He stepped out, dragging his beloved hammer after him, with a face that strove hard to hide his happiness. Hardy clapped him on the back as he passed to join Paddy, and the latter beamed upon him like the Cheshire cat. Hardy went in, glad of Dave’s victory over Trowbridge, but hoping for a victory, in turn, over Dave. But that was not to be. His first throw was a sorry attempt; his second scarcely better. But at the third try he put his whole soul into the task and his whole weight behind the flying ball, and when the judges stepped back they announced:
“One hundred and forty-eight feet eleven inches.”
“Eight points to Hillton!” cried some one, and several boys clapped loudly. Then the group broke up, Dave, Hardy, and Paddy mingling with the crowd that flowed across toward the dressing room, joy in their hearts.
“Ready for the mile!” called a voice, and in answer a squad of boys trotted across the field toward the starting point. Wayne and Whitehead were in the van and Paddy waved to them as they passed.
“Go in and win, Old Virginia!” And Wayne nodded smilingly, and hoped that his face wasn’t quite as white as it felt. Professor Beck, Don, and two Hillton coaches were waiting, and Don helped him off with his coat, and trotted along beside him while he limbered up.
“Wayne, this is what you’ve got to do,” he whispered. “Get to the front as soon as you can and look for Sturgis. If he’s ahead, stay with him no matter what pace he sets. If he’s behind, wait for him. Pay no attention to any others. It doesn’t matter who wins as long as St. Eustace doesn’t get a place. Sturgis is their only man that we need fear; so freeze to him, and don’t let him get away from you. Look out for tricks, though, for St. Eustace is going to try them, I’m sure. If she can get first or second men in she’ll have us beaten; if she can win third place she’ll tie us. Win if you can, but, whatever happens, down Sturgis!”
“Hurry up, milers!” called the clerk of the course. Don gave Wayne an affectionate clap on the shoulder.
“Go in, old man,” he whispered, “and remember Hillton every minute!”
There were twelve entries for the mile. St. Eustace, beside her crack long-distance runner Sturgis, had entered House and Gould, both men to be feared. Hillton was represented by Wayne and Whitehead, both new men and inexperienced; Hillton’s chances were not considered very good by the other schools. Northern Collegiate and Shrewsburg had each entered two runners, and the other schools were represented by one man apiece. Northern Collegiate was doing a deal of talking about a youth named Pope, of whom little was known to the other schools, and who was spoken of as a “dark horse” that stood a fair chance of winning. Wayne found himself placed between Pope, who turned out to be a heavily-built fellow of apparently nineteen, and a pale and nervous boy much younger in years, whose brown ribbon bore in gold letters the emblem “W. A. A. A.” Gould had the place next to the inner edge of the track, and Sturgis and Whitehead were together near the outer edge.