For the Honor of the School: A Story of School Life and Interscholastic Sport

“Hundred and forty-six feet three inches.”

Trowbridge shrugged his shoulders as he took the hammer for the next attempt and put more speed into the swing. But he used his feet poorly and the figures dropped back to three inches under one hundred and forty-five feet. A shade of uneasiness darkened the confident face, and Trowbridge set his lips tightly as he raised the weight. Then the long arms whirled, the body spun around, and the hammer whizzed through the air. The tape was laid to the ground.

“Hundred and forty-seven feet nine inches,” said a judge.

Trowbridge stepped from the ring with a scowl, and Dave took his place. As the Hillton lad gripped his hammer his eyes fell on Paddy, who had joined the little throng, his desire to witness Dave’s work having overcome his fear of the marshal. Paddy grinned encouragement, and Dave, with a lurking smile on his serious countenance, responded with a portentous wink. Then the hammer went up, swung around in its widening circle, and flew away.

“Hundred and forty-three feet three inches.”

Once more, and again the tape and the careful measurement.

“Hundred and forty-eight feet five inches.”

A ripple of surprise and applause went through the audience. Trowbridge looked sad. Paddy executed a quiet dance at the edge of the throng. Back came the hammer. Dave gripped it with an air of determination, and placed his feet with greater care than before. Up went the weight, around spun the boy like a dervish, once, twice, thrice; there was a sudden quick stiffening of the muscles, a set to the shoulders, and the twelve pounds of iron sped away at a tangent and ripped the sod at a point farther from the circle than any preceding throw.

“One hundred and forty-nine feet one inch,” announced the judges. Dave had won first place for Hillton.

He stepped out, dragging his beloved hammer after him, with a face that strove hard to hide his happiness. Hardy clapped him on the back as he passed to join Paddy, and the latter beamed upon him like the Cheshire cat. Hardy went in, glad of Dave’s victory over Trowbridge, but hoping for a victory, in turn, over Dave. But that was not to be. His first throw was a sorry attempt; his second scarcely better. But at the third try he put his whole soul into the task and his whole weight behind the flying ball, and when the judges stepped back they announced:

“One hundred and forty-eight feet eleven inches.”

“Eight points to Hillton!” cried some one, and several boys clapped loudly. Then the group broke up, Dave, Hardy, and Paddy mingling with the crowd that flowed across toward the dressing room, joy in their hearts.

“Ready for the mile!” called a voice, and in answer a squad of boys trotted across the field toward the starting point. Wayne and Whitehead were in the van and Paddy waved to them as they passed.

“Go in and win, Old Virginia!” And Wayne nodded smilingly, and hoped that his face wasn’t quite as white as it felt. Professor Beck, Don, and two Hillton coaches were waiting, and Don helped him off with his coat, and trotted along beside him while he limbered up.

“Wayne, this is what you’ve got to do,” he whispered. “Get to the front as soon as you can and look for Sturgis. If he’s ahead, stay with him no matter what pace he sets. If he’s behind, wait for him. Pay no attention to any others. It doesn’t matter who wins as long as St. Eustace doesn’t get a place. Sturgis is their only man that we need fear; so freeze to him, and don’t let him get away from you. Look out for tricks, though, for St. Eustace is going to try them, I’m sure. If she can get first or second men in she’ll have us beaten; if she can win third place she’ll tie us. Win if you can, but, whatever happens, down Sturgis!”

“Hurry up, milers!” called the clerk of the course. Don gave Wayne an affectionate clap on the shoulder.

“Go in, old man,” he whispered, “and remember Hillton every minute!”

There were twelve entries for the mile. St. Eustace, beside her crack long-distance runner Sturgis, had entered House and Gould, both men to be feared. Hillton was represented by Wayne and Whitehead, both new men and inexperienced; Hillton’s chances were not considered very good by the other schools. Northern Collegiate and Shrewsburg had each entered two runners, and the other schools were represented by one man apiece. Northern Collegiate was doing a deal of talking about a youth named Pope, of whom little was known to the other schools, and who was spoken of as a “dark horse” that stood a fair chance of winning. Wayne found himself placed between Pope, who turned out to be a heavily-built fellow of apparently nineteen, and a pale and nervous boy much younger in years, whose brown ribbon bore in gold letters the emblem “W. A. A. A.” Gould had the place next to the inner edge of the track, and Sturgis and Whitehead were together near the outer edge.

The spectators had begun to leave the grounds and the stands already presented little barren patches. The shadow of the small building wherein was the dressing room stretched far across the oval, and the sun was fast sinking behind the forest of roofs and chimneys in the west. Contestants in previous events were dressed and stood about the turf to watch the last and deciding struggle for the championship of the year.

Pope was restively digging his toes into the path while the penalties for false starting were being explained with much vehemence by the starter. The Warrenton runner on Wayne’s left was working his arms back and forth as though he was going to win the race on his hands and feared his elbows would get stiff. Wayne himself was undeniably nervous. It was his first appearance in a public contest, barring the cross-country run at Hillton the preceding autumn, and the thought of what failure would mean was beginning to take the starch out of him. But nervousness was the one thing that had been prohibited above all others; and so he tried to forget about the possibilities of failure and had begun to wonder, without much interest in the problem, how many men it required to keep the grass cut on the big oval when the starter’s voice brought his thoughts back at a leap.

“On your mark!”

Pope growled something to him about dull spikes and loose tracks, but Wayne made no answer. He was looking straight ahead down the broad path, his thoughts in a tumult.

“Set!”

Twelve bodies leaned farther forward and there was a perceptible sound of intaking breath up and down the line. Then, when it seemed to many that another moment of suspense would make them shout or dance or do something else equally ridiculous, bang! went the pistol, and the line leaped forward and broke into fragments as the runners sped away.

CHAPTER XXIV

WON AT THE FINISH

Wayne had made a good beginning; he was already, ere the timers’ watches had ticked thrice, well in toward the left of the track and one of the first five men. He looked for Sturgis and found that dreaded youth close beside him. Before them were Pope, a Maddurn Hall boy, and the pale-faced youngster who had stood beside Wayne. Pope was making the pace, a rather fast one it seemed, and was running with a great expenditure of strength. Sturgis kept beside Wayne until the turn; then, as the latter took the inside edge, he fell in behind. Wayne wished devoutly that he would go ahead. He didn’t like the pace, which was too fast for the first quarter of a mile race, and he would have preferred to have been farther in the rear. When the back stretch began Wayne therefore decreased his speed a little. It had the desired effect. In a few seconds Sturgis was beside him again; in a few more he was a pace or two ahead. Wayne could not but admire the St. Eustace boy’s running. He kept well up on his toes, his thighs moved seemingly of their own volition, and his stride was all ease and swing.

At the next turn Sturgis ran close to the inner edge of the track and Wayne dropped a pace or two farther back and cast a fleeting glance over his shoulder. The balance of the contestants were strung pretty well down the back stretch, but Whitehead was about midway between first man and last. Pope had diminished his pace a little and the Warrenton boy seemed anxious to take his place. Then the group about the start was reached and cheers for the leader from the Collegiate contingent rent the air; then one after another of the runners received his applause and went by. Wayne caught a momentary glimpse of Paddy and Don beside the track as he began the second quarter.

Save that the last of the runners began to straggle a little, there was no change in the second quarter. Wayne held his place just behind Sturgis and ran on with a steady, easy stride. Again the start was reached and the race was half run.

“Time enough, Pope!” called a Collegiate coach, and at the same moment Wayne saw from the corner of his eye a runner draw slowly up beside him, hang there a second, and pass ahead. His colors proclaimed him a Collegiate runner and Wayne watched him with interest. By the time the turn was reached he was slightly behind the Warrenton boy, who was still at second place. Then Pope swerved aside, Warrenton was in the lead, with the second Collegiate runner close behind, and Pope had dropped back to a position just ahead of Sturgis. And now Sturgis, too, appeared desirous of falling back, for his pace diminished and the distance between him and the leader grew. But Wayne refused the invitation to pass and suited his speed to that of the wearer of the blue.

Half of the third quarter had been left behind when Wayne heard steps and the sound of breathing beside him again, and in another moment Gould had spurted by and Wayne was obliged to swerve slightly in order to avoid colliding with Sturgis, who upon the appearance of Gould had again lessened his speed. Mindful of his orders, but full of doubt, Wayne in turn fell back and Gould passed on and took the inner side behind Pope. Sturgis was still back of Wayne, and the latter slowed up yet more, striving to secure again a position behind the St. Eustace’s crack. But Sturgis refused to take the lead. The Maddurn Hall boy was dropping back fast, and at the middle of the turn Warrenton still led, followed in order by the two Northern Collegiate runners, Gould, Wayne, and Sturgis. As the home stretch began Gould drew ahead, running superbly, and as the line was crossed he was in the lead by a dozen yards or so, and St. Eustace cheers filled the air.

Then the last quarter began and found Wayne in perplexity. Gould was every instant increasing his lead, although Pope and his fellow-runner had taken up the chase. Warrenton was clearly out of it, and ere the first turn was reached Gould, the two Northern Collegiate runners, and Wayne were speeding along in the order named. Wayne was troubled. He asked himself whether, orders or no orders, he should stay back there when Gould was already thirty yards or more ahead of him and still spurting. Don and the others had quite evidently overestimated Sturgis’s importance and underestimated Gould’s. And if something was not done and done speedily the race was already St. Eustace’s. As though to aid him in his decision, Sturgis began to lag until, although Wayne could not see him, he appeared to that anxious youth to be practically out of the running.

“Here goes!” said Wayne to himself.

They were on the turn now and he left his place beside the inner edge and passed Pope and was soon alongside the other Collegiate runner. The latter gave him a hard race, but ere the back stretch was reached had yielded second place, and Wayne dashed on in what seemed a hopeless effort to reach Gould.

Back at the finish Don pulled his cap over his face and groaned.

“It’s all up; Wayne has fallen into the trap!” One of the Hillton coaches said something under his breath, and Professor Beck frowned grimly.

“But you told him?” asked the coach. “He had his orders?”

“Yes,” answered Don. “But you can see! And I suppose he’s not altogether to blame; it was so smoothly done.”

The coach ground the turf under his heel. Across the oval, Gould had almost reached the last turn, Wayne was some twenty yards behind him, still running like a streak, and back of Wayne sped Sturgis, easily, gracefully, taking his pace from the Hillton runner and covering the ground without overexertion or worry. Behind him again streamed the rest, Whitehead running side by side with Pope and a Shrewsburg chap vainly trying to pass them. But Gould’s work was done, and at the beginning of the turn he slowed up, weary and panting, and soon Wayne had passed him, tuckered but happy.

There comes a moment in every long-distance race when the last ounce of strength and endurance and the last breath seems to have been expended; after that the runner simply performs the impossible. Wayne had reached that moment. His legs ached, his breath tore itself from his lungs, and it seemed that further effort was out of the question. But the finish line was almost in sight, and so he gripped his moist fingers tighter about the corks and hugged the edge of the cinders. At least, he told himself, St. Eustace was beaten!

And then he heard the soft pat, pat, pat, of steps behind him, and at the same instant cries of “St. Eustace! St. Eustace!” Not daring to look behind, he struggled on in an agony of suspense until the turn was left and the broad path stretched clear and straight before him to the finish, where, strange and distorted to his strained eyes, forms leaped and gesticulated beside the track. Then the pursuer drew alongside and Wayne caught the gleam of deep blue ribbon, and could have shouted aloud in rage and mortification had there been breath enough in his body. In a flash he saw it all: Gould’s deceptive spurt, his own blind idiotic credulity, and Sturgis’s pursuit, with him to make the pace. St. Eustace had tricked him finely! For an instant the thought of yielding presented itself, but only to be routed in the next breath by a resolve to keep on, to contest the race to the very end, to run until he dropped.

Sturgis was now a yard in the lead, running well, but he was by no means fresh nor unwearied. Wayne gritted his teeth, gulped down a sob, and put every muscle and nerve to the test. He remembered a remark of Don’s: “When you are ready to drop, just think that the other man is worse off, and keep going.”

“He is, he is!” Wayne told himself. “He’s done up! I can win! I will win!”

The tape was close before them now. Sturgis was plainly in distress, for he, too, had made a hard race. The crowd at the finish was shrieking unintelligible things. Inch by inch the red ribbon was winning its place beside the blue. Ten yards from the judges Wayne was even with Sturgis; five yards more and he had gained, but scarcely enough to be noticed by the throng.

“Hillton’s race! Come on, Gordon, come on!”

“St. Eustace wins! St. Eustace! St. Eustace!”

Sturgis threw his head back and strove to draw away, but Wayne, with unseeing eyes, almost reeling, lifted his arms weakly, called upon the last gasp of breath in his body, and hurled himself forward in a final despairing effort. And then the little white tape was gone and he lay in a tumbled heap upon the path.

“Hillton first,” announced the judges.

“Four minutes fifty-eight and four fifths,” said the timekeepers.

Hillton had won the interscholastic.

CHAPTER XXV

FINIS CORONAT OPUS

The victors sat at banquet. To be sure, as regarded variety of viand and culinary excellence it left much to desire; in fact it was, I believe, simply called “Dinner” on the menu card. But it answered all the purposes of a Roman feast. Victory presided, Happiness and Merriment were the guests of honor, and Hunger waited at table. Professor Beck was there, and one of the coaches, and Don, and Wayne, and Whitehead, and Dave, and Gaffney, and Perkins, and Connor, and Hardy, and Kendall, and several others; and every one talked as much as he could and ate indiscriminately of all on the board, and was wonderfully, radiantly joyful. The hotel management had given them a little room to themselves; fortunately for the peace of the other guests, for it was necessary to cheer loudly and often.

The events of the day were discussed from start to finish and the official summary of the meeting was passed from hand to hand around the board and the figures eagerly scanned.

“Great Cæsar!” muttered Don as he looked it over; “to think that two points moved from the first column to the second would have beaten us! It was a narrow squeak, Wayne; if you hadn’t finished a scant foot ahead of Sturgis – ”

“Let’s see it,” said Wayne. Don passed the sheet to him, and this is what he saw:

Summary

“It was close,” said Wayne, as he handed the summary on to Connor, who sat at his right. “And,” he added in a low voice, “when I think how nearly I lost the thing for you, Don, I feel like kicking myself back to Hillton.”

At that moment the door was burst open and Paddy’s flushed and exultant face peered in.

“Don’t want to bother you, fellows,” he cried, “but thought you’d like to hear the news. We won at Marshall; Hillton 4, St. Eustace 0!” He shied an evening paper across the room at Dave and disappeared again. As the door closed Professor Beck sprang to his feet.

“Now, boys, three times three for the nine, and every one yell!” And every one did yell. And then the paper was passed around and the brief account of the baseball game was read and reread.

“By Jove,” cried Don, “your friend Gray’s gone and done it again!”

“Done what?” asked Wayne.

“Made a home run; and in the last inning, too! What do you think of that?”

Whereupon Wayne tried to snatch the paper from Don, and only succeeded in upsetting the contents of the latter’s tumbler into Professor Beck’s salad.

But there is a limit even to the capacity of a triumphant track team, and after a while, when Professor Beck and the coach had made short, earnest speeches, had been cheered to the echo, and had left the room, Don made himself heard and announced that nominations for the captaincy of the team for the ensuing year were in order. Instantly Gaffney and Dave were on their feet, and the former was recognized.

“I don’t see any use in fussing with nominations and such stuff; we’ve all eaten too much. I move you that Donald Cunningham be re-elected by acclamation and that we all go home.”

Cheering and laughter, cries of “Yes, yes, Cunningham!” and “Second the motion!” arose; and Don got up and waited a chance to speak. When the uproar had died down for a moment he said:

“I thank you, fellows, for the nomination, but I can not – ”

“Don, Don, Donald C.!” chanted Wayne, and Dave took up the refrain, and in a moment the room was again a pandemonium.

“Don, Don, Donald C.,One big captain he!”

improvised Wayne, and the rest caught eagerly at the doggerel and chanted it lustily to the accompaniment of weird music produced by knives and tumblers. Don held up a hand appealingly.

“Fellows, please come to order!” he cried. And when the tumult had subsided he went on: “I can’t accept the nomination, although I feel – recognize – ”

“Hear! hear!” bawled Dave.

“Although I appreciate the honor. I thank you all. I am glad that we won to-day and hope that we will repeat the victory next year. I will do my best to keep my place on the team, but I must refuse the captaincy.”

“No, no!” cried his hearers.

“I don’t feel that I can spare the time from my lessons next year, and I hope you will excuse me and elect some one to take my place. If I may be allowed to nominate a candidate – ”

Cries of “Yes, yes! Go ahead!”

“I nominate for captain Wayne Gordon.”

A chorus of applause broke out. Wayne stared in bewilderment about the board. “Gordon! Gordon!” cried several; and Whitehead and Dave seconded the nomination in unison.

“Are there any other nominations?” asked Don.

Wayne leaped to his feet. “I don’t quite know whether this is a joke or not.” He frowned inquiringly at Don.

Don smiled and shook his head.

“Speech!” called some one.

“But if it isn’t a joke, it’s – it’s silly rot. I am no more fit to be captain than I am to – to be principal.”

“Sit down,” shouted Dave, “you’re out of order!” But Wayne paid no attention; instead he looked quite serious as he continued.

“To prove what I say, fellows, I’m going to make a confession. You – you ought to know about it. I won the mile race to-day – ”

“You bet you did!” said some one. “You’re all right!”

“But I didn’t deserve it. I came near losing it by – by my pigheadedness. I don’t deserve any credit; fact is, I ought to be put off the team.”

The fellows had quieted down and were listening in surprise and curiosity. Don put up a hand and tried to pull him back into his seat.

“Shut up, Wayne,” he pleaded in a whisper.

“To-day,” continued Wayne, “I was told to get behind Sturgis and to hang to him to the end of the race. Well, I didn’t; I thought I knew more than the coaches, and Professor Beck and the captain, and every one. And when St. Eustace put up a game by sending Gould ahead as though he was going to win the race, I just let instructions go and went after him. You all know how nearly Sturgis came to winning – ”

“A miss is as good as a mile,” said Connor.

“And if he had won St. Eustace would have got the championship, and it would have been all due to my foolishness. I haven’t felt right about it since you fellows were so kind and cheered me, and – and all; and I’ve wanted to tell you the truth, and I have; and I’m glad you gave me the chance. And I thank you for the nomination, but couldn’t take it even if you still wanted me to.”

Wayne sat down, and three fellows were instantly on their feet. Don recognized Whitehead.

“Look here, fellows,” he said, speaking quickly and vehemently, “I don’t deny that Gordon made a mistake, but I want to tell you that he wasn’t to blame. The trick would have deceived any fellow that wasn’t experienced; if it had been me instead of Gordon, I would have fallen into the trap just as he did, and I’m not sure that I’d been so ready to own up and tell the truth about it, either. Gordon made a mistake, but he ran the finest sort of a race; he’s got lots of pluck and lots of go, and we all like him; and I think he will make a good captain, if Cunningham won’t accept re-election; and I move that we prove to him that we don’t think any less of him for his mistake by asking him to accept the nomination.”

“Good! Seconded!” was heard on all sides, and in a moment the motion had carried unanimously. Wayne was very busy making bread pills, his eyes on the table cloth.

“Silence gives assent,” said Don gayly. “Are there any other nominations?” None spoke. “I move that the nominations be closed,” said Dave. “I second that motion,” said Whitehead. “And I move that the election be – be – Oh, I mean let’s go ahead and elect Gordon,” concluded Whitehead amid a laugh.

“Well, I can’t see the use of balloting,” replied Don, “and as the proceedings have been out of order all evening I guess we might as well continue to have them so. Suppose we take a rising vote?”

“Yes! Rising vote! Go ahead!”

“Fellows, all those in favor of the election of Wayne Gordon to the captaincy of the track team for the ensuing year will so signify by rising.”

Every fellow save Wayne was on his feet.

“Gordon is elected,” said Don.

“Unanimously!” cried Perkins.

“Fellows,” continued the ex-captain, “I call for three cheers for Gordon.”

And they were given with a will. Wayne, rather pale and uncomfortable, arose.

“Speech! speech!” laughed a number. Wayne cleared his throat, opened his mouth, shut it again, looked appealingly at Don, and sank back into his chair. But the team was not satisfied, and renewed calls for a speech arose.

“Speak your piece, Wayne!” called Dave, and Wayne got up again and started bravely.

“I can’t make a speech. But I thank you for what you’ve done, fellows. I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake in electing me; I don’t know much about athletics, but I’ll learn; perhaps Don here will help me.”

“All I can,” answered that youth readily.

“I’ve learned a good bit since I came to Hillton, and I reckon I can learn more. I’ve learned that it’s a mighty good thing to do as you’re told, and to obey authority, and not to think that you know everything, because you don’t; at least, I don’t.”