At Start and Finish

by William Lindsey

"It is certainly 'up to Boardman' now," said Tom, as the men went to their marks for the "quarter." "Unless he can pull this off we are counted out, and no mistake."

The young Yale Freshman had before this run half round the track, to limber up a bit, and appeared right on edge.

There was hardly a sound as the men waited for the signal. Nobody cared to talk as they took their places for that most punishing of all distances, the "quarter mile," and every one watched the little bunch of men in the far corner of the field.

Hollins, the stocky little Oxford man, was away first, as if for one hundred yards. He drew Boardman and Fisher after him at a killing pace, Davison running easily behind. Round the first turn they came, Boardman inside and on practically even terms with Hollins, the tall Yale man looking a bit anxious even then. Down the stretch they sprinted, still at top speed. At the last turn Boardman shot ahead, and for a brief second looked all over a winner. It was only for a second, however, for Hollins swung wide, and Davison came through like a locomotive, as strong and speedy. Boardman made a plucky effort, but the big "Cantab" would not be denied; he came to the front thirty yards from the finish, and the best the Yale man could do was to stagger over, five yards to the bad, and dead run out. Whether or no he would have done any better if he had stayed back instead of following Hollins I cannot tell.

"Poor old Yale," said Furness, contemplatively, when the applause had died out, the Americans joining gamely, although they knew their last hope went with this event. "Poor old Yale, it was not always thus. I can remember a time when Yale men had a very pretty knack of breaking the worsted and letting the other fellows run between the posts, but this is not Yale's day nor year."

We now had time to watch the "high jumping," which was going on in front of us and a little to the right. The bar had reached five feet ten inches, and Paget-Tomlinson had gone out at five-five. Rotch comes first and is over, although he touches the bar, and it trembles a moment uncertain. Adair is over too. The English lad takes his run a bit across and goes over with a grand lift from his long legs. Here comes Rice, who has not yet pulled off his sweater, although the bar is already several inches over his head. The little chap bends forward, gets on his toes, gives a short run straight at it, lifts in the air like a bird, shoots over, turning in the air meanwhile, lands lightly with his face to the bar he has just cleared, and runs back under it to his place. It is the prettiest performance for a high jump that the Colonel has ever seen, and he applauds vigorously, as do many others. At the next lift of the bar Rotch goes out, for he has not been himself quite, and is not equal to the six feet which he has so often negotiated. We expected also to see Adair drop out here, for five eight and one-fourth had been his best record; but he showed daylight between himself and the bar, and for the first time I began to be anxious. I truly did not care which team won, but I did not want to see anything worse than a five-four, and it looked now as if it might be a six-three.

Up goes the bar to five-eleven, and again both Adair and Rice are equal to the task before them. With Adair it is the performance of a grand natural jumper, but with Rice it is all this, and a style that must be worth inches to him.

At six feet the Oxford man did not go at the bar with quite the determination he had previously shown, and down it came. Rice now pulls off his sweater for the first time, showing how well put together he is from head to foot. Straight for the bar he goes, just the same as when it was at five-six, and he clears it with apparently the same ease as at the lower distance. Adair struggles gamely, but his last try is unsuccessful, and the score stands four to four, with only the "three-mile" left.

I could see very plainly now that the Colonel was getting a bit nervous. "Do you consider this a certain thing for Workman?" he asked me, after Tom had declared that the Americans had no chance at all, and that the contest was all over "but the shouting."