“And the other one’s Goodyear, or I’ll eat my hat!” muttered Alf. “Say, who’s got a piece of paper. Let’s keep score on them as they finish. We can’t wait around here until those silly judges get through figuring it up or we’ll never make school in time for luncheon.”
“Here’s an envelope you can have,” said Dan. “Got your pen?”
“Yes. Look at Goodyear, Tom! He’s passing him, by Jove! Come on, you Goody! Eat him up!”
Nearer and nearer came the leaders, heads back now and arms hanging listlessly. It was a gallant fight for four miles in time that set a dual record for the distance that has never yet been surpassed over the course. A hundred feet from the finish the two were running side by side. At half the distance Goodyear went ahead. Scott tried his best to pull down the scant lead, but the Yardley man held it to the line, crossing a bare two feet to the good and securing for the Dark Blue the individual honors of the meet, no matter what might happen later. Yardley’s cheers filled the air, and, after the first moment of disappointment, Broadwood added a hearty cheer for her rival to the applause she accorded Scott.
“Yardley, 1; Broadwood, 2,” murmured Alf, setting the figures down. “So far so good. Any more in sight, Tom?”
“Don’t see any, but there’s a lot of chumps on the road. Some one ought to make ’em keep off.”
There was a wait then until the next group appeared. At sight of them Yardley again broke into shouts, for the runner ahead wore the blue stripe.
“It’s Maury,” said Alf. “I know the way he runs. The others are both Broadwood chaps.”
Maury finished well ahead and Andrews and Crossett, of Broadwood, got fourth and fifth place respectively.