The following Wednesday afternoon Wayne went over the mile, while Professor Beck and Don and a little group of fellows looked on and cheered his progress after each lap. He put his whole mind and energy into the task, and never altered the hard pace he had set himself up to the last half of the last quarter, despite the warnings of Don and the professor, who both timed him.
“He’s going too fast, I’m afraid,” said Don sorrowfully.
“I fear so,” answered the professor. “But maybe he knows what he can do; he’s improved wonderfully since the handicaps.”
When the last lap began Wayne let himself out just a trifle until at the end of the back stretch the little group was staring in surprise from the watches to the runner.
“He’s done it easily,” cried Don. “And look! Hanged if he isn’t spurting!”
Down the stretch came Wayne, his head back, his arms at his side, and running as though he was being paced by a steam engine. Over the line he dashed and the two watches stopped.
“Five minutes eight and a fifth seconds!” cried Don.
“Five minutes eight and a fifth seconds!” echoed the professor. The crowd clapped as Wayne trotted back, panting and flushed but evidently unwearied; and Don patted him joyfully on the shoulder.
“Eight and a fifth, Wayne!” he cried. Wayne looked for confirmation to the professor, who nodded as he dropped his watch back into his pocket.
“That will do for to-day, Gordon. Report at training table in the morning,” he said.