“I’m not,” replied Tom, as he completed his preparations.
“Come on, fellows, get a move on,” pleaded Holly, and soon those who were going to fight for the honor of Randall tumbled out of the dressing rooms, and trotted across the track and field.
“There they are, boys! There they are!” yelled Bean Perkins, wildly waving a much-beribboned cane at his crowd of shouters. “All together now! Give ’em, ‘We’re going to beat the three of you, and take your warlocks home!’”
The song was given with a will, and from then on there was a pandemonium of sound, as the shouting contingents of the various colleges sought to put heart and courage into their representatives.
There was a final consultation of the arrangement committee, the starters, timers, judges were given their instructions, and the contestants were told to get in readiness. There had been some warm-up practice, and scores of eager lads were but awaiting the crack of the pistol.
“Remember boys,” Holly impressed on the Randallites. “We can’t expect to win every event, but we’ve just got to get five out of the eight to clinch the championship. We’ve already lost the hurdle race, but if we get the mile run, the broad jump, the pole vault, a hammer throw and one other we can win, for they count the most. Get more if you can, but remember, we need the five.”
Wallace, the Exter manager, passed by, nodding to Holly and the others.
“Everything all right?” he asked.
“Sure,” answered Holly heartily.
“No bad feelings, I hope, on account of our protest?”