“They will if I have anything to say about it,” commented Tom grimly. “But maybe they won’t like it.”
The dispute was finally settled and the throwing went on. To Dan’s chagrin, and the despair of Holly Cross, Randall lost this event by the narrow margin of one inch. It went to Exter, and there was a riot of cheers from her supporters.
But the pole vault turned the tables, and Phil hurled himself over the bar in magnificent style, clearing ten feet seven inches, and winning the contest. And, as if that was not enough, Ned Warren, another Randall lad, was but an inch below this, he too beating the best performance of either of the other three colleges.
“We win twice in this event,” said Holly, who had tied the best man of Exter in the vault. “If they’d only let us count it twice we’d be all right.”
“But we’re coming on,” declared Kindlings, and, when the hundred yard dash also went to the wearers of the maroon and yellow, Bean Perkins could not contain himself.
“Cut loose, boys! Cut loose!” he ordered, and the “Automobile chorus” was fairly howled by the delighted cheerers.
“Three out of five events we need,” remarked Holly, as he and Dan were busy figuring up the points scored. “We may get the high jump, but if we don’t, and Tom and Sid make good, we’ll win the championship.”
“I hope we win the high,” said Dan. “Berry Foster is in fine trim, and I don’t like cutting it so fine as to leave the last two events to clinch things. No telling what may happen to Sid or Tom, though they’re both feeling fit as fiddles they say. Oh, if we can only get the high!”
“Don’t want everything,” suggested Holly with a laugh. “There they go for it. Come on over and watch.”
Randall’s lads made a gallant attempt to bring home the high jump, but it was not to be, and Boxer Hall carried off the coveted trophy, while her sons sang and cheered themselves hoarse.