“All right here!” he called.
A breathless moment followed. Heads bent close above the official as he tautened his end of the tape over the wooden rim.
“One hundred,” announced the judge, “and ... twenty ... five feet and....”
But what the inches were Perry didn’t hear. A wild shout of rejoicing arose from the friends of Clearfield. Fudge had won second place and Clearfield had captured the meet!
After that all was confusion and noise. Perry suddenly found himself shaking hands laughingly with Mr. Addicks, although what the latter said he couldn’t hear. Then his attention was attracted to a commotion nearby as the crowd pushed and swayed. On the shoulders of excited, triumphant schoolmates, Fudge, half in and half out of his crimson robe, was being borne past. He espied Perry and waved to him, and Perry forced his way through the throng just as Guy Felker reached up and placed the purple pennant in Fudge’s hand.
“W-w-w-what’s this?” stammered Fudge.
“It’s yours, Fudge!” shouted Guy. “You’ve won the meet and you get the pennant!”
“B-b-but I d-d-didn’t w-w-win this, d-d-did I?” gasped Fudge.
“You bet!”
“W-w-well, but wh-wh-why?”