“Wait a bit!” cried Paddy. “There’s two of them there. Who’s the second chap?”
Paddy was right. Directly behind the St. Eustace runner sped a second youth, so close that he seemed to be treading upon the former’s heels.
“It’s one of our fellows, Don!” cried Dave.
“I don’t think so. I—oh, why doesn’t he come out so that we can see!”
“I’m afraid it’s another Shrewsburg chump,” said Paddy dolefully. “Oh, hang the luck, anyhow!”
“Wait!” cried Don. “He’s coming out! There—there he comes! He’s trying to pass, and—and——”
“It’s Wayne!” cried Dave and Paddy in unison.
And Wayne it was. Slowly, doggedly, he drew from his place back of the St. Eustace man and fought his way inch by inch alongside. The cheering spectators saw the wearer of the blue glance swiftly at the Hillton runner and throw back his head. But the boy beside him refused to be thrown off and down the course they came together, their tired limbs keeping time to the frenzied cheers of the throng.
“St. Eustace wins! Keller’s ahead!”
“Hillton’s race! Gordon leads!”