For the Honor of Randall: A Story of College Athletics

by Lester Chadwick

  CHAPTER XXXIII

  TOM'S RUN

  "All right, Wallops, tell him I'll be right over," said Tom. "I'll tellKindlings where I'm going, so he won't be looking for me. But I've gotplenty of time before it's my turn."

  He slipped on a heavy bathrobe, for, in his abbreviated running costume,he was not exactly in shape to go to the grandstand.

  "The lawsuit must have gone against dad, or else he's come to have me goback and testify," reasoned Tom. "If he's lost the case, it's good-byeto Randall for me. But if he wants me to go to court, I'm going to askhim to wait until after the run. I'm not going to desert now. The casewill have to wait. But I wonder why dad came, instead of telegraphing?It must be important. I hope nothing else can have happened."

  Anxious thoughts came to Tom, as he made his way through the press ofpeople. His mother or sister might be ill. It was an inopportune time toreceive bad news--almost on the instant of entering a race that meantso much to Randall. But Tom made up his mind to do his best under anycircumstances.

  "What's up?" asked Frank, whom Tom passed on his way to see his father.

  "My dad's here," was the reply. "He came unexpectedly. I don't know whatit means."

  Frank looked grave, for he knew on how slender a thread hung Tom'schances. A moment later our hero saw his father waving his hand to himfrom his place beside the president of Randall. Dr. Churchill, andseveral members of the faculty, had come to the games, though ProfessorEmerson Tines refused to attend.

  "Tom!" cried Mr. Parsons as he came down an aisle to meet his son. "I'mglad to see you, boy. You didn't expect to find me here; did you?"

  "No, dad. Is anything--anything wrong?" Tom could hardly frame thequestion. But a look at his father's face told him that he need havenothing to fear--at least for the present.

  "It's all right, Tom!" was the hearty answer. "I have good news for you,and I thought I'd come and tell you myself, instead of wiring. Thelawsuit is ended."

  "And you win?"

  "I do. The other fellows simply backed down, and decided not to contestthe case further. They hadn't a leg to stand on, and they knew it. Iwon everything, got back all my money, with interest, and----"

  "Then I can stay on at Randall?" interrupted Tom, eagerly.

  "You sure can. And look here, Tom. I hear your team lost the firstevent."

  "Yes, dad. They out-threw us."

  "Have you competed yet?"

  "No. I'm in the mile run. It's next to the last event."

  "Well, look here, Tom, my boy," and Mr. Parsons leaned forward andwhispered. "If you don't win that I'll never speak to you again, and Idon't think you're too big even yet, for me to take over my knee, as Idid once in a while, years ago. So you want to win that race!" and helaughed and clapped his son on the back.

  "Dad, I'm going to win!" was Tom's answer, given with shining eyes."This good news will give me second wind."

  "I rather hoped it would," said Mr. Parsons. "That's why I came here onthe first train I could get. Go on now, and--win!"

  Tom nodded, and started from the grandstand, while his father again tookhis seat near Dr. Churchill. The throwing of the sixteen pound hammerhad already started, with Exter leading off. Her entrants did well, andso did those of Boxer Hall, and then came the turn of Randall.

  "Go to it, Joe! Go to it!" yelled Bean Perkins, as one of the Jerseytwins stepped into the circle. "Come on now, boys, give 'em the 'hammerand tongs,' song."

  It rolled out splendidly as Joe Jackson threw. Perhaps it added to hisstrength and skill, for certainly his heave was not beaten that day. Itstands as a record yet in the Tonoka Lake League--one hundred andtwenty-two feet and ten inches--but a short distance less than some ofthe best amateur records.

  "Randall wins!" came the announcement at the close of this contest, andKindlings remarked:

  "One of the five!"

  The putting of the sixteen pound shot contest was closer than either ofthe two previous events. It was a matter of inches to decide the winner,and there was a claim of a foul on the part of Exter against one of theBoxer Hall contestants which caused a delay.

  "Say, those fellows seem to do nothing but find fault," remarked Tom toPhil.

  "Yes, they're afraid they won't get all that's coming to 'em, I guess."

  "They will if I have anything to say about it," commented Tom grimly."But maybe they won't like it."

  The dispute was finally settled and the throwing went on. To Dan'schagrin, and the despair of Holly Cross, Randall lost this event by thenarrow margin of one inch. It went to Exter, and there was a riot ofcheers from her supporters.

  But the pole vault turned the tables, and Phil hurled himself over thebar in magnificent style, clearing ten feet seven inches, and winningthe contest. And, as if that was not enough, Ned Warren, another Randalllad, was but an inch below this, he too beating the best performance ofeither of the other three colleges.

  "We win twice in this event," said Holly, who had tied the best man ofExter in the vault. "If they'd only let us count it twice we'd be allright."

  "But we're coming on," declared Kindlings, and, when the hundred yarddash also went to the wearers of the maroon and yellow, Bean Perkinscould not contain himself.

  "Cut loose, boys! Cut loose!" he ordered, and the "Automobile chorus"was fairly howled by the delighted cheerers.

  "Three out of five events we need," remarked Holly, as he and Dan werebusy figuring up the points scored. "We may get the high jump, but if wedon't, and Tom and Sid make good, we'll win the championship."

  "I hope we win the high," said Dan. "Berry Foster is in fine trim, and Idon't like cutting it so fine as to leave the last two events to clinchthings. No telling what may happen to Sid or Tom, though they're bothfeeling fit as fiddles they say. Oh, if we can only get the high!"

  "Don't want everything," suggested Holly with a laugh. "There they gofor it. Come on over and watch."

  Randall's lads made a gallant attempt to bring home the high jump, butit was not to be, and Boxer Hall carried off the coveted trophy, whileher sons sang and cheered themselves hoarse.

  There were but two more events on the program--the mile run and therunning broad jump. Randall needed both of these to win, for, shouldExter annex one, and either of the other colleges the other it wouldmean that the championship would be lost to the wearers of the maroonand yellow.

  "Now Tom, it's up to you," said Dan in a low voice as the runners cameout on their marks. "Are you all right--feel nervous or anything?"

  "No, I'm not nervous. I want to win, Dan, but if I don't----"

  "It won't be from lack of trying," was the reply. "Go on Tom, they'rewaiting for you."

  But, in spite of the fact that Tom had said he was not nervous there wasan unusual thumping of his heart. He tried to calm himself, but, themore he did so, the worse he seemed to get.

  "Oh, hang it! This won't do!" he mused. "If Frank was running this race,he wouldn't be like this. I must think that I'm doing this for him.Brace up! Even Shambler wouldn't flunk."

  Tom felt better after that little lecture to himself by himself, andwhen he glanced across toward the grandstands, and saw a slim girlishfigure suddenly spring up, and wave his colors at him, he felt a surgeof elation and delight.

  "That's Madge!" whispered Tom to himself. "I'm going to win! I'm goingto win! For Randall and--her!"

  The runners were in their places. The starter had raised his pistol.Tom, for the first time, noticed that on his left was Langridge--his oldenemy. Langridge had seen Miss Tyler's action, and he smiled mockinglyat our hero.

  "I'm going to win!" Tom told himself over and over again.

  "On your marks!" cried the starter.

  "They're going to run!" said Ruth Clinton to Madge, who sat next to her.

  "I know it--I know it!" replied Madge nervously. "Oh, I do hope hewins!"

  "Who, Roger Barns?" asked Ruth. "Evidently not though, since you wavedthe yellow and maroon."

  "Of course not--you know who I mean," and Madge blu
shed.

  Crack went the starter's pistol, and the runners were away on theircourse.

  "They're off!" yelled Bean Perkins. "Now boys, the 'Conquer or Die,'song, and sing it as you never sang it before. We want Tom to win, andour other lads to get second and third."

  Our hero, running with all his might, heard the sweet strains wafted tohim across the track, and he shut his lips grimly, and looked atLangridge out of the corners of his eyes.

  The track was a half mile one, two laps being necessary to make thedistance. As it was a big wide one, enabling all the contestants tostart at once, there was no necessity for heats in this event. It couldthus be decided more quickly.

  On and on raced Tom. He felt a responsibility he had never experiencedbefore, and it seemed as if he carried the whole weight of Randall onhis shoulders, though Jerry and Joe Jackson were in the event. Tom wasrunning well, and he knew he had a reserve of wind and strength for thefinal spurt. The last few days of practice had done much for him, andeven his unfortunate illness had not pulled him down.

  It was evident, soon after the start of the race, that it lay betweenTom Parsons, Langridge of Boxer Hall and Sam Wendell of Exter. That wasunless some of those who were strung out behind them should developunexpected speed. And this was not likely.

  A mile run is a matter of only seven minutes, or thereabouts, at theworst, for any performance slower than seven minutes and thirty-eightseconds scores nothing under the A. A. U. rules. And so the decision ofthe contest could not be long in doubt.

  At the conclusion of the half mile Tom and Langridge were on even terms.The foremost Exter lad had fallen back a few feet, and Tom's only fearwas lest this contestant might be saving himself for a winning spurt.

  "But I can spurt too!" thought our hero. "I'm going to win! I'm going towin!"

  On and on they raced. Nearer and nearer to the goal they came. Breathswere coming faster and faster. It became harder and harder to get airinto the laboring lungs. The weary muscles needed more and more urgingto make them do their work.

  "Can I do it? Can I do it?" Tom asked himself.

  And the grim answer came.

  "I've got to! I've got to!"

  There was a mist before his eyes, and yet through it he seemed to see afair, girlish figure waving a maroon and yellow flag at him. But thecolors were blurred.

  A singing came into Tom's ears. It sounded like the beating of the wavesof the sea. His heart was a pump, working at double speed. His legswere like the pistons of some engine, darting back and forth. They didnot seem to belong to him, but to be separate from his body.

  Once or twice he thought of looking down, to make sure that they werefast to his trunk, but he knew he must keep his eyes ahead of him, andhis head well up. Now and then he glanced across to where Langridge wasrunning. The Boxer Hall lad was still in his place, even with Tom. Theforemost Exter runner was still lagging behind.

  "I've got to shake him off--shake Langridge," thought Tom, and it seemedas if he was someone else saying this.

  The finish tape loomed in sight. The eager judges and timekeeperscrowded to the course. Now was the time to spurt if ever.

  "Come on, Tom! Come on!" yelled scores of encouraging voices, and oncemore Bean Perkins and his cohorts sang a song of victory.

  "Langridge! Langridge!" cried his mates, and the Exter lad's fellowsshouted to him to win.

  On and on raced Tom. It seemed as if he could not keep it up. His legswere senseless--his feet like lead--his breath was all but gone.

  "But I must do it! I must--for the honor of Randall!" he seemed toshout, yet no sound came from between his lips.

  "Now!" yelled Holly Cross, who was watching Tom. "Come!"

  It was the signal to spurt, and Tom put out his last ounce of strengthin the leap forward. He breasted the tape, and, as he crossed the linehe shot a hasty glance to either side.

  He was alone! Langridge had faltered at the last. The Exter man was apoor third.

  Tom had won the mile run!