"Merriwell is putting me in the shade without running up against me at all," thought Paul. "I have lost ground with the fellows right here. How can I recover?"
It did not take him long to decide that he must go against Merriwell in some kind of a contest—and beat him.
"You are very clever with the gloves, Merriwell," said Rains, stepping forward, and speaking placidly; "but I would like to see what you can do jumping."
"Is that a challenge?" asked Frank, quietly.
"If you wish to regard it as such."
"Oh, I am not anxious; I simply wanted to know just what you meant it for."
"Then let it go as a challenge."
"For what—high jump, or broad jump?"
"Both."
"That's the talk!" laughed one of the spectators. "Now we will have more sport!"
"All right," laughed Frank. "I will go you, though I have not been doing much jumping lately, and I am not in my best form."
"That will sound all right if you beat," said Rains; "but it will not do for an excuse if you lose."
"All right; let it go. I won't try to make any other excuse in case you are the victor."
In a mass the boys surged toward a piece of ground just outside of the gymnasium adapted to jumping.
"What shall it be first?" asked Frank, as he stood at the edge of the long strip of turf.
"Running long jump," decided Rains.
"That's agreeable. You challenged, and I presume we are to take turns for three jumps, the one who makes the best leap out of the number is the winner?"
"That's all right."
Hodge spoke up quickly:
"What do you mean by taking turns? Is one to jump three times, and then the other jump three times?"
"No, I mean for us to alternate," explained Frank. "First one jumps, and then the other."
Hodge nodded his satisfaction.
"That is fair, and it is much better than the other way," he declared.
The rivals made preparations for the contest. By lot it fell to Rains to lead off.
Rains was smiling and confident.
"If there is anything I can do, I can jump," he told Bascomb, in an aside. "I will beat him by a foot, at the very least."
"I hope you will beat him by a yard!" muttered the big fellow, sullenly. "I want to see him taken down. He has been a leader long enough."
"Oh, I will manage to win some of his glory away from him before the spring campaign opens," said Rains, confidently. "Don't you worry about that; but," he added, swiftly, "don't repeat my words to anybody. I am not going to boast, but I am going to do something. That's the proper way."
"Sure," nodded Bascomb. "I guess you can do it, too."
In his heart, however, Bascomb did not feel at all sure that Rains would prove the victor in the jumping contest.
"Merriwell is the hardest fellow to beat that I ever saw," he told himself. "It doesn't seem possible to down him, and keep him down. If one seems to get the best of him for a bit, he bobs up serenely directly, and comes out on top. It is just his luck!"
If Bascomb had said it was just Merriwell's pluck he would have hit the truth, for Frank, besides being physically capable, was endowed with any amount of determination, having a never-say-die spirit that would not give up as long as there was a ghost of a chance left to pull out a winner.
In the words of the boys, "Merriwell was no quitter."
"Ready," called the fellow who had been chosen for referee. "Rains will set the stint."
CHAPTER XIX.
JUMPING.
There was a determined look on Paul's face, as he walked to one end of the long strip of turf that ran down one side of the gymnasium.
"He is built for jumping," said one of the spectators. "There is a fine pair of legs, if I ever saw a fine pair."
"That's right," agreed another; "and he is full of snap and ginger. He will give Merriwell a hard go."
"But Merriwell is no slow coach at anything," broke in a third. "I never saw a fellow who seemed able to make such a record at all sorts of sports. Who would have thought that he could face Bascomb? Look! Rains is going to start! See him crouch for the run! He is like a young panther! Now he's off!"
Down the line of turf darted Paul, reached the white line, rose gracefully into the air with a pretty spring, and sailed forward in a handsome jump that brought a round of applause from the spectators.
The measurers immediately ran the tape.
"Seventeen feet and four inches," was the announcement.
A shade of disappointment came to the faces of the spectators, for that was far below the Fardale record.
Rains, however, winked quietly to Bascomb, as if to say that the first jump was a teaser, just to see what Merriwell would do.
Frank now took his position, ran swiftly and lightly down the turf, and made the jump. He seemed to be doing his best, or nearly that, yet he did not reach but a little beyond Rains' mark.
"Seventeen feet, six inches and a quarter," announced one of the measurers.
"I wonder if that is anywhere near his limit?" thought Paul, as he slowly walked back to the starting point. "I think I will have to give him a stint this time."
As he faced the mark, he gathered his energies in every part of his body, felt his muscles strain, knew his nerves were at their highest tension.
"He's going to lay himself out this time," said one of the spectators to another. "Seventeen feet will not be mentioned again."
Down the strip shot Rains. He reached the mark, and went flying through the air like a bird, bringing a cry to the lips of those watching, for they saw he had gone far ahead of the first jump.
"That was a beauty!" exclaimed Bascomb, speaking to Wat Snell, who stood watching.
"It was a good jump," said Snell; "but Merriwell will beat it."
"What makes you think so?"
"Because that fellow always beats at everything. I had rather have his luck than a license to steal! I've quit trying to down him, for I found I was bound to get the worst of it if I kept it up."
"Oh, his time will come."
"Perhaps so; but it isn't coming in a hurry."
"Nineteen feet, three inches and a third," announced the measurer.
"Hooray!" shouted one of Paul's delighted admirers.
"That's the stuff! Merriwell will have to shake himself, if he means to beat that."
But Frank had friends who were confident that he would still hold the lead.
"Wait till the next measurement is taken," they said.
Frank's manner, as he took his place for the start, seemed to indicate that he believed the task before him a difficult one.
"He's doubtful," muttered one of Paul's friends.
"He's losing courage," said another.
Pressing his lips together, Frank made the run, and the watchers held their breath as he jumped.
"He's