“You just bet he has; he’s worried to death!” This from Williams, who was scowling blackly. “He deserves to lose it.”
“And Nesbitt deserves to win it,” said Dick.
“Humph! You seem to have changed your tune!”
Dick accepted the gibe good-naturedly.
“I have; I think Nesbitt’s the headiest youngster I’ve seen in a long while, and as for Taylor——”
The bell clanged loudly, announcing the beginning of the last lap, and every fellow in the balcony was on his feet in the instant. As he took the first turn Taylor glanced hurriedly back and met the unwavering and, as it seemed to him, relentless stare of Trevor, and putting every effort into his work again increased his pace. Everybody was shouting now, but as the two runners passed under the seniors’ balcony one voice sounded more loudly than all:
“Good work, Nesbitt!”
And Trevor heard it and recognized Dick Hope’s voice, and for an instant a smile crossed his face. Then the second incline was under his feet, and he had to use care lest he trip. But he got safely over, and now the time for his final effort had come. Into the back-stretch he sped, and the watchers held their breath, for foot by foot the lost ground was being eaten up by his flying feet. Then a burst of applause shook the rafters and Taylor, running despairingly, heard the other lad’s feet at his side, strove to goad his wearied limbs into faster strides, and found with dismay at his heart that he had reached his limit.
At the third corner Trevor with a final effort leaped into the lead, hugging the inside of the track. At the last corner he was a yard to the good, and from there down to the finish line, where Kernan and Chalmers and Johnston leaped frantically about the floor, he held his vantage, and so toppled over into eager, outspread arms, aching, breathless, and weak, but winner of the race. And as he stretched himself gratefully on the mattress he heard the timekeeper announce: