of Tom was Lem Sellig, Frank Sullivan, Roger Barns, and Ted Puder of Fairview, while, a little further on, he made out Dave Ogden, George Stoddard, Pinkey Davenport and Lynn Ralling of Boxer Hall. He saw a number of the Exter lads, but did not know them by name.
[Now came the first hurdle. Tom took it easily], and went on without a break in his stride. Not so some of the others who fell back a trifle. Then another stretch, and more hurdles. The pace was beginning to tell on them all.
There was a crash just behind Tom. He half turned his head to look, and saw Phil go down, his foot having caught on a top bar. But the plucky lad was up again in a moment, though he was hopelessly outdistanced.
It was over in what seemed a remarkably short time—that first heat, the best time being a not very remarkable performance. To Tom’s chagrin neither he nor Phil qualified for the finals.
The second batch of runners came up to the marks. Once more they were off, and the crowd set up a cheer. Some of the Randall lads were in this, and Bean and his crowd cheered and sung to them to the echo. One Randallite qualified in this round.
Then came two more heats until the final was about to be run off—the one just before the big quarter-mile race that would decide the championship in that class.