“That’s so. If Stevenson can get first——”
“Here they go for the eight-eighty,” interrupted the other. “Say, there’s a bunch of them, eh? Who’s the tall guy from Broadwood?”
“I don’t know. Fleming, probably; he’s their crack.”
They watched anxiously while the fourteen youths sped away from their marks and jostled into their places at the turn. All the way to the beginning of the home-stretch, the runners remained well grouped. Then the tall Fleming settled down to business, and as he crossed the line for the start of the last lap, sprang into the lead and swept around the corner yards ahead. It was a grand race after that, with Fleming and two teammates running close together, and three Yardley men grouped some ten yards behind. After them the field strung away for two hundred yards.
“Gee, that looks like fast running,” muttered Dan.
“You’d better believe it!” agreed Durfee, excitedly. “Come on, Yardley! Close up on ’em!”
Of course the Yardley runners never heard Durfee’s request, but two of them at that moment began to sprint. One Broadwood man fell back, and for the last two hundred yards the four leaders fought desperately. Fleming was never headed, but Warren, of Yardley, nosed out the next Broadwood fellow for second place, and a third wearer of the blue added another point by finishing a bad fourth. The time was 2:5⅗, and it broke the Dual record, and Broadwood lifted her fleet-footed Fleming on high, and bore him off to the tent in triumph.
“Result of the Running Broad Jump,” bawled the announcer. “Won by Hughes, Broadwood; distance, 19 feet, 10½ inches. Second: Roeder, Yardley; 19 feet, 7 inches. Third: Whittier, Yardley; 18 feet, 11 inches. Fourth: Hagan, Yardley; 18 feet, 4 inches.”
Yardley cheered vociferously.
“Result of the Pole Vault,” went on the announcer. “Won by Perkins, Broadwood——”