CHAPTER XI
THE LAST LAP
“All out for the mile run! Milers this way!”
Stuart was glad when the summons came, for the hour was growing late, the shadows were stretching far across the field and the air was getting decidedly chill. Even the woolen bathrobe no longer sufficed to keep the cold from his legs, and only by frequent exercising and rubbings was he able to hold the muscles from tightening. Many of the patient spectators were wandering shiveringly down from the stand to loiter up and down the side of the track. The field events were over, all save the pole vault. In that Ernest Lowe was still fighting for first place with Kendall, a lower middler and a horse of the darkest hue. Already the school record had been broken and there was every indication that the Dual record would share the same fate.
Neil swung himself over to where Stuart pranced about down beyond the first turn. “Go get ’em,” he called cheerfully as he approached across the turf. Stuart shook a gloomy head.
“A swell chance,” he protested. “Look at the handicap! A hundred and forty yards in a mile run! A lot of good that will be to me! And there’s Smiley over there with more than two hundred.”
“You’re better than he is, though, aren’t you?” asked Neil.
“Maybe a little,” allowed the other disconsolately. “But I’m too cold to run now. My muscles are all twisted up. It’s a crazy piece of business to keep us hanging around like this!”
“I guess the others are just as cold,” said Neil cheerfully. “There’s quite a bunch of you, isn’t there? Must be nearly twenty.”
“For two cents I’d quit,” muttered Stuart, looking back up the track that was sprinkled with runners.