“It won’t be from lack of trying,” was the reply. “Go on Tom, they’re waiting for you.”
But, in spite of the fact that Tom had said he was not nervous there was an unusual thumping of his heart. He tried to calm himself, but, the more 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, and when he glanced across toward the grandstands, and saw a slim girlish figure suddenly spring up, and wave his colors at him, he felt a surge of elation and delight.
“That’s Madge!” whispered Tom to himself. “I’m going to win! I’m going to 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 old enemy. Langridge had seen Miss Tyler’s action, and he smiled mockingly at our hero.
“I’m going to win!” Tom told himself over and over again.
“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 he wins!”
“Who, Roger Barns?” asked Ruth. “Evidently not though, since you waved the yellow and maroon.”
“Of course not--you know who I mean,” and Madge blushed.
Crack went the starter’s pistol, and the runners were away on their course.
“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, and our other lads to get second and third.”
Our hero, running with all his might, heard the sweet strains wafted to him across the track, and he shut his lips grimly, and looked at Langridge out of the corners of his eyes.
The track was a half mile one, two laps being necessary to make the distance. As it was a big wide one, enabling all the contestants to start at once, there was no necessity for heats in this event. It could thus be decided more quickly.
On and on raced Tom. He felt a responsibility he had never experienced before, and it seemed as if he carried the whole weight of Randall on his shoulders, though Jerry and Joe Jackson were in the event. Tom was running well, and he knew he had a reserve of wind and strength for the final spurt. The last few days of practice had done much for him, and even his unfortunate illness had not pulled him down.
