Don was busy with pencil and paper now, while Paddy looked over his shoulder and Dave scowled up the course and waited impatiently for the next runner to swing into sight around the corner of the little knoll that hid the railroad track from the finish line. Then two white figures broke into view almost simultaneously.
“A Shrewsburg fellow and a St. Eustace fellow!” cried Dave. “I think the last is Beaming. Yes, it is!”
The runner with the green S won the line a good three yards ahead of the almost breathless Beaming, and a little group of Shrewsburg High School fellows broke into applause. Beaming had to be well-nigh carried from the course, although protesting faintly that he could walk.
Don’s paper now held the following figures:
“Two men each and we’re one figure ahead,” whispered Don. “There’s some one, Dave – three fellows. Who are they?”
“St. Eustace fellow ahead,” answered Dave.
“It’s Gould!” cried a voice from near by, and the supporters of the down-river academy cheered wildly.
“Hurrah!” yelled Paddy. “Erin go bragh! There’s good old Jones! And a Shrewsburg fellow hot after him.”
Don tried to jump, but found he couldn’t because of his strained ankle and contented himself with a hair-raising yell. Then he added a 6 to the St. Eustace score, an 8 to that of Shrewsburg, and a 7 to Hillton’s row of figures. For Gould, Jones, and the Shrewsburg runner crossed the line in the order given amid the cheers of the three rival contingents.
“It’s a tie so far,” shouted Paddy, as he added up the few figures. “St. Eustace has twelve points, Dave, and so have we. By Jove! it all depends on the next man, Don, doesn’t it? Can you see any one, Dave?”
“No one in sight yet. Let’s hope the first will be a Hillton chap, fellows. But even if it isn’t the score’s bound to be close. Wonder what’s become of ‘Old Virginia’?”
That was a nickname that Paddy had bestowed upon Wayne Gordon in allusion to the latter’s native State.
“I’m afraid Wayne’s dropped out of it,” answered Don, with a tremble in his voice, “but still – ”
“St. Eustace wins!”
Half a dozen voices took up the cry as a fleet-footed runner whose breast bore the blue monogram came quickly into sight. The three boys groaned in unison. St. Eustace’s fourth man was speeding toward the finish.
“Done for,” whispered Dave.
“Wait a bit!” cried Paddy. “There’s two of them there. Who’s the second chap?”
Paddy was right. Directly behind the St. Eustace runner sped a second youth, so close that he seemed to be treading upon the former’s heels.
“It’s one of our fellows, Don!” cried Dave.
“I don’t think so. I – oh, why doesn’t he come out so that we can see!”
“I’m afraid it’s another Shrewsburg chump,” said Paddy dolefully. “Oh, hang the luck, anyhow!”
“Wait!” cried Don. “He’s coming out! There – there he comes! He’s trying to pass, and – and – ”
“It’s Wayne!” cried Dave and Paddy in unison.
And Wayne it was. Slowly, doggedly, he drew from his place back of the St. Eustace man and fought his way inch by inch alongside. The cheering spectators saw the wearer of the blue glance swiftly at the Hillton runner and throw back his head. But the boy beside him refused to be thrown off and down the course they came together, their tired limbs keeping time to the frenzied cheers of the throng.
“St. Eustace wins! Keller’s ahead!”
“Hillton’s race! Gordon leads!”
And then, high above the babel of a hundred voices, sounded a mighty shout from Paddy:
“Come on, ‘Old Virginia!’”
Wayne, racing along stride for stride with the St. Eustace runner, heard the cry and made a final, despairing effort.
And then the crowd was thick about him, Dave and Paddy were holding him up, Don was hugging him ecstatically, and the fellows were laughing and shouting as though crazy; and Wayne, panting and weak, wondered what it all meant.
It only meant that Hillton had won by a yard and that the final score stood: Hillton, 21; St. Eustace, 22; Shrewsburg, 43.
CHAPTER III
IN 15 BRADLEY
It was getting dark in the study of No. 15 Bradley Hall, and Wayne laid his book down on the window seat and fell to looking idly out of the window. The broad expanse of the Hudson River was visible for several miles, and its quiet surface reflected all the tones of gold and crimson with which the western sky was aglow. Far to the left a little dark spot marked the location of the railway station, and the steel rails, stretching to the southward, caught the sunset glint here and there and looked like shafts of fire. The meadow and the campus were still green, and the station road was blotched with the purple shadows of hedge and tree. To the left a tiny steamer was creeping from sight beyond the island and the far-stretching marsh across the water was brightly yellow with autumn grass.
Inside the room the shadows were beginning to gather wherever the glow from the two windows failed to reach. They had already hidden the bookcase near the hall door and Don’s armchair was only a formless hulk in the gloom. The door to the bedroom was ajar and through it the shadows were silently creeping, for that room was on the back of the building and its one window gave but scant light at sunset time. The study was a comfortable-looking den. There was a big green-topped table in the center, flanked by easy-chairs, and holding a student lamp, an ornamental inkstand, a number of books, and a miscellaneous litter of paper, pens, golf balls, gloves, and caps. A lounge, rather humpy from long and hard usage, disputed a corner of the apartment with a low bookcase whose top afforded a repository for photographs and a couple of hideous vases which for years past had “gone with the room.” There was a fireplace on one side which to-day held no fire. The mantel was decorated with more photographs and three pewter mugs, Wayne’s trophies of the cinder track. Some tennis racquets, three broken and repaired golf sticks, and a riding whip were crossed in a bewildering fashion above a picture of an English rowing regatta, and on either side hung framed “shingles” of the Senior Debating Society and the Hillton Academy Golf Club. Other pictures adorned the walls here and there; two businesslike straight-backed chairs were placed where they could not fail to be fallen over in the dark; and a bright-colored but somewhat threadbare carpet was on the floor. There were two windows, for No. 15 was a corner study, and in each was a comfortable seat generously furnished with pillows. At this moment both seats were occupied. In one lounged Wayne; in the other Don was still trying to study by the fading light. His left foot was perched carefully on a cushion, for the injured ankle was not yet fully strong, although nearly a week had elapsed since the cross-country run and his accident. Finally Don, too, laid aside his book.
“Want to light up, Wayne?”
“No, let’s be lazy; it’s so jolly in the twilight. I like to watch sunsets, don’t you? They’re sort of mysterious and – and sad.”
“Hello!” laughed Don. “You must be a bit homesick.”
“No, not exactly, though the sunset did look a bit like some we have down home. I wish you could see a Virginia sunset, Don.”
“Aren’t they a good deal like any other sunset?”
“No, I don’t think so. From our house at home the sun always sets across a little valley and back of a hill with a lot of dark trees on it. And there’s always a heap of blue wood smoke in the air and the woods are kind of hazy, you know. Wish I was there,” he added, with a tinge of melancholy in his voice.
“Cheer