“Not a bit. We’re going to win anyhow; so what’s the difference?”
“Nothing like feeling confident,” commented Wallace, with a laugh. “Sorry I can’t wish you luck, but we need this championship ourselves.”
“Come on now,” ordered Kindlings, bustling up. “The fifty-six pound weight throwing comes first. On the job, Dutch. I hope you beat me, and the same to you Barth.” George Barth had been substituted, some time back, for Bean Perkins, who said he would be of more service to Randall cheering for her, than competing in the weight-throwing contest.
“Oh, we’ll win all right,” asserted Dutch Housenlager, with an air of easy confidence, at which Kindlings shook his head.
There was a silence while the announcer made the statement about the opening event, and then, as the various contestants came forward, there were cheers for the representatives of each college.
“Everybody ready?” asked the judge, as he glanced at the twelve contestants lined up before him, for each college had entered three in the fifty-six event.
There were nods of assent, and then a coin was flipped to determine the order of succession. It fell to the lot of Fairview to go first, with Boxer Hall following, then Exter and finally Randall. Kindlings was glad of this, for he regarded it as an advantage for his lads to try to beat the records previously made by their opponents.
The Fairview lads stepped forward. They were husky, clean-cut young fellows, and as the first one took his place in the white, seven-foot circle there was a little murmur of applause.
He grasped the weight confidently, and soon had it swinging well. He let go with a puff of exertion, and watched anxiously as the distance was measured.