CHAPTER V
THE INDOOR MEETING
The gymnasium was brilliantly lighted, and the seats that had beenplaced under the balconies were well filled, for, despite theinclemency of the weather, the town folks had turned out in forcefor the indoor meeting. The floor had been cleared of standards andbars, while ropes, rings, and trapezes had been relegated to the dimrecesses of the arching roof. A running track had been roped off onthe main floor, with inclined platforms at the corners of the hall toaid the runners at the turns, while the regular track above was turnedinto a temporary gallery from which the fellows who were not going tocompete--and there were about a hundred and fifty of them--viewed thefun, leaning far over the railing, laughing, shouting, and singingexcitedly. The four classes had gathered each to itself as far as waspossible; the seniors on the left, the upper middle class on the right,the lower middle at one end of the hall and the juniors at the other.In front of them long draperies of class colors festooned the railing,and class challenged class with cheers and songs, and the Hillton bandstruggled bravely with a popular march.
The trial heats in several of the events had already been run off,and in the middle of the floor a number of contestants were puttinga canvas-covered twelve-pound shot with varying success when StewartEarle, accompanied by Trevor Nesbitt, left the dressing-room, andpushing their way through the narrow aisles between the rows of chairs,at last reached the former’s father and mother, who, in company with atall and slender boy of sixteen, occupied seats next to the improvisedbarrier that divided audience from running track.
“I want you to know Trevor Nesbitt,” said Stewart. “Nesbitt, my motherand father. And that little boy beyond there is Master Carl Gray.”Trevor shook hands with a small, middle-aged gentleman in sober black,who peered upward at him in a manner that suggested near-sightedness,and with a lady somewhat younger than her husband, whose plain but kindface and sweet voice at once won his heart. As Gray was quite beyondreach of his hand, he merely accorded that youth a smiling nod. Stewartwas still talking.
“You remember, mother, I told you that Nesbitt was going to run inthe two hundred and twenty yards, don’t you? Well, the funny partof it is that we ran a dead heat in the first trial! I guess I’m agoner already.” He ended with a smile that only partly concealed hisuneasiness.
His mother smiled from him to Trevor.
“Then you two boys will run together?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” answered Trevor. “There’s five of us left for the final.”
“That’s very nice,” she replied, “for if Stewart is beaten he will notfeel so badly if you are the winner, will you, dear?”
Trevor muttered something about there being no danger of his winning,while Stewart answered gaily: “But you’re leaving the other three chapsout of the game, mother; perhaps one of them will beat us both.”
“No fear,” said Carl Gray; “Dunlop’s a stiff, Wharton isn’t in yourclass, Stew, and as for Milkam, well, I think you can beat him out allright at a hop; so it’s between you and Nesbitt, and may the best manwin.”
“That’s right,” said Mr. Earle, nodding his head approvingly. “If yourfriend is a better runner than you, Stewart, he should win, of course.When do you race?” He held a program up to his eyes and scowled in anendeavor to decipher the lines.
“In about twenty minutes, I guess. Let me see, father.” Stewarttook the program. “‘Twenty-yard dash, junior; twenty-yard dash,senior; putting twelve-pound shot; running high jump; one-mile run;pole vault; sixty-yard hurdle; eight-hundred-and-eighty-yard run;two-hundred-and-twenty-yard dash; relay race, one mile, lower middleclass versus junior class; relay race, one mile, senior class versusupper middle class.’ Well, you can’t tell by this, I guess; they’lljust pull off the events when they feel like it.”
“All out for the eight hundred and eighty yards,” cried a voice acrossthe building.
“There, see?” said Stewart. “That event’s down after the hurdles; youcan’t tell much by the program; you never can. I wish they’d call thetwo hundred and twenty now, though.”
“Getting nervous, Stew?” asked Carl Gray.
“A little, I guess. There they come for the half mile. Look, there’sKeeler of our class; he’s one of our relay team; isn’t he a peach?”
“A what, dear?” asked his mother.
“A--er--well, I mean isn’t he fine?” stammered Stewart, while Carl andTrevor exchanged grins.
“Is he? He looks from here dreadfully thin,” answered Mrs. Earle.
“That’s partly what makes him a good runner,” explained Stewart. “He’sall muscle, scarcely any weight to carry.”
“Well, dear, I do hope you won’t get to looking like that.”
“Humph, I should hope not.” This from Stewart’s father. The bunch often runners had left the mark, and had begun their long series of toursabout the track, cheered from the gallery by their fellows. “Go it,Keeler!” shouted Stewart as a youth with ludicrously long legs ambledpast, almost the last of the group. A quick glance and a fleeting grinfrom a queer, good-humored, and very freckled face answered Stewart’scry, and the runners swept by, their feet pounding loudly as they tookthe inclines at the turns. The shot putting was over and the victor, adumpy-looking boy with the lower middle class colors across his shirt,had been clamorously hailed as he walked off with superb dignity, andthe vaulting standards were being put in place while a group of half adozen youths trod gingerly about looking very serious and important.Finally the bar was up, with a white handkerchief across it, and oneafter another of the contestants, with the long pole in their hands,ran lightly forward, rose till their white-clad bodies swung out fromthe staff like pennants, and dropped across the bar.
“Why, how easily they do it!” cried Mrs. Earle admiringly, andStewart’s father clapped his hands vigorously.
“Huh,” said Stewart, “that’s nothing; they haven’t begun yet; just waituntil they get that bar up to about nine feet.”
“Nine feet! Why, how high is it now, dear?”
“’Bout seven foot eight, I should think; eh, Carl?”
“There it goes to the even eight,” answered Carl, as the judges raisedthe bar.
“Is--is there any danger of their falling, Carl,” asked Mrs. Earle.
“Not a bit, and if they do they’ll hit the mattress. I say, Stew, lookat Keeler.”
The runners had completed half the distance, and as they again sweptby the freckled-faced and long-legged lower middle class boy left hisplace near the rear of the procession, and with an easy spurt placedhimself in the first group. The three boys added their applause to thatwhich thundered down from the far end of the gallery.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he won,” said Trevor. “He’s running easyand has lots more spurt left, to look at him. But, of course, Manningis a pretty tough proposition, I fancy.”
“Manning isn’t what he cracks himself up to be,” said Carl decidedly.“And I’ll just bet you that Keeler wins out easily.”
A bell clanged warningly, and the tumult in the gallery increased.“Last lap, fellows! Last lap!” “Go it, Freckles!” “Brace up, Manning!Come on, come on!” But Manning couldn’t “come on” to any great extent,and the lower middle boys, leaning perilously over the edge of thegallery, fluttered their colors frantically and shouted incoherentadvice, entreaty, and triumph as Keeler, his long legs working like awell-lubricated machine, his freckled face overspread with an easy andconfident smile, swept superbly by the exhausted Manning and two otherrunners and crossed the line, as Carl had predicted, an easy winner.
When the tumult had subsided to some extent the trial heats in thesenior twenty-yard dash were begun, the track being diagonally acrossthe floor, and bunch after bunch of white-clad youths raced likethe wind toward the tape. The pole vaulting came to an end with arecord-breaking accomplishment of nine feet two inches by a memberof the upper middle class, and the running high jump began. Then,“All out for the two-twenty, and hurry up!” came the comman
d fromsomewhere, and Stewart and Trevor struggled through the throng towardthe dressing-room to throw aside their wraps.
A minute or two later five boys stood on their marks awaiting thereport of the starter’s pistol. Trevor found himself by the side ofDunlop; then came Stewart, Milkam, and Wharton. There was a golden hazeof floating dust in the air, and the faces of Stewart’s father andmother and of Carl Gray were indistinct across the building.
“Ready!”
“Get set!”
There was an intense silence about the starting-line, but from abovecame a deep sound of lowered voices, subdued laughter and the trampingof restless, excited feet.
“_Bang!_”
And ere the report had wholly died away the five runners were aquarter-way about the track on the first of the three laps constitutingthe two hundred and twenty yards.
As they passed under the left side of the gallery the seniors leanedover in an endeavor to catch sight of them and urged their two heroes,Wharton and Milkam, with eager cries. Then the turn was made, andTrevor, glancing upward fleetingly, saw a long row of faces peeringdown with open mouths from which came shouts of “Nesbitt! Nesbitt!”“Dunlop! Dunlop!” A long banner of upper middle class colors writhedserpent-like above him, and then he was under the gallery, runningswiftly. Now and then he caught a blare of a merry two-step from thehard-worked band. He glanced aside. Stewart was even with him, his faceanxious and somewhat pale. Wharton, Milkam, and Dunlop were strung outbehind, but all well in the race.
Up in the gallery, on the left, sat Dick Hope among the seniors. Besidehim were Williams and a stout, red-faced youth whose real name wasTodd, but who was more generally known as “Toad.” Dick watched therunners circle the end of the building.
“First lap’s done,” he said. “That roommate of mine, Nesbitt, seems tobe something of a runner.”
“Sure,” answered Todd, “’Is ’Ighness is all right, if he _is_ a bloodyEnglishman.”
“I’d rather be English than Dutch, Toad,” grinned Williams.
“Shut up, you; I’m no more Dutch than you are. Here they come! _Braceup, Wharton!_” and Todd leaned over the railing and waved his capwildly in air.
“You might as well save your breath, I guess,” said Dick. “Wharton’sout of it, and so’s Milkam. The race’s between Nesbitt and young Earle.And as we can’t win it, I hope Earle will. He’s a decent, pluckyyoungster; and--well, anything to beat upper middle, you know.”
“You’re not very loyal to your chum,” grinned Williams.
“He has no business being in the upper middle,” responded Dick calmly.“By Jove, look there!”
Across the gymnasium the runners were speeding down the back-stretch,Trevor and Stewart, side by side, leaving the other three farther andfarther behind at every step. Wharton and Milkam were practicallyout of it; Dunlop was ten yards to the bad, but running strongly andapparently still capable of retrieving his lost ground. At the turnTrevor hugged the inside of the track and Stewart, smaller, lither, andspeedier-looking, snuggled in close behind him. Dunlop, head back, alook of grim determination on his face, spurted until he had gained aposition but a scant two yards behind Stewart.
“Good boy, Dunlop!” shouted Williams, while from across the buildingcame a wild cry of joy from dozens of throats.
“I guess that’s his last spurt,” muttered Dick; “he’s showing the pace.”
And so it proved. The bell rang warningly, and the shouting fromexcited partisans increased in volume as the last lap commenced.Trevor, still ahead, increased his speed. Stewart accepted thechallenge promptly, and Dunlop, after a brave but futile effort tokeep his place, was left behind. Milkam and Wharton plodded alongeasily a full half lap in the rear until the latter, spying Dunlop’spredicament, suddenly spurted, and entered the lists with him in acontest for third place, leaving Milkam, bewildered, hopelessly last.
On the last lap.]
At the second turn Trevor had given place to Stewart. When the twoentered the back-stretch Trevor drew alongside his rival again, stayedthere for an instant, and then drew ahead. The gymnasium was a babelof voices. The last lap was half run, and Trevor had put two yards oftrack between him and Stewart. Many yards behind Dunlop and Whartonwere having a hot race of their own wholly unnoticed, for every eyefollowed the two youths whose flying feet were now pounding the inclineat the third corner.
“’Is ’Ighness wins easily,” said Todd, shouting to make himself heardabove the shrieks of his neighbors. Dick nodded. He was sorry to seeStewart beaten, but surprised to find himself suddenly experiencing asensation of pride in the work of his roommate. After all, he had run agreat race and deserved to win; and really, when he came to think aboutit, Nesbitt was handicapped by greater weight, and----
“Earle’s closing up!” cried Williams.
And so it was. With the contest almost over, the younger boy had forgedahead, and at the last turn secured the inside of the track. Trevorwas wobbling! Twice he swerved unsteadily, but as the home-stretch wasreached appeared to pull himself together with an effort, and gallantlystrove to pass Stewart. But the latter, running steadily and seeminglyuntired, not only held his own, but tacked another two yards onto hisgain and breasted the tape an easy winner! And how lower middle didyell!
Dunlop and Wharton fought it out to the end side by side, the formersecuring third place by the smallest of margins.
“Well, what do you think of that!” exclaimed Williams in deep disgustas soon as he could make himself heard. “Why, ’Is ’Ighness had the racein his pocket!”
“I think----” Dick hesitated.
“What do you think?” Dick smiled.
“I think Nesbitt was beaten,” he answered.
Williams viewed him in painful disgust.
“I think you’re nutty,” he growled. “Don’t you suppose I can see when aman’s beaten?”
“Not always, I guess,” replied Dick enigmatically.
Whereupon Williams begged Todd to bathe Dick’s head, and in the fracasthat followed the amazing result of the two-hundred-and-twenty-yarddash was for the time forgotten.