The jumping standards were set and the competitors ranged themselves along the edge of the track, their sweaters and dressing-gowns of all colors thrown loosely about their bare shoulders. The Clerk of Course could be heard at the dressing-room door summoning the men for the next event:
“All out for the two miles!”
The sloping corners of the track rang with the footsteps of the candidates as they warmed up. There were fifteen entries, and among them were men from Harvard, Yale, Cornell, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Phillips Exeter Academy, and Erskine College. Erskine’s representative was rather nervous as, with his number flapping at his back, he was assigned the place at the pole in the front line. Beside him was a Cornell runner whose prowess was well known, and Allan Ware marveled at his own temerity. Surely, he had no chance against the Cornell man, nor, for that matter, against several of the others. Well, he would run as well as he knew how and take his beating philosophically.
The fact was, that the intense excitement was unnerving him. And that was why, when the starter had cried “Set!” Allan dashed forward, taking half the line with him. For this misdemeanor he and three others were promptly relegated to the last row. Then the command came again and the pistol cracked.
At the first turn Allan had to fight to keep from being hustled from the track. After the next corner the runners had settled down to their work, a New York man making easy pace. Allan was well in front. The nervousness had left him now and he had no thought for the cheering spectators, for the blaring strains from the band, for anything, in short, save the struggle on hand. Lap after lap was reeled off until the race was half finished. Allan was still holding his own, with the consciousness of much power in reserve. The New York man still kept the lead, while close on his heels ran one of the Cornell contingent.
Presently a Yale man fought his way up to Allan, and for half a lap they contested fifth place. Then, at a turn, the Yale man took the bank and slid into the lead, and Allan was sixth. He expected changes ahead. Of course the New York runner would not attempt to keep the lead much longer. He would drop back, Allan would overhaul the Yale chap, and in the last two laps he would call on the reserve power he was certain he had and fight it out to the finish.
He looked back. The nearest runner was several yards away and didn’t appear dangerous. The relative positions remained unchanged for another lap, and then things began to happen.
The Yale man dropped back, a second Cornell man—Allan recognized him as the one who had been beside him at the start—spurted into third place, and Allan found himself still running fifth. He had lost count of the laps, but believed there could not be more than two left.
So he started to crawl up. At the next corner, that by the dressing-rooms, he passed the Cornell man who had been second for so long; his duty was done and he was easing up on his pace. Down the stretch Allan gained on a Technology runner, but failed to pass him. Suddenly the gong announcing the last lap clanged. Allan glanced across the hall. The New York man was still in the lead, and was increasing that lead at every stride.
Allan threw back his head and fought for third place. On the next stretch footsteps sounded behind him. At the first corner Allan just succeeded in keeping the lead; on the short stretch, a Yale man passed him and left him as though standing. It was all up now; he was fifth, and there was no chance of bettering his position. The leader, well ahead of the Cornell man, was taking the last corner. The Yale man who had just passed Allan was taking third place hand over fist. The Technology runner was plainly faltering, and yet, thought Allan savagely, here was he, with all sorts of power of lung and muscle left, dragging along behind him!