Two days later there came the final cut in the first squad and six disappointed candidates were turned over to the second team. One of the six was a pitcher, but his name was not Baker. It was Kelly.
CHAPTER XVI
THE TRACK MEET
It was Saturday afternoon and Dud, squeezed into a seat on the little grandstand between Roy Dresser and Ernest Barnes, was watching the Track and Field Meeting of Grafton and Mount Morris. The baseball crowd had gone off to play the Rotan College Freshman Team and by what Dud considered a horrible error of judgment on the part of the coach he had not been taken along. Of course, he hadn’t expected to pitch even one inning against the college nine, but he did think that Mr. Sargent might have included him among the substitutes. How was a fellow to learn if he didn’t watch the team play? And to add to his sense of injury, Jimmy had actually accompanied the nine to play right field! Of course that was only because Boynton was entered in the athletic meet and someone had to take his place, but it didn’t make Dud any more reconciled. There were moments when he almost wished that the team would run up against the defeat that was predicted for it!
Still, those moments were of the past, for during the last half-hour Dud had been far too excited over the events taking place before his eyes to recall the injustice done him. The sprints, the half-mile, the high hurdles, the shot-put and the high jump had been decided and the rivals were within two points of each other, Mount Morris leading with 28. Just now nine eager youths, four wearing the green-and-white of Mount Morris and five the scarlet-and-gray of Grafton, were awaiting the pistol at the start of the quarter-mile and Dud’s eyes were riveted on them. Warren Yetter, on whom Grafton’s hopes rested, was the second man from the pole and, oddly enough, Kirkwell, the Mount Morris crack, was at his right elbow. Dud could see them talking to each other smilingly, but for all of that a bit constrainedly. Then the nine bodies poised, there was an instant’s silence and the sharp report of the starting pistol sounded on the still air. The runners leaped away, jockeyed for positions in the first dozen strides and swept past the stand like frightened deer. Dud was on his feet, and so too were all those around him. Inarticulate sounds made a background for the strident shouts and yells of encouragement. Along the grass a Mount Morris youth, an official of some sort, raced beside the runners, dangling a white sweater with a broad green band on it, yelping and urging. Now they were at the first corner, Kirkwell leading and Yetter a yard behind him. Tenney, of Grafton, strove to pass Yetter on the outside and was followed closely by a Mount Morris runner. At the next corner the first four were strung out and hugging the rim: Kirkwell, Yetter, Tenney and Number 54. Dud sought hurriedly for his program to discover the identity of Number 54, realized the next moment that he didn’t care, swept his gaze back across the field quickly and joined his voice in the roar that swept from the stand. Yetter was sprinting gamely now. Only a yard separated him from Kirkwell. Tenney was certain of third place. The finish was only a few yards away. Yetter crept up and up! The shouts increased. The stand was a pandemonium. The officials, packed about the finish line, were waving and shouting, too, all but the judges and timers. Yetter and Kirkwell swept to the line side by side! Or did they? Wasn’t the Mount Morris man a little ahead as they disappeared behind the group there? The tumult had quieted, but now it broke forth again and the shouting came from the other end of the stand. Across the field a half-dozen jubilant Mount Morris fellows were tossing their hats in air and signaling victory!
“That was a peach of a finish,” said Roy Dresser, with a sigh of relief. “Warren almost had him.”
“That puts them another point ahead,” said Dud, grudgingly crediting Mount Morris with 5. “Gee, I thought Yetter was supposed to have the four-forty cinched!”
“I guess he ran it inside his best time,” replied Roy. “Kirkwell was better, that’s all.”
The announcer was bawling forth the result: “Four-Hundred-and-Forty-Yards-Run! Won by C. J. Kirkwell, Mount Morris! W. H. Yetter, Grafton, second; A. L. Tenney, Grafton, third. Time, 52⅗ seconds!”
“Wow!” exclaimed Roy. “That’s a fifth better than the dual record! I told you Warren was going some!”