We had counted on eight points in the quarter-mile race, but all we got was three, for almost at the start Carstein of Chamberlain left everyone behind and won by fully thirty yards! That was the trouble with Chamberlain; you never could tell what mischief it would cause.
They called us out for the two-hundred-and-twenty-yard hurdle race. The Maynard man and I were nip and tuck at the second hurdle. I was a little quicker on the cinders than he, but he hurdled a good three inches lower than I, and that made things even. But at the fourth hurdle he got down too low and went over the bar. That put him out of pace a little, and I ran for all I was worth. I tipped the next hurdle myself, but not enough to throw me out.
At the seventh, I think it was, I was running even with the chap at the far side of the track and the Maynard fellow was behind. After that I put every ounce into beating the unknown—for there was no time to see who he was—and we had a battle royal. We came over the last hurdle right together, and only my speed on the ground beat him, and then by very little. Maynard finished a close third. And when I turned round and looked at the chap I’d beaten, I found it was one of our own men. Bert Poole, who had never won a place before in his life!
We felt better after that, for those eight points put us ahead; but when presently Maynard won six points in the furlong dash and Chamberlain got the remaining three, we began to worry again. The results from the field events then began to come in, and added to our anxiety. Chamberlain had taken first in the high jump, as we expected, but Maynard had left us only third place. In the broad jump Maynard had won first place and third, and given us second. In the pole vault that troublesome Chamberlain had again taken first; Maynard had taken second and Preston third. In the shot put we had first and second, and Maynard had taken third. In the hammer throw Maynard had beaten us for first, we had taken second and Chamberlain third. When we had finished figuring we could hardly believe our eyes. The score stood:
Preston 40
Maynard 40
Chamberlain 28
The two-mile run, the last event, would decide the meet. And there was Beckner.
Of course we had not lost faith in Carl, but big, strong Beckner was clearly the freshest man on the field, and he would take a lot of beating. We had to have first place to win the meet. Second and third would not be enough, unless Fuller of Chamberlain got first. In that case the championship would go to the school that took second. We did not know whether Fuller was going to run or not, and we were pretty anxious to find out. Only Bobby seemed cheerful.
“We can beat them,” he said. “Why, Carl can make circles round Beckner, and as for Fuller, that mile run used him all up.”