The Governor was about to say that the credit was due to Stoughton when he noticed that preparations were being made to start the race over again. Again the pistol sounded and the two were off, this time Cunningham doing a little better than before, but still a few feet behind Campbell. Toward the end he began to gain, and the Prescott House boys plucked up courage again and yelled themselves hoarse; but Campbell was still in the lead and finally won by about three feet. The rest of the games came out just as expected; and, as prophesied, the two-twenty-yard dash was the decisive match, giving the Master's cup to the Master's House with 98 points, as against Prescott House with 96 points, and the Founder's Cup going to Campbell, with 51 points as opposed to Cunningham's 50 points. And so the Master's House boys celebrated their victory, and the Prescott House boys celebrated their defeated hero's, "Skipper" Cunningham's, deeds with almost as much vigor as if they owned the cups. And really it was not much of a defeat after all.
After the games, before going back to the school to award the cups formally, the Governor went up to where Cunningham stood. "Cunningham," he said, holding out his hand, "I want to shake hands with you. I'm proud of my school and that you're in it, and I'm proud of you. I want to ask you what made you stop and offer to run the race over again."
"Why," said the "Skipper," blushing and confused and very much surprised, "what else could I have done?"
"I know," said Clinton, "but it was only one of the fortunes of war that is likely to happen in any contest. The race was yours, legally, even if Campbell did have an accident. Why shouldn't you have run it out and won the cup for your House and for yourself?"
"Oh," replied the "Skipper," simply, "but that wouldn't have been honorable. It wouldn't have been fair and square. No Copley boy would do that."
It was all said in so matter of course a way that the Governor saw that the idea that elsewhere such a thing was often done had never entered the boy's head. As he walked away, the boy's words rang in the Governor's ears: "Not fair and square." "Not honorable." "No Copley boy would do that."
How the Governor made a splendid speech, and how he called them all "old fellows," and how he spoke of the fine traditions of honor which Mr. Winthrop began and Mr. Stoughton was continuing, and how he told them interesting stories of political fights—where they would be tempted to forget some of the Copley standard of conduct—and how he praised old "Skipper" Cunningham and said he was as good as the victor, and how he said that he was going to present a cup to the school to be fought for every year, to be called the "Winthrop Cup," and to be given to the second best athlete, and how he said he wanted the "Skipper's" name to be placed first upon it, and how he proposed three cheers for "Popper" Stoughton—all these things are part of the school history, and are handed down from one class to another as they tell of that memorable "Governor's Day."
And then all the boys escorted him down to the station, and gave their school, class, and House yells, and nearly jerked his arm off in their anxiety to shake hands with him. And at six o'clock the Governor and his private secretary boarded the limited express, which was due to arrive at the great manufacturing city of Dunster at half-past seven, just in time for the rally.
"Well, Mr. Porter, I'm sorry you were busy writing out that dictation, for you missed a good time. I haven't had as much fun for years. But now comes the serious part of life again. Have you got my speech all written out?"
Porter produced it; and the Governor read it through, while the lines in his face deepened and his look became again severe and judicial. "I guess that is sufficiently strong," he said, when he had finished reading—"but no more so than the man deserves; isn't that so?" he burst out heartily.