[See page 334
“come on, harkness! you’ve got him!"THE
LAST LAP
BY
ALDEN ARTHUR KNIPE
AUTHOR OF
“CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN”
IL L U ST RATE D
HARPER & BROTHERS
NEW YORK AND LONDONCOPYRIGHT, 1911, BY HARPER ft BROTHERS
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICACONTENTS
CHAP.	PAG В
I.	Fire! .................................... x
II.	An Impromptu	Race.................	14
III.	Little Peters	Lost.......................25
IV.	Bunny Goes in	Search..................35
V.	On the Road...............................44
VI.	In the Doctor’s	Study..................53
VII.	A New Captain	..................61
VIII.	Walters Turns Philanthropist ....	72
IX.	Basset Comes to Clinton...................85
X.	At Blue Point.............................97
XI.	In the Lower Bay..........................108
XII.	A Blizzard................................119
XIII.	On the Beach..............................133
XIV.	The Man with	the Lantern................145
XV.	At the Life-Saving Station................157
XVI.	“Stand By!”...............................171
XVII.	A Wreck...................................183
XVIII.	Happy New-Year............................197
XIX.	Home Again................................a 10
XX.	Walters Solves a Difficulty ....	222
XXI.	Before the Hockey Game....................233
XXII.	After the Hockey Game.....................242
XXIII.	Mr. Graves Accepts........................253
XXIV.	Harkness Sticks at It.....................265
XXV.	On the Track..............................278
XXVI.	More Hard Luck............................291
XXVII.	The Dual Meet.............................303
XXVIII.	All Out for the Relay.....................315
XXIX.	The Last Lap..............................327ILLUSTRATIONS
“COME on, HARKNESS! you’ve GOT him!” .	.	Frontispiece
THE TOWN BOY REMAINED CLOSE AT HIS ELBOW Facing p. 16
THE RESCUE...............................“	204
THE HOCKEY GAME..........................“	242
tTHE LAST LAPМІЙЯTHE LAST LAP
i
fire!
HEY, Bunny! Bunny Reeves!”
Bob Struthers, grasping his sleeping
room-mate by the shoulder, shook him vigor-
ously.
“What’s the matter?” asked Bunny, rous-
ing himself with an effort.
“There’s a big fire! Come, get up!”
This brought Bunny out of bed in a jiffy.
“Where is it?” he demanded.
“I can’t make out, but it’s a big one, all
right,” answered Bob, as the two boys hurried
to the window and pressed their faces against
the cold panes.
Beyond the circle of trees surrounding the
campus of the Clinton School they could see
the red glare glowing against the black sky,
and, now and then, as a heavy gust of wind
swept out of the west, angry flames leaped upTHE LAST LAP
into the heavens, leaving behind a path of
scattering sparks.
“Gee!” exclaimed Bob, shivering a little
with cold and excitement—“Gee! it’s a fierce
fire. Wonder where it is?”
“Outside the town somewhere,” replied
Bunny between chattering teeth, as he hopped
about from one bare foot to the other, and
then, as a particularly heavy blast of wind
shook the casement: “There! Look! Did
you see the flames?”
For a few minutes the boys stood watching
the red light grow brighter.
“What time is it?” asked Bunny, sud-
denly.
“ Half-past two,” Bob replied, after striking
a match and examining his watch. “ I wish
we could go to see it.”
“I’m going,” Bunny announced, turning
from the window.
“ I’m with you; but how about old Gravy ?”
Bob referred to the house-master, Mr. Graves.
“We’ll sneak down the back way and
out the dining-room window,” said Bunny.
“Hurry up!”
Much excited they began hunting about in
the dark for their clothes.
“ What are you going to wear ?” asked Bob.
“Sweater and trousers over my pajamas,”FIRE!
replied Bunny. “If you find my socks any-
where hand ’em over.”
“Can’t find my own. Ouch!” exclaimed
Bob, as he stubbed his toe against a chair.
“Hush!” whispered Bunny, “do you want
to wake up the whole house?”
“ But I can’t find anything!” returned Bob,
in an exasperated undertone.
“That’s what comes of scattering your
clothes all over the place when you go to bed.
Here’s one of your shoes. We’ll put them on
down-stairs.”
By this time Bunny was ready, but Bob
was still madly hunting for his sweater.
“Do hurry,” pleaded Bunny, opening the
door softly and peering down the dimly lighted
corridor.
“All right! I’ve found it,” said Bob a
moment later, and the two stepped into the
deserted hall.
On tiptoe, carrying their shoes in their
hands, they made their way toward the top
of the stairs at the rear of the building. Here
they paused for an instant, listening intently,
for they were both a little nervous and much
excited, and the high wind made strange
noises through the house. Proceeding with
the utmost caution, they reached the lower
floor without mishap, and were about to turn
3THE LAST LAP
into the hall when a door near them slammed
shut with a most alarming racket.
“Oh!” gasped Bob, involuntarily.
“Hush!” whispered Bunny, pressing him
back into the shadow of the staircase.
With held breath they waited, expecting
some one to appear, and straining their ears
to catch the first sounds of hurrying feet,
but nothing happened.
“Come on,” whispered Bunny; “it’s all
right.” And they started on again.
As Bunny opened the dining-room door a
sudden gust of wind almost wrenched the
knob out of his grasp.
“That’s why the door slammed,” whis-
pered Bob, pointing to an open window.
“We aren’t the only ones going to a fire,”
answered Bunny.
Putting on their shoes as quickly as possible,
the boys dropped quietly out of the window,
and were soon running across the campus in
the direction of the light that glowed more
brilliantly than ever in the blackness of the
night.
They could talk without fear of waking the
house-master, but they were too anxious to
get to the scene of the conflagration to waste
any breath on words. Once beyond the
school grounds they broke into a steady jog-FIRE !
trot and headed for the outskirts of the
town.
Bob, who was the best quarter-miler in the
school, set the pace, and Bunny followed as
well as he could.
As they turned into the main road leading
out of the town, they began to meet many
people, and were soon in the midst of a pant-
ing, excited throng moving rapidly toward
the fire, that shone like a blazing torch a mile
or so ahead of them.
“ It’s Sam Horton’s bam,” they heard some
one beside them call, and presently they could
hear the crackling of the flames as they ate
fiercely into the grain and hay stored up from
the recent harvest.
Almost before they knew it they were there.
The roar of the fire, whipped into fury by
the high winds, drowned all other sounds,
and for a moment Bob and Bunny stood fast,
a little awestruck by the scene before them.
Everything was in confusion. Men ran to
and fro shouting vainly; a few women, neigh-
bors of farmer Horton, stood in a little knot,
helplessly wringing their hands and occa-
sionally adding their frightened cries to the
din; a panic-stricken dog tore about yelping
piteously, while above all was the thunder of
the raging fire.
5THE LAST LAP
The red light and swirling sparks threw an
unnatural glow over everything, and, at inter-
vals, as the driving wind blew the flames high
into the air, the whole place became as light
as day, and the men, pausing for a moment,
looked anxiously at one another.
The Volunteer Fire Company of the little
town did what they could; but it was im-
possible to save the bam, and their main
efforts were directed toward liberating the
penned-in horses and cattle.
It was evident to every one that the barn
was doomed; and it shortly became appar-
ent that something must be done to save the
house. Soon after Bob and Bunny arrived
efforts were made in that direction.
Blankets and quilts were soaked and spread
on the roof, but, this being of slight use, the
captain of the fire company, calling for
volunteers, hauled his old-fashioned engine
near the well with the intention of sending
a stream of water on that side of the house
most exposed to the heat; and soon a number
of willing men were pulling and hauling at
the handles of the pump.
Bunny watched for a moment, and then
turned to Bob.
“Come on!” he shouted, “we can pump, if
nothing else.” And they hurried over toFIRE !
the machine, where two lines of black figures
rose and fell rhythmically.
Bunny, jumping into a vacant place, seized
the bar and put his strength into it.
“Is that you, Reeves?” some one shouted
in his ear, and he turned his head to face Wal-
ters, one of the members of the football team.
“Hello!” called Bunny. “Where did you
come from?”
“We’ve been here quite a while,” said
Walters. “Gee! isn’t it fine! Thornton’s
about somewhere, and so are Wallace and
Crawford, and a whole lot of the others—all
the football team, I think.”
“Fierce, isn’t it?” said Bunny, pumping
for all he was worth.
“Yes, and I don’t think they are going to
save the house. Look there, the roof is be-
ginning to catch.”
“Can’t we get more water up there than
this?” shouted Bunny, indicating a most in-
adequate stream.
“Don’t know,” panted Walters. “I’m
going to quit and get my breath. This is
worse than a game with Academy.” And
he relinquished his hold on the handle and
dropped out.
A moment or two later the stream of water
failed entirely, and the pumpers stopped.
2	7THE LAST LAP
“Well’s dry!” some one shouted near
Bunny.
“Get the furniture out!” cried another,
and soon every one was running about again
rather aimlessly.
Bunny, seeing Walters and Bob Struthers
together, hurried to them.
“Come on, fellows!” he cried, “let’s get the
stuff out of the house. It’s bound to go, I
guess.” He caught sight of Crawford and
called to him, and the four ran over to the
threatened building.
They were joined by Thornton, Blair, and
a half-dozen more of the football squad, who
instinctively looked to Bunny to direct them.
And Bunny was ready to take charge. His
football training stood him in good stead
now, and he at once set about organizing a
little team-work.
.“Walters, you and Blair come up-stairs
with me,” he ordered; “you other fellows
form a line, and we’ll pass things along to
you. On the jump, now!”
The boys, following these directions, ar-
ranged themselves at various intervals along
the hall and up the stairway. A number of
men, seeing the wisdom of what the boys were
doing, filled in the gaps, and soon there was
a steady stream of tables, chairs, trunks,
8FIRE !
mirrors, and objects of all sorts being sent
rapidly from hand to hand out of harm’s
way.
On the second floor, Bunny, Walters, and
Blair worked like mad.
“Throw the things that won’t smash out
of the window!” shouted Bunny, from be-
hind a huge bundle of bedclothes he was
carrying.
“Gee!” exclaimed Walters, after a little,
as he sniffed the air. “It’s getting pretty
thick up here. Guess we’re on fire, all right.”
“ Never mind that!” shouted Bunny. “ Get
that bed apart! Here, Blair, help me with
this mattress. Didn’t know the beastly things
were so hard to handle before.”
It was all very exciting, but soon the boys
began to be oppressed with the heat and
smoke, and those below, seeing that the roof
was entirely ablaze by this time, signaled
frantically for them to come down.
“ All out, fellows!” shouted Bunny. “ Down-
stairs everybody! We’ll take things out there
as long as we can!” And, pushing the others
before him, Bunny followed to the lower floor.
“Oh, I say, what can I do with this?” cried
Thornton, picking up a glass-covered bouquet
of wax flowers from the center-table in the
parlor.
9THE LAST LAP
“Take it out!” shouted Walters, beside him.
“But where can I put it?” pleaded Thorn-
ton, plaintively.
“ Hang it on a tree!” yelled Blair, who was
never serious under any circumstances.
“Idiot!” retorted Thornton. “It will get
broken if I put it down anywhere.”
“Stand and hold it,” Blair suggested, while
the others laughed, “ or you might keep it to
trim your spring bonnet.” But Thornton,
evidently much hurt at this levity, disap-
peared without another word.
The boys continued their good work of
saving as much as possible of farmer Horton’s
furniture, but soon they were driven out of
the lower floor, too, and then there was noth-
ing to do but to stand helplessly by and watch
the flames destroy what an hour before had
been a fine house.
The Clinton fellows stood in a group by
themselves, and quite a crowd they made.
They hadn’t thought of school for a long time,
and a good many hours had slipped away
without their realizing it. Bunny, with a
start of surprise, discovered that the day was
breaking.
“Gee, fellows!” he exclaimed, “we’d better
make tracks; it’s getting light!”
They looked at one another, a little crest-
IОFIRE !
fallen as they remembered the penalties for
being out of bounds at night and the dif-
ficulties of returning unobserved to their
rooms.
“You’re a funny - looking bird, Bunny,”
Crawford laughed.
“You look like a coal-heaver, yourself,”
said Walters.
“No fear of our getting caught,” Blair put
in. “Old Mac himself couldn’t tell us with
these faces. He’d think we were all darkies. ”
Which was true, in a measure, for they were
all blackened with smoke, and vigorous rub-
bing with dry handkerchiefs only added to
the weird effect.
“We’d better get a move on us, anyhow,”
Crawford suggested, sensibly.
“Where’s Thornton?” asked Walters, look-
ing about for his room-mate.
“ There he is, looking like a little Christmas-
tree ornament,” cried Blair, pointing; and,
sure enough, there stood Thornton near a fence
still clutching the glass-covered wax flowers.
The boys moved over to him in a body.
“Couldn’t you find a tree to hang it on?”
Blair asked, in a tone of kindly solicitude.
“I don’t know where to put it,” Thornton
repeated, mournfully, ignoring Blair. “I’ve
been looking everywhere—”
I ITHE LAST LAP
“What’s the matter with the ground?”
Walters interrupted, irritably.
“But it will get broken,” answered Thorn-
ton, seriously. “I’ve been look—”
“Take it home with you,” Wallace sug-
gested amid the general laughter.
“Give it to old Mac,” said Crawford, re-
ferring to Doctor MacHenry, the head-master.
“You fellows let Thornton alone,” Blair
cut in. “He likes pretty flowers, don’t you,
Thom?”
“You shut up!” Thornton returned, sav-
agely; and, in sheer desperation, he de-
posited his treasure under a bush and, with a
regretful parting glance at it, hurried away
to join the others who were starting for
school.
“We can’t all go together,” Wallace said,
when they reached the road, “it would give
us away, sure.”
“We’re given away, all right,” Thornton
asserted. “ I saw Billy Bryan somewhere
about. ’ ’
“ Needn’t worry about him,” Bunny assured
them. “Billy isn’t that kind.”
“Old Gravy’s the one I’m afraid of,” said
Crawford, feelingly. “You fellows in the
new dorms don’t know what it is to have a
strict house-master.”FIRE !
“I’m ready to trade,” said Walters.
“Well, you can’t do it here,” Bunny cut
in. “This isn’t getting back to school. I’ve
a picture of old Gravy standing at the door
to welcome us. Come on!”
iII
AN IMPROMPTU RACE
AT the cross-roads Bob and Bunny turned
• off, followed by Walters and Thornton,
who lived in the New Dormitory. Wallace
and Crawford, on the other hand, kept
straight on for the reason that they roomed
in Barton Hall with Bob and Bunny, and it
was decided not to have too many trying to
enter the same house at the same time.
“We’re going to have trouble enough get-
ting in without old Gravy seeing us. That’s
a cinch!” said Bob, pessimistically. Now
that the excitement of the fire was over, and
the realities of school ahead of him, Bob was
inclined to take the worst view of the case.
“He won’t be up yet,” suggested Bunny,
more hopefully.
“Oh, he’ll be up, all right. Trust him to
know what’s going on,” returned Bob. “He’s
an old snooper.”
Bob again set the pace for the homeward
trot, and in a short time they caught up with
14AN IMPROMPTU RACE
a boy of about their own age who had started
ahead of them. As they passed him he broke
into a run, grinning in a friendly and half-
apologetic way for joining them. He was a
town boy, and the Clinton boys were slightly
surprised, although nothing was said.
Bob had no particular thought of a race
in his mind, but he could not help increasing
his pace a trifle as the boy came up to him,
and he lengthened his stride almost without
realizing it.
ч If he had an idea that the town boy would
not be able to keep up he was greatly mis-
taken, for, after they had gone a hundred
yards or so, there was the stranger, just
where he had been, with the same grin on his
face.
There was something about this fellow that
seemed to indicate that he thought himself a
good runner. He had no difficulty in hold-
ing his place, and ran so easily that Bob, un-
consciously feeling the spirit of competition,
again increased his speed.
The others, however, who were not run-
ners, soon fell behind, and Bunny, guessing
what was in Bob’s mind, called out to him:
“ You go ahead if you want to, but wait for
me at the drug-store.”
Bob nodded his head and went on. He
15THE LAST LAP
didn’t believe he would have to go all that
way before making the town boy give up,
so he settled down to his racing stride.
But the boy held on. He stayed beside
Bob with apparent ease and still grinned.
He was long-legged, with good shoulders and
a deep chest; a natural runner who gave no
indication of weakening.
Bob had increased his speed so that they
were going at a half-mile pace in good time,
and yet the boy remained, still grinning,
close at his elbow.
Struthers began to think it was not going
to be such an easy task to shake off this
stranger, but he felt satisfied that if he kept
this up the other must tire, and then he could
sprint a short distance, just to show how
much better he really was.
Bob was rather proud of his running, for
he had never been beaten by a boy of his
own age, and in some instances he had won
from fellows a good deal older, so he was justi-
fied in thinking that a chap who had never had
any training or experience, pitted against him,
would be apt to give up sooner or later; but
he was much surprised that it had not been
sooner than this.
On the two boys went, until Bob began to
feel his breath coming in shorter and shorter
16THE TOWN BOY REMAINED CLOSE AT HIS ELBOWAN IMPROMPTU RACE
gasps and his legs tiring rapidly. He knew
by experience what these symptoms meant,
but heretofore his races had had a definite
end, while in this case there was no white
line stretched across the track to mark the
finish. This was a question of which of them
would give in first, and he glanced at the boy
beside him to see if he showed any signs of
fatigue.
Undoubtedly the town boy was beginning
to pant, and, although his grin was still in
evidence, it was not so wide as it had been,
and Bob took heart.
It had become a matter of endurance, a
test of how much each of them would be will-
ing to suffer; and Bob plugged along dog-
gedly, knowing that this was the time when
the race would be won or lost; and the same
grit and determination that had brought him
firsts in many a race before served him in
good stead now.
It was hard work to keep his legs going,
and he couldn’t seem to get air enough into
his lungs, but he knew the other fellow must
be tired, too, so he kept his thoughts on the
fact that he must win, and struggled to in-
crease his speed.
From that moment he began to draw ahead,
and then, quite suddenly, the race ended.
17THE LAST LAP
“You win!” the town boy panted, throw-
ing himself down on the bank beside the road.
Bob went on a few yards farther, but he
was willing to stop, too; and, turning, walked
back to where the other was sitting at as
quick a pace as he could manage.
“You’d better not sit there,” he said, as
he came up; “your legs will get all stiffened.
Billy says it’s the worst thing you can do.”
“Who’s Billy?” asked the other.
“Billy Bryan, our trainer at the school,”
Bob informed him.
“Oh, I’ve seen him; but it won’t hurt
me,” said the town boy, still panting; “and,
say, that was a race!”
Bob looked at him curiously. There was
no doubt about it that he had had all he
could do to win, and he was too good an
athlete to reckon his competitor lightly.
“You’re a good runner,” he said, candidly.
“ I was pretty nearly all in, and if you’d just
sprinted fifty yards farther I’d have been
beaten.”
“ Oh, well, there isn’t any use killing your-
self,” said the town boy. “There’s nothing
in a race like that. If there was a prize it
might be worth while; but when I get tired
I just stop. Say, you’re Bob Struthers, aren’t
you?AN IMPROMPTU RACE
Bob nodded. He was accustomed to being
recognized by town people, who knew all the
Clinton athletes by sight.
“I’ve seen you run many a time,” the boy
went on, “and I’ve always wanted to race
you. I think I could have won if it hadn’t
been so far.”
Bob laughed a little. He had had experi-
ence enough to know that, even if he had beat-
en the boy this time, it had been by so close
a margin that he had nothing to boast of.
“ If you had some training you would make
a fine runner,” he said, cordially. “What’s
your name.”
“Henry Basset,” was the reply. “Most of
the boys call me Hank,” he added, with his
characteristic grin.
“Well, I wish you went to Clinton,” Bob
went on. “With Billy Bryan to train you,
you’d make us all hustle.”
“I’d like nothing better than to go to
Clinton,” replied Hank, “but my folks are
too poor. Fact is, my father died, and there’s
nobody but mother, and she can’t afford it.
I’ve often wished I could go to Clinton. But,
say, wasn’t that a dandy fire?”
“Fine!” agreed Bob.
“There were a lot of you fellows there,”
Basset remarked.
19THE LAST LAP
“Yes, and we’re not back yet, worse luck,”
said Bob, feelingly.
“There was one little kid over by the bam
when I first got there,” Basset went on, but
just then Bunny and the others came up.
“How did it come out?” cried Thornton.
“Oh, he beat me,” replied Hank, with a
grin, and not at all as if he regretted it.
“You don’t catch me killing myself when
there’s nothing in it,” he added.
“ It was a hard race,” Bob put in, modestly.
“ It looked to me as if he was giving you a
run for your money,” said Walters, gazing
down at Basset. “He’s built for a runner,
all right.”
“I wish he was in school,” Bob observed.
“We could use him on the track team in
more ways than one.”
“You ought to come to Clinton,” sug-
gested Walters.
“ I was just telling Struthers I’d like to,
but mother can’t afford it,” Basset repeated.
“And if you were at Clinton, Bunny cut
in, “ you’d be wondering how you were going
to get back in Barton Hall without old Gravy
catching you. Come on, fellows, we haven’t
any time to waste.”
“I guess that’s right,” said Bob. “We’ve
got to go. Good-by, Basset,” he said to the
20AN IMPROMPTU RACE
town boy. “Any time you’re over near the
track I’ll be glad to tell you anything about
running that I know — and you ought to
train. You’d make a fine quarter-miler. ”
“All right, thanks,” said Hank. “So long;
I’m going to rest a bit more.” And the others
went off, leaving him, still grinning, on the
bank by the roadside.
It was, of course, daylight by this time, and
in the autumn that meant about six o’clock.
The boys knew that the servants in the house
would be preparing breakfast, and that they
were pretty sure to be observed by some one,
but they were hopeful that, unless Mr. Graves
himself saw them, there would be no report
made of the matter.
When they reached town Walters and
Thornton went off in order to enter the school
grounds from a different direction, so that
Bob and Bunny had no one but themselves
to consider.
“We don’t dare to go in the front way,”
said Bunny, as they hurried on, “and the
dining-room will be full of people setting the
tables. I guess the best thing we can do is
to go in the back door just as if it was all
right for us to be there.”
“Old Gravy can’t see us if we go ’round
and come up by the athletic field,” said Bob.THE LAST LAP
“No; but there’s the Doctor’s house.
We’d have to pass that on the way,” ob-
jected Bunny.
“He won’t be up this early.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” said
Bunny, doubtingly; “but I tell you—we can
go around on the other side of the gym and
along the chapel. No one will be there.”
This was the plan finally decided upon,
and, as the boys neared the school grounds,
they made a wide detour in order to bring
them in at the back of Barton Hall. Enter-
ing near the gymnasium, they hugged the
walls so as not to attract attention, and, so
far as they could see, the campus was as quiet
and deserted as it had been when they left it
three or four hours earlier. No one seemed
to be about, although the smoke rising from
the chimneys showed that the servants at
least were stirring.
At the end of the gymnasium they were
forced to cross an open space to reach the
chapel, and Bunny looked cautiously in all
directions before venturing forth. Not see-
ing any one, they sprinted at top speed, and
a moment later were in the sheltering shadows
of the chapel. From there they could see
the rear entrance of Barton Hall, and crept
toward it, keeping the trees between them
22AN IMPROMPTU RACE
and the doorway and windows as well as they
could; but Mr. Graves’s study and sleeping-
rooms were on the other side of the Hall,
and they had little fear of being seen by
him.
As they approached, Bunny suddenly stop-
ped and looked helplessly at Bob.
“What’s the matter?”
“Why, that back door will be locked. It
always is,” replied Bunny, under his breath.
“Gee! that’s so. Why didn’t we think of
that before?” said Bob.
It seems rather stupid that neither of the
boys had remembered this, but they were so
much in the habit of using that door during
the day on their return from recitations that
perhaps there was some excuse.
At that moment there was a sound of run-
ning feet, and, as they looked, they saw Wal-
lace and Crawford dash from the shelter of the
trees and make for the rear door. Evidently
these two had had the same plan as Bob
and Bunny, who watched breathlessly to see
what would happen.
Wallace and Crawford, also forgetting that
this rear door was always locked at night,
ran straight for it. When they had mounted
the four steps Bunny and Bob expected them
to come to a sudden halt, but to their great
3	23THE LAST LAP
surprise the door opened and the two boys
disappeared within.
“Come on,” said Bob. “It’s open, after
all.”
Bunny grasped his arm.
“ Just wait a minute, ’ ’ he whispered. “ Who
opened that door for Wallace and Crawford,
I’d like to know?”
“Why, some of the boys, I guess,” Bob
suggested, vaguely. Bunny shook his head.
“I’m not at all sure it wasn’t old Gravy.
He’s just wise enough to think of that. Let’s
wait a minute and see what happens.”
And even as he spoke the door opened and
Mr. Graves, clad in a bath wrapper, stepped
out and looked intently about him. Then
he went back and closed the door.9
III
LITTLE PETERS LOST
BUNNY and Bob looked at each other for
a moment helplessly. The penalty for
being out of the house at night was severe,
and the chances of their being able to return
to their rooms without the house-master see-
ing them seemed very slim. With Mr. Graves
standing inside the back door, as they be-
lieved, and with the front door locked, there
was nothing left but to find an entrance
through one of the windows on the ground
floor, and this was no easy matter. They
felt quite certain that they would be seen at
once if they left the shelter of the trees, and,
furthermore, except in the dining-room, there
were no windows that they could count upon
being accessible from the outside. It was
much easier, they found, to get out of a
house without being seen than it was to get
back again in broad daylight.
“We’ll have to try the dining-room and risk
it,” Bob whispered; but Bunny shook his head.
25THE LAST LAP
“Just wait a minute, I’m thinking,” he
said.
“ But we can’t wait all day,” muttered Bob,
rather peevishly. “If we’re going to get
caught, let’s get it over with.”
Bunny did not reply at once, but puzzled
over the situation for a moment or two.
“It looks to me,” he began, at length, “as
if we’d have to separate or both of us get
caught, and I don’t see any sense in that.”
“No, I suppose not,” said Bob, rather re-
luctantly, “but—”
“Never mind butting,” retorted Bunny, a
little crossly. “ Now, this is what I propose
to do. Old Gravy can’t be on both sides of
the house at once, so if one of us goes in from
this side and the other goes from the other at
the same time one of us will get off, that’s
sure. ’ ’
“Yes,” agreed Bob, “sounds that way.”
“Very well, then,” Bunny went on, “you
go around the house. You can get in the
same way we came out. I’ll give you three
minutes, and then I’ll start from here.”
“But where will you get in?” demanded
Bob.
“Never you mind that, I’ll find a place,”
returned Bunny. “What I want you to do
is to get over to your side as quickly as you
26LITTLE PETERS LOST
can. There’s the dining-room, anyway, and
with any sort of luck you ought to get
through.”
“But how about you?” protested Bob.
“Never mind about me,” Bunny inter-
rupted, giving Bob a push, “ you hustle be-
fore it gets any later.”
Bob still wished to demur, not liking this
plan on Bunny’s account, and would have
stayed had not his room-mate insisted that
it was the only way; so Bob was hurried off,
still protesting.
“I'll meet you in our rooms in five min-
utes,” Bunny’s parting words were, and Bob
went off.
Left alone, Bunny held his place till the
three minutes were up. Then he walked de-
liberately toward the back door and went up
the steps. He had planned to make certain
that Bob wasn’t caught, at any rate, and was
ready to face Mr. Graves himself, for he be-
lieved him to be standing behind the door
at that moment.
He hesitated with a slight sinking of the
heart, for he knew that he had been break-
ing a strict rule, and in all probability would
be sent to Doctor MacHenry, the head-
master; but for all that he felt that he was
doing the best thing under the circumstances,
27THE LAST LAP
knowing that, if he had not proposed going
to the fire in spite of the rules, Bob would
never have gone.
Bunny put his hand on the knob of the
door and opened it, prepared to see Mr.
Graves, but as he looked into the dark hall-
way there was no one visible.
“He must be waiting up-stairs,” thought
Bunny.
He didn’t know what to do, but he mounted
the steps, nevertheless, hoping that perhaps
he might be able to think of some way out
of it. Up he went till he reached his floor,
and once more peered along the corridor.
No one was in sight.
“Oh, why couldn’t I have kept Bob with
me?” he said to himself, as he sped toward
his own room. “Here I am, after trying to
get caught, escaping all right.”
But there was nothing to gain by Bunny’s
deliberately seeking Mr. Graves, so he hur-
ried to his room, and was soon safe behind
the door.
Five minutes later Bob burst in very much
out of breath and excited.
“How about it?” asked Bunny, anxiously.
“I’m all right; how about you?” returned
Bob.
“No one saw me. Old Gravy wasn’t be-
28LITTLE PETERS LOST
hind that door, after all, though I thought he
was,” Bunny explained.
“ He was on the other side of the house all
the time,” Bob broke in. “I saw him at the
window first, and then he came out on the
porch and looked up and down the road.
He was about tearing his hair from the
way he acted. Then I saw him go into his
dressing-room, and I guess he’s putting on
his clothes now.”
“What did you do?” asked Bunny.
“ I hiked around to the back door again.
Of course, no one was there, but I’ll bet old
Gravy is after us, all right.”
“We’re in, anyway,” said Bunny, with a
sigh of relief. “He won’t make us commit
ourselves.”
“Gee! he won’t have to,” Bob replied,
sniffing. “ This whole place smells of smoke,
all right, and you look like a coal-heaver. It
wouldn’t be hard for any one to tell we’d
been to a fire if they happened to know there
had been one.”
“This is where I wash—” Bunny began,
but he was interrupted by a sharp rap on the
door.
Bob looked at his room-mate with an ex-
pression that seemed to say, “ What shall we
do?”
29THE LAST LAP
Bunny stood still for a moment, not know-
ing which way to turn, and again there was
a knock, this time more positively.
“We’re in for it,” Bunny whispered, as he
went over to the door and opened it to admit
Mr. Graves.
The house-master was a young man, rather
pale, and wearing glasses. His manner at all
times was nervous, and the boys were in the
habit of making fun of the hesitating way in
which he talked. But he was a good house-
master, and kept order without much friction.
Upon this occasion he was evidently under
some considerable strain, for his stammering
manner was more pronounced than ever.
He came into the room sniffing, or, at least,
it seemed so to the boys, and looked about
him through the thick lenses of his spectacles.
“Ah—Reeves and—er—Struthers,” he be-
gan, turning his head away from them rather
pointedly. “ Er—ah—that is—I’ve been here
before this morning—most extraordinary.
You didn’t seem to hear my knock.”
He paused a moment, as if he expected
some reply, and then hurried on as if, perhaps,
they might answer.
“ I didn’t wish to waken you, and—er—the
fact is that I find it difficult to make myself
perfectly clear, but—er—you may, perhaps,LITTLE PETERS LOST
be aware that there was a fire in the village
this morning, early?”
“ Yes, sir,” said Bunny, “we did know of it.”
“Exactly,” Mr. Graves went on. “And—
er—I wish you both to understand that I am
not inquiring into any of your—er—that is—
I am not asking you to commit yourselves in
any way, but I should like to know if by any
chance you have seen Peters this morning?”
“What, little Peters?” asked Bob.
“Yes, little Peters,” Mr. Graves continued.
“ The fact is, that I was awakened by the glare
of the fire, and knowing that perhaps some of
the boys might be tempted, I went to the
rooms of the lower forms to make sure that
none of them went out of the house. I ap-
preciate the temptation—er—that a fire has
for boys of all ages, and I wanted to be cer-
tain that none of the younger and smaller
ones went there. It is dangerous and—er—
you do not understand the responsibilities
we masters have. Er—I found all the boys
—er—the younger boys, I mean—in their
rooms, except Peters.”
Again Mr. Graves stopped.
“Of course,” he hastened on, “I’m not ask-
ing where you boys were. I simply wish to
know if you happen to have seen Peters—er—
er—any time lately?”
31THE LAST LAP
“No, Mr. Graves,” said Bunny. “We
haven’t seen him.”
“Nor you, St rut hers ?”
“No, sir,” said Bob, promptly.
“ You both understand, I hope,” Mr. Graves
went on, “ that I am not concerned in any of
your actions. Not at all. I am worried
about Peters, however, and if, perhaps—er—
that is—if, we will suppose, you had been at
the fire yourselves, not that I accuse you
of it, but—er—had you been, would you
have seen Peters?”
It was plain to both the boys that Mr.
Graves was trying his best to show them that
what they had done was of little interest as
compared to what had become of Peters.
“ I can assure you, Mr. Graves,” said Bunny,
earnestly, “that neither of us saw Peters this
morning. ’ ’
Mr. Graves stood silent for a moment in
thought.
“ I am in a very difficult position,” he said,
frankly. ‘ ‘ I cannot move in this matter myself
without involving a number of the pupils and
seeming to pry into their doings. I know
that several boys in this house have been to
the fire, but it is not my desire to report
them. I understand the temptation. How-
ever, I cannot, in my position as master, ig-
32(
LITTLE PETERS LOST
nore the rules—yet I would like to know if
any one who went to the fire saw young
Peters. Do you think—er—you could help
me?”
“I am sure we could,” answered Bunny,
promptly. “Ill get dressed at once.”
“So will I,” added Bob.
“I shall be very much obliged to you,”
said Mr. Graves, “and I need not impress
upon you the necessity for haste. Already
the boy has been away from the house since
three o’clock or earlier this morning. Get
something to eat before you start. You will
please report to me whether or not you find
news of him. I repeat that I shall be very
much obliged to you both,” and with these
words Mr. Graves went out.
“Gee!” exclaimed Bob as they came out
of the dining-room. “ I wonder if anything
has happened to little Peters?”
“ It’s funny we didn’t see him if he went to
the fire,” said Bunny.
“ We’ll ask all the fellows. That’s the first
thing to do,” Bob suggested.
“ I should have thought we would have
seen him if any one did,” replied Bunny,
hurrying into his clothes. “I shouldn’t like
anything to happen to him. He’s a plucky
kid.”
33THE LAST LAP
“We’ll just have to find him, so come
along!” Bob exclaimed, putting on his coat,
and a moment later they were off to inquire
if any of the other boys had seen the missing
Peters.IV
BUNNY GOES IN SEARCH
NO one in Barton Hall, nor in the new
dormitories, had seen anything of little
Peters, and Bob and Bunny were returning
to report their failure to Mr. Graves when the
former remembered.
“ I say, Bunny, you know that town boy
I had the race with?” he asked, sud-
denly.
“Yes,” answered Bunny, thinking of other
things.
“ He told me he had seen one of our fellows
at the fire,” Bob went on, “and then he said
something about a ‘little kid.’ He couldn’t
have meant any of us, because we’re all as
old or older than he is. I think it must have
been Peters.”
“Are you sure he said ‘little kid’?” Bunny
demanded.
“ Sure of it,” replied Bob, positively. “ You
and the others came up just then, and that
was all he said about it, but I know he men-
35THE LAST LAP
tioned something about a ‘kid.’ Funny I
never thought of it till this minute!”
Bunny stopped in his tracks.
“What’s that fellow’s name?” he asked.
“Henry Basset,” Bob replied.
“You don’t know where he lives, I sup-
pose?” Bunny went on.
Bob shook his head. “Why?” he ques-
tioned.
“I’m going to see him right away,” Bunny
explained. “You tell old Gravy just what
you’ve told me, and say I’ve gone to find
Basset. I’ll be back after a while.” And
without another word he started off at a brisk
walk.
He didn’t know where to look for Hank
Basset, but he didn’t expect to have any
trouble in finding him. There were several
storekeepers who were good friends of all the
Clinton boys, and through one of these
Bunny got the address he was looking for.
Hurrying to the house, he was fortunate
enough to meet Basset coming out on his way
to the public school.
“Hello!” Hank called; “are you looking
for a race, too?” He still had his broad grin
and seemed as friendly and as good-natured
as ever.
Bunny told him of his errand.
36BUNNY GOES IN SEARCH
“Sure I remember the kid,” Basset said.
“ He was a little black-headed fellow. When
I saw him he was holding the barn-door open
while the men were taking out the horses
and cattle. They wanted me to do it, but
you don’t catch me running any risks like
that. It looked pretty dangerous to me,
but your friend didn’t seem to mind. I don’t
know what became of him.”
Bunny’s heart gave a bound of appre-
hension.
“A little black-headed fellow” exactly de-
scribed Peters, and the last seen of him he
he was in a position that this older boy con-
sidered perilous. Evidently something seri-
ous had happened.
“I’m much obliged, but I must go now,”
said Bunny.
“That’s all right,” replied Hank, cheer-
fully; “tell that other fellow that I think I
can beat him the next time we have a race.”
But Bunny didn’t hear. He was anxious
to report to Mr. Graves, and was almost run-
ning. Gradually, however, he slackened his
speed.
“I’d only be wasting time to go back to
school.” he said to himself. “I’d better go
to Horton’s and find out if any one else saw
him or knows where he is.” And with this
37THE LAST LAP
idea in mind Bunny started off as fast as he
could in the direction of the farm.
Bunny arrived at the scene of the fire to
find that many people were still there, stand-
ing about the smoking ruins and speculating
about the cause of the conflagration. The
neighbors had brought hot coffee and milk,
bread and butter, and sandwiches, so that it
looked for all the world like a picnic to Bunny.
Yet it wasn’t a cheerful sight, with the black
ruins, the litter of household goods scattered
about the yard, and the pungent smell of
smoke that hung over everything, making the
place seem desolate and uninviting.
Bunny didn’t dwell on this, but it did
strike him as rather hard on Mr. Horton, and
he couldn’t help feeling sorry for the farmer
whose pleasant home had been burned up
in such a short time.
He was a trifle uncertain just how to begin
his search for the missing boy. There were
so many people about of whom he might in-
quire that he hesitated for a few moments.
However, he knew there was no time to lose,
so he went over to the burned bam, where
there were a number of men trying to straight-
en things out a little, and where he hoped to
find Mr. Horton. He felt it would be better
not to let any one know that one of the
38BUNNY GOES IN SEARCH
Clinton boys was missing if he could help it,
so he thought it wise to ask casually if any
one had seen such a boy.
The first man he spoke to looked at him
blankly, as if he did not understand the ques-
tion, so Bunny repeated it.
“Oh, I heard what you said,” the man
burst out, scornfully. “Have I seen a boy?
I should think I had! Every boy in Roches-
ter County has been here this morning, I’m
thinkin’. Never saw so many boys.”
“But this was a small boy,” Bunny per-
sisted. “He was seen near the bam helping
to get the horses and cows out.”
“ I don’t know nothin’ of any special boy,”
he grumbled. “There seemed to be about
a thousand of ’em, big and little, from the
look of it; but I’ve got other things to do
than bother with boys when there’s a fire
goin’.”
Bunny tried again with no better result.
Apparently not one of the men near the barn
had seen any one resembling Peters, and,
moreover, they seemed to have a grudge
against boys of all ages and kinds. But al-
though these questions of his didn’t appear
to be leading anywhere, Bunny, not knowing
what else to do, continued asking all who
would listen to him if they had seen a small
4	39THE LAST LAP
boy, with black hair, who had held open the
door of the barn while the horses and cows
were being taken out.
At last he found an old farmer who stopped
and looked down at him thoughtfully.
“Seems to me I did see a little feller like
you’re speakin’ of,” he answered, more to
himself than to Bunny. “ Little shaver about
so high?” he went on, holding out a hand to
measure the distance from the ground.
“Yes!” exclaimed Bunny, eagerly. “Yes,
he is about that big, with black hair.”
The old farmer raised his hand to his head,
as if that would help him to remember.
“Yes, I’m certain I did see him,” he said,
after a moment. “ He was standin’ there
holdin’ the door. But I don’t know what
become of him. Hey, Bill Johnson!” He
raised his voice and shouted to a man near
the ruined house. “Say, what happened to
that youngster who was holdin’ the barn-door
while we was gettin’ out the cattle? You
remember him, don’t you?”
Bill Johnson turned slowly and walked over
toward them.
“ Come to think of it, I do remember a lit-
tle feller holdin’ open the barn-door, but I
don’t recollect what become of him, there
was such a lot of them kids about,” he replied.
40BUNNY GOES IN SEARCH
“What’s that I hear about a little feller
holdin’ the barn-door open?” cried the shrill
voice of a woman near them, and Bunny was
about to repeat his question when she inter-
rupted.
“Land sakes! Are you lookin’ for a little
feller with black hair ? Well, he’s home, sleep-
in’ fit to kill, and I’ve forgotten all about him
till this minute.”
She looked at Bunny and laughed, as if it
were the best joke in the world.
Bunny took off his hat.
“I’m very anxious to find him,” he said,
politely.
“Well, that won’t be hard,” said the wom-
an, whose name was Mrs. Jenkins. “He got
hurt some way, and—”
“Got hurt!” Bunny interrupted, anxiously.
“ Oh, not serious, ’ ’ Mrs. Jenkins assured him.
“One of the horses stepped on him, and my
husband just picks him up, and Doc Lewis,
who was right there, tied a bandage on him
and we put him to bed. He’s all right, but
I clean forgot him till I heard you inquirin’.
A fire’s such an excitin’ thing, and bein’
Sary Horton’s nearest neighbor, I thought it
only right I should come over and do all I
could, though I must say the fire ain’t left
much to do neither. But, land sakes! to
41THE LAST LAP
think I should have forgot all about that
boy!”
“You’re sure he isn’t much hurt?” Bunny
asked.
“He didn’t seem to be,” Mrs. Jenkins an-
swered. “ Leastwise he didn’t carry on none,
nor cry, nor nothin’. He complained like
when I was helpin’ him off with his clothes,
sayin’ he could do that for himself, and didn’t
need no nurse, though he is such a little feller.
But you’d better come over to the house.
It’s only up the road a piece, and I guess he’s
beginnin’ to wonder where his breakfast is.
Ain’t it funny I should have forgot him?
Seems like I never have no head for nothin’
when there’s trouble, and I’m just mortal
’fraid of fire.”
Mrs. Jenkins talked on, apparently without
taking breath, as they walked up the road,
and was still at it when they arrived at a
comfortable farm-house.
“ It seems like a shame to wake him if he’s
still sleepin’,” Mrs. Jenkins said, as she and
Bunny went in. “He was that tired, from
pain and excitement, I guess, that he just
dropped off like a baby. Though, if he’s awake,
I reckon he’ll be about ready for a bite to eat. ’ ’
As they started to go up-stairs Mrs. Jenkins
stopped.
42BUNNY GOES IN SEARCH
“I think I’ll get somethin’ cookin’ first,”
she said. “He’ll have to eat in bed, ’cause
he can’t walk on that foot.”
“But he must get back to school,” Bunny
protested.
“Then he’ll have to ride,” declared Mrs.
Jenkins, positively. “ He can’t walk, that’s
flat; but my husband ’11 hitch up after din-
ner, if he can drag himself away from the fire,
and drive the boy to town. He’s got to fetch
a load of oats sometime soon, anyway.”
“ I think I’d like to go to him,” Bunny said,
striving not to offend Mrs. Jenkins by insist-
ing, and yet most anxious to see Peters.
“I suppose you are frettin’,” she returned,
and went on.
As they neared the bedroom she whispered
a caution not to make any noise.
Mrs. Jenkins opened the door and stepped
in, closely followed by Bunny.
“Land sakes!” she exclaimed, halting on
the threshold.
“What is it?” cried Bunny, pushing past
her into the room. But there was no need
for Mrs. Jenkins to answer. Bunny saw at
once that the bed, although showing that it
had been slept in, was empty, and there was
no one except themselves in the room.V
ON THE ROAD
BUNNY had been quite right in assuming
that the little fellow with the black hair
whom Mrs. Jenkins had picked up after the
horse had stepped on his foot was Peters.
When the boy awoke and found himself in
a strange bed, he looked about at the un-
familiar objects in the room, and, for a mo-
ment or two, could not remember how he had
come there. Then a dull pain in his foot
brought back the recollection • of all that had
happened, and the bright sunlight streaming
in through the uncurtained window recalled
to his mind the fact that he was away from
school without permission.
“Old Gravy will catch me sure!” he said,
half aloud, and this thought made him sit
up in bed in a hurry.
“Ouch!” he exclaimed, involuntarily, as
the sudden movement twisted his injured
foot.
He slid his legs carefully from under the
44ON THE ROAD
covers and looked in dismay at the swollen,
bluish toes sticking out from the bandage,
wiggling them a little to see how much it
hurt.
“ I must get back to school right away,” he
thought. “I wonder what time it is?”
There was no clock in the room, and, be-
cause the house was so quiet, he concluded
that it must still be early, and that he might
be able to return to Barton Hall before break-
fast, and so escape Mr. Graves.
His clothes were lying on a chair near him,
and, hopping over to it, he began to dress with
as much speed as he could manage.
It wasn’t an easy matter, and his injured
foot throbbed and ached in a most uncom-
fortable way when it hung down, but he kept
at it. He left shoes and stockings for the
last, because he knew there would be trouble
over them; but at length it was all done ex-
cept the sore foot.
It was impossible to draw his stocking over
the bandage, which he dared not remove,
because the doctor who had put it on had
predicted dire consequences if he meddled
with it, so he abandoned all thought of the
stocking for that leg. But the problem of a
shoe seemed equally impossible to solve.
Peters felt very small and very lonesome for
45THE LAST LAP
a moment or two, as he sat on the bed won-
dering what he should do.
He found, by experimenting, that he could
get his toes a little way into the shoe, and
resolved to try getting along that way, but
when he lifted his foot to take a step the shoe
dropped off.
“ I must get back to school!” he kept telling
himself, and finally he hit upon the plan of
tying the useless stocking around the sole of
the shoe and up about the ankle. This, to be
sure, did not look very well, but it kept the
shoe on, and, stumbling along, on one foot
mostly, little Peters went down-stairs and out
of the empty house.
On the road he struggled ahead manfully,
but it was distressing and slow work. He
could hardly bear any weight at all on the
injured foot, and occasionally, as he limped
along, he would lose his balance and almost
fall. Once he stepped on a loose stone and
had to sit down for a moment, his foot throb-
bed so; but thereafter he was more careful.
As he passed the scene of the fire he stayed
on the far side of the road, hurrying as much
as he could for fear some one would stop him,
but no one seemed to notice, they were so
busy with other things.
He had left the Horton farm well behind
46ON THE ROAD
him, though his progress had been slow, and
turned off when he came to the cross-roads,
because that way was the shorter. He
plodded on, wincing at every step and strug-
gling hard to keep back the tears that threat-
ened to overflow, for, after all, Peters was only
a little chap, and the pain was becoming more
and more severe.
Still he hobbled on, determined that he
would not give up, and hurrying as fast as he
could, hoping he would arrive in time to es-
cape punishment.
But, try as he would, he could not forget
the pain in his foot, which became worse and
worse, and so he was forced to sit down to
rest it for a while.
“ I can’t stay long,” he almost sobbed, hold-
ing his injured foot between his hands and
rocking his body back and forth—“ I can’t
stay long; but I do wish it would stop hurt-
ing a little.”
Meanwhile, what was Bunny doing?
When he and Mrs. Jenkins discovered that
the bed was empty, a search of the house was
made, but there was no sign of the missing
boy.
“Land sakes!” exclaimed Mrs. Jenkins for
the twentieth time. “ Where do you suppose
he’s got to?”
47THE LAST LAP
“He must have started back to school,”
replied Bunny.
“But he couldn’t walk on that foot!” de-
clared Mrs. Jenkins. “Leastways, I didn’t
suppose he could. But, land sakes! here
he’s gotten up and dressed himself—that’s
plain. And he ain’t nowhere about the place
—and that’s plain, too; so he just must have
gone off himself unless somebody carried him.
Bunny didn’t stop to argue. He thanked
Mrs. Jenkins as politely as he knew how, for
he saw that she and her husband had been
very kind to Peters and had done all they
could for him, but he thought of the boy try-
ing to get back to school alone with a sore
foot, and he wanted to find him as soon as
possible.
Bunny hurried down the main road past
the scene of the fire, looking eagerly ahead in
hope of catching sight of the missing boy.
At the junction of the two roads, where he
and Bob had turned off in the early morning,
he was in two minds just what to do, but he
decided that Peters, under the circumstances,
would have taken the shorter road. So
Bunny lost no time in speculating about it,
but broke into a jog-trot down the road Bob
and Hank Basset had raced only a few hours
before.
48ON THE ROAD
And he had not gone far when he found the
lost boy. Peters was ^sitting on the bank,
and his pale face showed all the suffering he
had gone through.
“Oh, Bunny!” he cried, his voice breaking,
“I’m so glad you came.”
Bunny seated himself beside Peters, and,
putting an arm around his shoulder, did his
best to comfort the little fellow, who, now that
some one was there to sympathize, was on
the verge of tears.
But Peters didn’t mean to cry if he could
help it, and, although he leaned his head on
Bunny’s shoulder for a moment, he shook
his head once or twice as if saying, “ I won’t
cry,” and the few tears that trickled down
his cheeks didn’t really count.
It was some little time before he was quite
ready to tell how it had happened.
“You see, Bunny,” he began, at last, “I
was looking out of the window at the fire and
wishing I could go, when all of a sudden I
saw you and Bob Struthers running through
the gate. Then I just had to go, too, and I
sneaked down the back stairs and out the
dining-room window. That’s the way you
went, because it was open. Well, I hurried
all I could to catch you, but I couldn’t
do it, and when I got there I was so ex-
49THE LAST LAP
cited that I didn’t think of anything for a
while.”
“But you should have come to us,” Bunny
admonished.
“I was looking for you,” Peters went on,
“when some man said, ‘Here, Bub, hold this
door,’ and so I did it till a horse stepped on
me and the man took me to his house. I
didn’t mean to, but I was tired, and I guess
I went to sleep, and when I woke up it was
broad daylight. I thought of what old Gravy
would say if he caught me, so I just had to
get back to school.”
“You must have had a hard time getting
along with that foot,” said Bunny.
“ I did!” exclaimed Peters. “ Gee, it wasn’t
any fun, Bunny. It hurt, I can tell you;
and every now and then I had to stop and
rest it. I thought I’d never get this far, but
I couldn’t give up, you know, for I wouldn’t
have old Gravy catch me for anything.”
“But he knows,” said Bunny.
“He does!” exclaimed Peters, in consterna-
tion. “How did he find out?”
“Why, don’t you know what time it is?”
exclaimed Bunny. “ Breakfast must be over.
When you didn’t turn up old Gravy got wor-
ried and asked me to look for you.”
“ Oh!” cried Peters. “ I didn’t know it was
50ON THE ROAD
that late! And I was making up the nicest
story to tell old Gravy about my foot, and
now I’ll have to go before the Doctor, and I
don’t know what will happen. Do you think
hell expel me, Bunny?”
“ No, I don’t think he will,” replied Bunny,
“ but I guess he’ll scold—and, of course, you’ll
have to go to the infirmary.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” said Peters, in a most
disgusted tone. “I’d rather be shot than go
to that old infirmary. They treat you as if
you were a baby.”
“You’ll have a good time there,” replied
Bunny, with a smile.
“Yes, I will not!” Peters went on. “ They’ll
keep me in bed, and the nurse won’t let me
do a thing. I had mumps there last year, and
I know what it’s like.”
“How does your foot feel now?” Bunny
asked.
“Oh, it hurts, of course,” Peters admitted;
“ but it isn’t so bad. I’ve seen lots of the foot-
ball men that were worse than this, but they
didn’t even stop the game. I guess I haven’t
any nerve,” he ended, plaintively.
“You have plenty of nerve to get this far
alone,” Bunny told him, with genuine ad-
miration.
“Well, I tried, Bunny,” said Peters, show-
51THE LAST LAP
ing his pleasure at Bunny’s praise, “ but I just
had to stop now and then. It does hurt
when you try to walk on it.”
“I’ll bet it does,” replied Bunny, sym-
pathetically, “but we’ve got to get back to
school, and I guess I’d better carry you.”
“Oh no! I wouldn’t have any one see you
carry me for anything,” exclaimed Peters, in
a great panic. “ They’d think I was a molly-
coddle!”
There was no doubting the genuineness of
Peters’s alarm at the prospect of being car-
ried. His pride and manliness would not al-
low that, and Bunny saw that it was useless
to argue the matter.
“Well, then, you will have to put your arm
around me and hop on the well foot,” said
Bunny. “Come on, if you’re ready. There
are several people that would be glad to
know you were safe back in school.”
“Yes, I suppose there are,” Peters mur-
mured, dolefully; “but they’ll give it to me
all right when I get back.”
Bunny helped him up, and they started on
at as fast a pace as they could manage.VI
IN THE DOCTOR’S STUDY
BUNNY and little Peters made slow prog-
ress back to the school. The smaller
boy suffered more than he admitted, and his
pale face was pinched and drawn from the
pain he felt. Moreover, as he neared the
school the thought of the punishment he
might expect became more and more promi-
nent in his mind, and worried him.
“What do you think the Doctor will do,
Bunny?” he asked, over and over again, and
all Bunny could say was that he didn’t know.
“But you understand, Peters,” he ad-
monished, “ you shouldn’t have gone to that
fire. ’ ’
“But you went, Bunny!” said Peters.
“Yes, but that’s different,” Bunny in-
sisted. “I’m bigger, and stronger, and—
and—”
But even to Bunny this did not sound like
a very good excuse for breaking school rules,
and he halted rather lamely.
53THE LAST LAP
“I hope they won’t send me home,” re-
peated Peters, plaintively.
“ Oh, they won’t do that,” Bunny asserted,
with much assurance.
“I don’t know,” said Peters. “The Doc-
tor’s awful strict about going out at night,
especially with the lower - form kids. What
is old Gravy going to do with you and
Bob?” he added, as an afterthought, with
the idea of finding out what he might expect
himself.
“Oh, he’s not—” But Bunny stopped
abruptly. Here was a thought that had not
occurred to him before. Somehow it didn’t
seem quite fair that he should escape punish-
ment for doing the same thing Peters had
done, but then he hadn’t been caught, at
least not officially. And, on the other hand,
if Peters had not been missing, there was no
knowing what might have happened, for he
was perfectly sure that Mr. Graves had known
he was out, and could have caught him if he
had been so minded. It began to look to
Bunny as if he had escaped because little
Peters had been hurt. This set Bunnv to
thinking hard, and he hadn’t come to a satis-
factory conclusion when they arrived at Bar-
ton Hall and knocked at Mr. Graves’s study-
door.
54
)IN THE DOCTOR’S STUDY
No one would have thought that Mr.
Graves was the stem house-master the boys
pictured him to be if they had seen him wel-
come the youngster.
“Well, Peters, I’m glad to see you!” he
cried, when they entered. “Er—er—what’s
the matter, my boy—hurt your foot? Not
badly, I hope. Here, let’s see it,” and with
the deftness and gentleness of a trained nurse
he took off the bandage and looked at the
bruised and swollen foot.
“My poor boy!” he said, patting Peters’s
shoulder. “ It is a bad foot, and no mistake.
We must have you over in the infirmary at
once. Will you help me, please, Reeves?”
And in spite of Peters’s protests that his foot
was all right, Mr. Graves and Bunny took him
to the school hospital, where he was shortly
put into a white bed to await the doctor, who
would dress his injury. Then Bunny and
Mr. Graves went off to inform the head-
master.
Old Doctor MacHenry was, of course, ex-
tremely glad to know that little Peters was
back again with no more serious hurt than a
bruised foot. He complimented Bunny for
his diligence in the search, but there was an
undercurrent of sternness in his voice that
left no doubt of how he felt toward what had
5	55THE LAST LAP
happened. Bunny had broken the rules, and
although there was not to be any punishment
for him, he was, on the other hand, to be made
to feel that he was seriously to blame.
As Bunny was about to go away, he turned
to the Doctor.
“Little Peters, sir, is very much worried
about what punishment he will receive for
being out of bounds at night,” he said.
“And well he may be,” said the head-
master, severely. “I am only sorry that he
is the only one to be punished.”
“ He is afraid he will be sent home,” Bunny
went on.
“We have not decided about that yet,”
said the Doctor.
“ But you wouldn’t really send him home,
would you?” asked Bunny, very earnestly.
“I repeat,” replied the Doctor, “that we
have not decided—and, moreover, it is not
a matter, Percival, that you are concerned
with. Both Mr. Graves and I appreciate
what you have done in finding the boy, and
for that we thank you, but we would rather
you had not placed yourself in a position
where such services could have been com-
manded. ’ ’
“Yes, sir, that’s just it,” said Bunny, not
knowing the full meaning of the Doctor’s
56IN THE DOCTOR’S STUDY
remarks. “You see, sir, it was really all my
fault, and it doesn’t seem fair that Peters
should be punished and that I shouldn’t.
I’ve been thinking of it for a good while.”
“I don’t see how it was your fault that
Peters broke the rules,” said the Doctor.
‘ ‘ Because, sir, he saw me and—that is, he saw
me going to the fire when he was looking out
of the window, so he just thought it was all
right, I suppose, and went along, too. Then,
sir, he was mighty plucky and did try to get
back without being caught, and probably
would have if he hadn’t hurt his foot.”
Mr. Graves turned his face away; perhaps
to hide a smile at Bunny’s earnestness, but
Doctor MacHenry still kept a strict counte-
nance.
“ I am glad to see that you recognize your
responsibilities,” he began, slowly. “You
older boys are looked up to a good deal more
than you realize by those in the lower forms,
and I have no doubt that, as you say, if you
had not gone out Peters would have remained
in his room. Undoubtedly that is true, but
Peters must be taught that the bigger boys
are not always good examples to follow.”
“But,” protested Bunny, “it isn’t fair to
punish him and not the bigger boys, when it
is the fault of the bigger boys.” He was so
57THE LAST LAP
much in earnest that he didn’t realize that
the Doctor was smiling broadly.
“Are you asking me to punish you?” Doc-
tor MacHenry inquired. “ You knew you
were breaking the rules, and that you were
liable to severe punishment. Why did you
go to that fire?”
“ I thought I could get back without any
one knowing it,” replied Bunny.
“Well, my boy, that is honest, at least,”
said the Doctor. “ I suppose a fire like that
is an unusual temptation, but that is really
no excuse. I have a report from the new
dormitories naming several boys who were
away from their rooms, but what am I to
do about it ? How can I punish those boys
and not punish you ? Mr. Graves has not re-
ported you, and yet I know that you and
Struthers and Wallace and Crawford of Bar-
ton were there. It was my thought not to
punish any of you, but how can I discipline
Peters and no one else? You see how I am
placed in the matter, and, to be just, I must
take all these things into consideration.
There is my difficulty.”
“I think it would be all right if you didn’t
punish Peters at all,” suggested Bunny, grave-
ly. “ He’s paid up for it already, sir, and he’s
such a plucky little chap. If you had seen
53IN THE DOCTOR’S STUDY
him trying to walk on that foot and never
whimpering a bit, only worrying about what
you would do, you would have thought he’d
had punishment enough.”
The Doctor smiled.
“You had better go to your lessons, young
man,” he said, not unkindly. “If you stay
here any longer you will end by persuad-
ing me that it is a fine thing to break the
rules.”
So Bunny went away feeling fairly certain
that Peters would not be dealt with very se-
verely, though he couldn’t be sure what the
head-master would do, and it might turn out
very different from the way he expected.
Not until that night did Bob and Bunny
have a chance to discuss the events of the
early morning alone together.
“Do you think we’ll get hauled up?” Bob
asked, when Bunny told him of his talk with
Doctor MacHenry.
“I don’t believe so,” said Bunny, “but I
wouldn’t be sure. The Doctor didn’t like it.
You could see that, and, what’s more, if it
hadn’t been that little Peters was lost I’m
thinking we would have gotten it good and
plenty. The Doctor knows all the fellows
who were at the fire, and Mr. Graves knew we
were out, too, and he could have caught us
59THE LAST LAP
easy if he’d wanted to. If we get off we can
thank little Peters for it.”
“Yes, I think so, too,” agreed Bob. “It
does seem funny how things turn out.”
“ Little Peters is a peach,” said Bunny, with
marked enthusiasm. “You should have seen
him trying to get along with that foot, and,
say, Bob, it was an awful-looking foot, and
that’s a fact.”
“ He’s a good kid, is little Peters; I always
knew that,” said Bob. “You remember it
was he who told us about Wallace and Craw-
ford fixing up that deal to keep Hargrave
from coaching the football team.”
Bunny nodded. The football season just
passed was still a very vivid memory to him.
“We must look out for that kid and bring
him up the way he should go,” Bunny said,
finally. “ But I’m glad this fire business is
over. I’m dead tired, and I’m going to bed.
Don’t feel as if I had had any sleep for a
week.”
“And if there is another fire to-night you
needn’t wake me up,” Bob remarked.
“Wake you up!” retorted Bunny. “I like
that! You were the one who did the waking. ’ ’
“I’m talking of to-night’s fire,” laughed
Bob. “This morning’s fire is all over, as far
as we are concerned.”
60VII
A NEW CAPTAIN
THE boys went to sleep that night con-
vinced that the fire at Sam Horton’s
farm was a thing of the past, and that the
events of the early morning would be speedily
forgotten. Except for possible punishment
and little Peters’s sore foot there would be
nothing to remind them of it. But, as Bob
had said to Bunny, “It is funny how things
turn out,” and something had happened that
was to make them remember that fire for a
good many weeks and months to come.
It was just before the Christmas vacation,
and athletics were at a standstill. The school
still talked of their glorious victory over the
Military Academy, Clinton’s chief rival, and
Bunny Reeves, who had been captain of the
eleven, still thought a good deal about the
events connected with it. But this talk was
dying out gradually, and the boys were be-
ginning to plan for the contests that were to
come.
61THE LAST LAP
The basket-ball team had started regular
practice, and the fellows who played hockey,
of whom Bunny was one, were having their
skates sharpened and hoping for a cold snap
to give them some good ice. Also the old
members of the track team were doing light
work in the gymnasium under the watchful
eye of old Billy Bryan, the trainer, and al-
ready there were a dozen or so jogging around
the indoor track.
Late one afternoon, a day or two after the
fire, Bunny was hard at work on his algebra
when Bob Struthers came in with a rush.
“ What’s the matter ?” asked Bunny, know-
ing that something was wrong from the ex-
pression of his room-mate’s face.
“ Hal Curtis has just had a telegram, and
he must leave school at once!” Bob an-
nounced, dismally.
“Why?” exclaimed Bunny.
“ His father has to go to California on busi-
ness or something, and they are going to live
there,” replied Bob, throwing himself into
a chair. “ It knocks spots out of the track
team!” he added.
“That’s certainly hard luck,” said Bunny,
sympathetically.
“I should think it was hard luck,” Bob
went on. “ It not only leaves us without a
62A NEW CAPTAIN
captain—and Hal was a good captain, too—
but it breaks up the relay team, which is
worse. There isn’t a man in school to take
his place.”
“There must be somebody,” Bunny in-
sisted, though, to be sure, he could not think
of any one at that moment.
“Well, there just isn’t,” Bob returned,
positively. “ Of course, we can get a fourth
man, but he won’t be able to run, so we might
as well make up our minds to see the old cup
go to Academy.”
Bob’s rather gloomy outlook was natural
enough. The prospect for the track team’s
success had been far from encouraging, and
now that they were to lose Hal Curtis, their
captain and the best distance man Clinton
had had for many years, the chances of beat-
ing Academy were decidedly slim.
The school, however, could forgive the los-
ing of the meet, recognizing that there must
be off years, but the relay race was a differ-
ent matter. That race Clinton must win, be-
cause they had never lost it, and this fact
would make the blow all the more bitter if
Academy should capture it at last. When
the relay race had been added to the other
track events ten years before, a silver cup
had been offered to be competed for each
63THE LAST LAP
season and held by the winning team. This
trophy stood in an honored place in the
gymnasium, and was one of the first things
shown to new students. Parents visiting the
school were certain to have it pointed out to
them, and every boy at Clinton, from the low-
est form to the highest, knew its history and
took a personal pride in it. No wonder that
the prospect of losing it should be viewed in
the light of a calamity.
Bunny knew all this, of course, and he knew
also how intensely interested Bob Struthers
was in the fortunes of the track team and
realized that his room-mate, having helped
to hold the cup for two years, would feel the
humiliation of losing it all the more keenly,
no matter how well he might do his share of
the running.
“Bob, old man,” he said, “we’ll just have
to get somebody to fill Hal’s place in the
relay. ’ ’
Bob shook his head disconsolately.
“There isn’t any one,” he replied. “Not
a fellow on last season’s team could begin to
do it, and there are no new boys that can
make the team this year, poor as we are.”
“I suppose we’ll have to elect a captain,”
said Bunny, who put the shot.
“ Yes, and it ought to be done right away,
64A NEW CAPTAIN
though I don’t see who it will be, either,” re-
plied Bob. “ Tommy Carstairs is a nice fellow,
all right, but he knows, and all the rest of us
know, that he’s too much of a kid to be cap-
tain. He doesn’t take things seriously enough.
Of course, there’s ‘Legs’ Martin, but I don’t
think he’d want it if it was handed to him on
a silver platter. He’s just a grind, and runs
because he thinks it’s good for his giddy
health.”
“How about Curley Johnson?” asked
Bunny, with a smile.
“Curley Johnson!” Bob exclaimed, scorn-
fully. “ He’d make a fine captain, wouldn’t
he ? I ’ve a picture of the fellows electing him. ’ ’
“Well, I don’t see who you’ll get,” said
Bunny, with a chuckle. “The track team
seems pretty hard to suit. They are always
kicking about something.”
“Get out!” said Bob. “You think the
football team is the only thing in the world.
And as for kicking, I’d like to know who could
have done more kicking than your football
team this last fall.”
Bunny laughed.
“They did kick some, that’s a fact,” he
admitted; “but it’s a part of their business,
isn’t it ? Anyway, I want to tell you right
now that I won’t be captain of your track
6sTHE LAST LAP
team. I had all the fun of being captain I
wanted.”
“Nobody was thinking of you,” cried Bob,
still very serious and not realizing that Bunny
was laughing at him.
“You never think anything counts except
your old football.”
“There’s hockey,” replied Bunny, calmly;
“that counts.”
“Huh! Hockey!” growled Bob.
“Well, now what do you think about it?”
asked Bunny, pretending to be very puzzled.
“ I think that, next to football, the track
team is the most important team we have,”
said Bob, positively.
“ Then why don’t you get a captain for it ?”
asked Bunny, laughing outright.
“It’s all very well for you to laugh,” said
Bob, rather hurt that Bunny was not taking
things seriously enough; “but if we had
laughed at all your football troubles you
would have said we hadn’t any school spirit,
and now that the track team is just about
broken up, you sit there and do nothing but
joke about it.”
“I really don’t,” replied Bunny. “It
wasn’t that that made me smile; it was your
not knowing who will be the captain, while I
know all the time.”
66A NEW CAPTAIN
“Who will it be?” demanded Bob.
“ I don’t think I’ll tell you,” replied Bunny.
“You don’t know anything about it,” re-
torted Bob.
“But I have a vote,” said Bunny.
“Who are you going to vote for?” asked
Bob.
“For the captain of the track team,” re-
turned Bunny, with exasperating calm.
“Of course; but who?” demanded Bob,
vehemently. “We ought to vote for the
same fellow.”
“I don’t think we will,” said Bunny; and
just then the bell rang for the evening meal,
which ended the discussion for the time being.
The next morning Bunny seized a moment
or two between recitations to have a talk with
Billy Bryan in the gymnasium.
“Billy,” he began, at once, “who are we
going to have for captain of the track team
in Hal’s place?”
“There’s only one boy in school for that,”
replied Billy, promptly.
“You mean Bob Struthers?” said Bunny.
The old trainer nodded his head as if the
matter were already settled.
“ Will any one else try for it ?” was Bunny’s
next question.
“I don’t think so,” Billy answered. “I’ve
67THE LAST LAP
heard the boys talking since it was known
that Curtis was leaving school. It will be
Bob all right, and hell make a good captain,
though I do wish his running form was
better. ’'
“Oh, he does pretty well,” said Bunny,
coming to his friend’s rescue, though he knew
that nothing short of perfection would suit
Billy.
“‘Pretty well’ isn’t enough!” the old
trainer insisted; “however, he’s trying,” he
added, graciously.
“Don’t let Bob find out we’re thinking of
him for captain,” Bunny went on. “He
doesn’t know who we’ll get, and he hasn’t
thought of himself at all, and I want to sur-
prise him.”
Billy nodded, and Bunny turned to go
away.
“ I suppose we haven’t anybody to take
Hal’s place in the relay?” Bunny said, as he
was going out of the door.
“No, we haven’t,” answered Billy, shortly.
“Then I guess we can make up our minds
to see the cup go over to Academy at last,”
Bunny remarked, disconsolately.
“I didn’t say that,” Billy retorted. “I
said we hadn’t any one to take Curtis’s place,
but we’ll have a relay team just the same.”
68A NEW CAPTAIN
“But who is there?” demanded Bunny.
“Well, there’s Harkness, for one,” said
Billy.
“Oh, but he’s no good,” Bunny returned.
“He’s been running for two or three years
and never won a place.”
“Have it your own way,” Billy growled;
“but that boy will surprise you next spring.”
“I certainly hope so,” Bunny replied, as
he hurried off to his lessons.
For the next day or two Bunny was very
busy planning his surprise, and so well did
he succeed that, when Bob was elected, he
was the only one who had not realized that
it had been a foregone conclusion.
“Speech! Speech!” every one cried; and
Bob was forced to mount the little platform
and thank them for having made him cap-
tain, pledging himself to do all that he could
to make the team a success.
“And now, fellows,” he said, at the end,
“I’m glad, of course, to be captain, but I
wish it hadn’t been necessary to get a new
one; and, though I’ll try, I know I won’t be
as good a man for it as Hal Curtis. Let’s give
a cheer for him, just to show how sorry we
are he isn’t here with us.”
The boys responded heartily, for Curtis was
deservedly popular. The boys felt a real re-
69THE LAST LAP
gret that he had been forced to go away,
and were glad of an opportunity to show their
feeling in the matter.
“What’s the matter with Bob Struthers?”
cried Legs Martin, as the cheer for Hal died
away.
“He’s all right!”
“Who’s all right?”
“ Struthers!”
The room rang with the shout, and the
meeting broke up.
Back in Barton Hall Bob and Bunny dis-
cussed the matter till bedtime.
“ I told you I didn’t think you’d vote the
same way I did,” remarked Bunny, as they
were undressing.
“ I certainly was surprised,” admitted Bob.
“They’re a mighty decent lot of fellows,
aren’t they? But I tell you, Bunny, when I
think of what we have to do to beat Academy
next spring it makes me feel—”
“Don’t get blue over it yet,” Bunny in-
terrupted.
“ I can’t help it. Just think of the relay
cup going to Academy?” said Bob, earnestly.
“ Why, it would be an awful disgrace, Bunny,
and honestly I don’t see how we are going to
hold it. I know it’s early in the year to say
what will happen, but you can’t take a new
70A NEW CAPTAIN
man and make a good quarter-miler out of
him.”
“ How about Harkness ?” questioned Bunny.
Bob shook his head vigorously.
“I know Billy seems to think he’s some
good, but I’m afraid he says that just to keep
up our spirits,” Bob returned. “Harkness
has been at it for two or three years, anyhow,
and he hasn’t even been placed. He tries,
but he’s too slow. Nice fellow all right, but,
honestly, if he’s the only one we have to de-
pend on we might as well give up right off.”
“You must do something to keep the cup,”
said Bunny, as he climbed into bed.
“Humph!” Bob muttered, as he put out
the light. “I guess being captain isn’t all
fun and glory.”VIII
WALTERS TURNS PHILANTHROPIST
BOB and Bunny were by no means the
only boys discussing the chances of the
track team, and the relay race in particular.
The whole school was talking about it, and
the general feeling seemed to be that in losing
Hal Curtis Clinton had lost the cup. There
was no one to fill his place, and, although Billy
Bryan predicted that Harkness would make
% a good showing, he was so naturally non-
committal that his few words on the subject
had little weight. It takes a lot of talking
to make boys change their minds, and, while
everybody liked Harkness, and all were cer-
tain he would do as well as he could, the pre-
vailing opinion was that he couldn’t run fast
enough, and that’s all there was to it. Billy
declared that some fellows developed very
slowly; but this did not give the school the
slightest faith in Harkness, who had been
trying for three years without winning a
place.
72WALTERS A PHILANTHROPIST
It was practically admitted on all sides
that the race was as good as lost, and knots
of boys would gather around the silver trophy
in the gymnasium shaking their heads as if
already taking a sad farewell of their cherished
prize.
It was while this discussion was at its
height that Walters thought of a way out of
the difficulty, and spoke to his room-mate,
Thornton, about it.
These two fellows were older than most of
the boys at Clinton, and felt themselves very
much grown-up indeed. They complained
because they were not permitted to smoke,
and were inclined to look down upon the
rest of the school and to laugh at the tradi-
tions that had developed under Doctor Mac-
Henry’s careful guidance. On the other
hand, they weren’t really bad fellows, rather
they were just foolish ones whose mothers
and fathers had spoiled them by letting them
have their own way in everything and giving
them too much money to spend.
Walters took the lead in everything the
two did, and Thornton was so ready to agree
with all that his friend said that the school
always spoke of him as “Me too.”
However, Walters and Thornton did have
a great interest in Clinton athletics, and had
73THE LAST LAP
been members of the football team; so when
Walters hailed Bob Struthers on the campus
one day, the latter stopped, although he never
was intimate with either of them.
“I say, Struthers,” Walters began, “have
you found anybody to take Curtis’s place on
the relay team?”
Bob shook his head disconsolately.
“No, I haven’t,” he answered, “and the
worst of it is I don’t think I will find any-
body. ”
“Oh yes, you will,” said Walters, con-
fidently.
“Sure you will,” Thornton chimed in, as
usual.
“What do you mean?” demanded Bob.
“Just what I say,” Walters insisted.
“You’ll find a man to take Curtis’s place—
and we know who it is, don’t we, Thom?”
“Sure we do,” replied Thornton.
“Why, you ought to know who it is with-
out our telling you,” Walters went on. “He
came pretty near beating you in a race one
day. ’ ’
“He certainly did,” said Thornton; and
they both laughed at Bob’s perplexity.
Stmthers was puzzled. He tried his best
to think of a boy in school who could have
“nearly beaten” him, but there wasn’t one.
74WALTERS A PHILANTHROPIST
“Oh, come on, think!” said Walters.
“Didn’t you know there has been a fire
recently?”
“You’re not talking about that fellow that
raced in with me after the fire, are you?”
asked Bob, still puzzled.
“That’s the one,” said Walters.
“That’s right,” echoed Thornton.
“But he isn’t in school,” said Bob.
“ But that isn’t any reason why he shouldn’t
come, is it ?” asked Walters. “ You heard him
say himself he’d like to come.”
“But he said his mother was too poor to
send him,” Bob protested.
“I know he did,” Walters went on, easily;
“but that isn’t the question. What we want
to know is whether you think he’s fast enough
to make your relay team some good.”
“Of course he is,” said Bob. “He’s a fine
runner, and only needs a little training and
coaching to make one of the best men we
ever had. There isn’t any doubt about
that.”
“That’s what I thought,” said Walters.
“Me too,” murmured Thornton.
“But he isn’t in school,” Bob protested,
“so what’s the use of talking about him?”
“But maybe he’d be willing to come to
Clinton if his tuition was paid,” replied
75THE LAST LAP
Walters. “ It won’t be hard to get the money
from a few of the boys. I know my dad
would give me all I wanted if I wrote to him
that there was a poor boy who was crazy to
come to Clinton and couldn’t afford it. De-
sired the advantages of a good education, and
all that. Seems to me we’d be doing a fine
thing to get him here.”
“Kind of philanthropic,” said Thornton.
“It certainly would help the team a lot,”
said Bob, rather excited at this possible solu-
tion of his track-team difficulties. “ It would
be bully if it could be done.”
“I don’t see why it can’t,” Walters went
on; “if the other fellows don’t want to chip in,
Thom and I’ll see that the money is all right.”
“Sure we will,” Thornton agreed.
“It would be fine to have him,” said Bob,
after a moment’s thought. “ I don’t know
what the other fellows will think, but I’ll do
all I can, and so will Bunny Reeves. It
would be great if he came.”
“ I wouldn’t say much to any one else about
it, then,” said Walters. “We four, counting
Bunny, can get the money to pay his tuition.
It might make the fellow kind of embarrassed
if everybody knew about it.”
“Do you think he’ll come?” asked Bob,
growing more and more enthusiastic.
76WALTERS A PHILANTHROPIST
“All we have to do is to talk it over with
his mother,” Walters explained. “I’m will-
ing to go and see her, and maybe it would be
just as well that Basset didn’t know about it
himself. You see, he can live at home, just
as he is doing, and all the expense will be
tuition. It won’t be very much, I don’t
believe.”
“Well,” said Bob, finally, “I think it’s a
fine scheme, and I propose we take it up with
Bunny right off. I’m sure he’ll go in for it.”
“All right,” Walters agreed. “We can’t
get at it any too soon to please me.” And
the three boys hurried over to Barton Hall.
“I say, Bob,” said Walters, just as they
reached the room, “you let me spring it on
Bunny. Don’t you say a word till I’ve told
him.”
Bob nodded, believing that, because he had
thought of the plan, Walters wanted the
glory of telling about it.
Bunny looked up as the three boys came
into the room. He was a little surprised to
see who were with Bob, because the latter
had expressed himself upon more than one
occasion as “having no use for Walters and
Thornton,” so naturally he didn’t quite ex-
pect to see those fellows enter with his room-
mate.
77THE LAST LAP
“Hello!” he exclaimed, cordially, getting
up to welcome the visitors. “ Come on in and
sit down. Haven’t seen you two for a talk
since the football season ended.”
“We’re beginning to forget football,” said
Walters, taking a chair, “though I guess we
won’t any of us forget the last half of the
Academy game in a hurry.”
“I guess not,” Thornton agreed, of course.
“But it isn’t because of football I’m here
this time,” Walters went on. “I wanted to
talk to you about a young chap in the town
that would like to come to Clinton but hasn’t
the money for tuition. He’s a nice boy
and wants to get along. His father is dead,
and his mother can’t afford to send him here,
so Thornton and I thought that some of us
might chip in and give his mother the money. ’ ’
“It wouldn’t be much, you know,” Thorn-
ton added. “He’d board at home.”
“Of course,” Walters went on, “it would
be nicer if we didn’t let him know about it.
Just fix it up with his mother, because it
might make him feel badly if he knew. Then,
too, I didn’t want a lot of the boys in it, be-
cause then there would be talking and sooner
or later he would find it out, so I thought that
perhaps the four of us could scrape the money
together. Bob says he’ll do all he can, and
73WALTERS A PHILANTHROPIST
my dad won’t kick at anything, nor will
Thom’s. Bob said he thought you’d like to
go in on it.”
“Of course I would,” returned Bunny,
heartily. “If he’s a nice fellow and wants
to come here, I’ll write father right off. I
know he won’t mind, and I’ve got some money
of my own he’ll let me use. Is he a nice boy ?”
Bunny’s sympathies had at once been
aroused, and it was quite like him to want to
do something to help.
“I knew you would do all you could,” said
Bob, with enthusiasm.
“Why, of course,” Bunny replied. “I
think it’s mighty decent of you fellows to
think of it. Where does he live?”
“Right here in town,” answered Walters.
“You’ve seen him.”
“What’s his name?” asked Bunny.
“Henry Basset,” Walters replied. “He’s
about Bob’s age, I guess. I don’t know what
form he would get in, but they can fix that
up somehow.”
“But I don’t know any Henry Basset,”
. said Bunny, with a wrinkled brow.
“Why, yes, you do, Bunny,” Bob put in;
“ he’s the fellow that nearly beat me running
back from the fire the other day. Don’t you
remember how he grinned at us?”
79THE LAST LAP
“Oh, that’s the fellow,” said Bunny, nod-
ding his head. “Yes, I remember him.
He’d help you out on your track team,
wouldn’t he?”
“I should think he would,” Bob replied.
“Why, with him we’d have a cinch on the
relay race, and I believe he could win the
half, and maybe the mile. It would make
all the difference in the world, and ever since
Walters told me about it I’ve been so anxious
to have it settled that I just hurried them
over here to see you.”
Bunny’s face took on a sober expression.
This explanation put a different light on the
matter.
“ Of course, we haven’t made the arrange-
ments yet,” Walters spoke up. “I only
thought of it last night, and Bob wanted to
talk to you about it before we did anything;
but, as you are with us, I’ll go down and see
his mother this afternoon.”
“I don’t think I’d be in a hurry about it,”
said Bunny, slowly. “The fact is, fellows,
I’d like to think about this for a while before
I make up my mind about it.”
“Why, I thought you said you'd go in
with us?” said Walters, with a great show
of surprise.
“You did say so,” declared Thornton.
80WALTERS A PHILANTHROPIST
“Of course you did, Bunny,” Bob in-
sisted.
“Yes,” returned Bunny, “I did say I was
willing to help a poor chap come to Clinton
if he wants to; but I didn’t say I was willing
to help get a quarter-miler for the track team.
It seems to me that makes a lot of difference.
I don't think I want to ask my father for
money to get a fellow here for that rea-
son.”
“I don’t see what that has to do with it,”
Walters exclaimed, irritably. “Here’s a fel-
low that wants a good education, and we are
willing to chip in and give it to him. I don’t
see that just because he happens to be a fair
runner it alters the case any.”
Bunny remained silent. This was a new
problem, and he wanted time to consider.
It didn't seem right that, because a boy could
run, he should be deprived of the chance to
obtain better schooling; yet somehow Bunny
felt it made a difference, all the same.
“I tell you, fellows,” he said, after they
had been talking to him for some time, “ I
don’t quite know how to argue with you
about it now. If I am willing to help a
fellow out, it oughtn’t to make any difference
whether he can run or not; but if we pay
Basset’s tuition to help beat Academy, we
81THE LAST LAP
might just as well hire a man to run for us.
Besides, it would make him a professional.”
“Oh no, it wouldn’t!” Walters cut. in.
“He wouldn’t know anything about it. His
mother would be the only one.”
“ Why shouldn’t you tell him, then, if it’s
all right?” asked Bunny, feeling that here
was a good argument.
“So as not to hurt his feelings by having
him know we helped him,” Walters replied,
promptly. “ It would hurt your feelings to
meet a fellow that was paying your way, or
who knew you were too poor to do it your-
self. That’s the reason we don’t want to
tell him.”
For a moment Bunny did not know how
to reply.
“I wish you hadn’t said anything to me
about it,” he remarked.
“So do I,” said Walters, significantly.
“What do you mean by that?” demanded
Bunny, with an angry tone in his voice.
“You’ll probably tell some of the profs
about it,” said Walters, sneeringly, “you are
so mighty upright.”
“Oh, Bunny isn’t that kind of a fellow,”
said Bob, coming to the defense of his best
friend at once; “but, Bunny,” he went on,
earnestly, “forget that Basset can run. Just
82WALTERS A PHILANTHROPIST
think of him as a poor fellow that needs an
education. ’ ’
“That’s all very well to say,” replied
Bunny, “but it wasn’t because he was a poor
fellow that you thought of him; it was be-
cause he could run, and that makes all the
difference. ’ ’
Walters got to his feet with a shrug of his
shoulders.
“Oh, what’s the use of arguing,” he said.
“ If Bunny has made up his mind he’ll stick
to it no matter what happens, right or wrong.
Thornton and I will see that Basset gets the
money, and we won’t talk about it, either.
But when he wins the meet for us we’ll be
thinking a whole lot, and I guess you’ll be
cheering for Clinton and saying how fine we
are with the rest of the bunch. But we’ll
know who made it possible to beat Academy. ’ ’
“How are you going to keep it from the
Doctor?” asked Bunny.
“That won’t be any trouble,” replied
Walters, easily. “Basset’s mother will do
all that. She needn’t tell the Doctor where
the money comes from. She won’t want to,
anyway.”
“ I guess not,” Thornton put in.
“Well, honestly, I don’t know what to do,”
said Bunny, “but I don’t believe it’s right,
83THE LAST LAP
and after I’ve thought about it some more
I’ll tell you why.”
“I’m not going to wait for that,” declared
Walters. “ I’m going down to see his mother
this afternoon, and by the time you’ve fin-
ished thinking he will be here in school and
going to his classes.”
“And running on the track,” Thornton
volunteered.
“ I wish you wouldn’t be in such a hurry,”
said Bunny; “ but I suppose I can’t stop you.”
“I guess not!” asserted Walters, and with
an emphatic nod of his head he walked out
of the room.
“And I guess not, too!” echoed Thornton,
following him.IX
BASSET COMES TO CLINTON
WHEN Walters and Thornton closed the
door behind them, there was every pros-
pect of a serious quarrel between Bob and
Bunny. Bob was plainly disappointed and
angry at the way his room-mate had acted
toward Walters’s plan, and the success of
the track team was so important to him that
he, not unnaturally, saw only one side of the
question.
Bunny, too, was irritated over the matter;
but, remembering that he had a red head and
the quick temper that usually goes with it,
he very wisely thought it best to change the
subject.
Fortunately the means to do this were at
hand.
“Listen to this, Bob,” he said, picking up
a letter; “it just came.”
Bob, without a word and with marked in-
difference, threw himself into a chair while
Bunny began to read:
85THE LAST LAP
“ ‘ Dear Sir, me and Capt. Sam Bartlett has
been a-thinkin’—
“Why, that’s from old Captain John!”
Bob interrupted, his interest immediately
aroused.
“Yes,” said Bunny, “just listen,” and he
went on with the letter:
“ ‘ Has been a-thinkin’ that maybe you and
your two friends, Ted and Bob, might like to
see what this here shore looks like in winter.
We understand, of course, that you know all
about it when the summer boarders is here—
bein’ one of ’em yourself—but we don’t re-
member as you ever been down here winter-
times. Capt. Sam, he says you wouldn’t like
it none, ’cause there ain’t much to do, but I
says trust that Bunny feller to find something
to do; besides, Sam’s wrong. There’s lots
to do. Anyway, I says I was go in’ to write
to you and say you and your friends was
welcome to come down here to my house and
take pot-luck with us, if you’ve a mind to,
this Christmas, when I know there ain’t no
school. Hopin’ to see you and your friends,
and the same from Sam, I remains, your
obedient servant, John Clark, Capt.
“‘P.S.—We ain’t forgot what you did to
them pirates down here last summer, and
we hope to see you.’ ”
86BASSET COMES TO CLINTON
“Gee!” exclaimed Bob, jumping to his feet
and walking excitedly up and down the room.
“Gee! it would be great to go down there,
wouldn’t it?” and for the time being Hank
Basset and even the track team were for-
gotten, and a quarrel between these good
friends was happily averted.
But a word of these other friends referred
to in the letter.
Captain John Clark and Captain Sam Bart-
lett were boatmen who lived at Blue Point, the
little summer resort on Bamegat Bay, where
Bob Struthers’s father had a cottage. The
previous summer Bunny had been there as
Bob’s guest, and had had several adventures,
one of which particularly pleased “ Old Cap-
tain John,” as every one called him, so that
Bunny was a favorite of the old man’s.
Ted Halliday, the “Ted” mentioned in the
letter, was an Academy boy who also spent
the summer at Blue Point, and, although their
schools were bitter rivals in athletics, and Ted
had been captain of the football team, this
made no difference as far as the friendship
between the three went. Bob and Bunny
thought the world of Ted, and he of them.
No wonder then that Bob was excited.
“ Gee!” he kept repeating. “ Gee! it would
be great!”
7	87THE
LAST LAP
“You bet it would,” replied Bunny, heart-
ily. “I’ve never been at the sea-shore in
winter, and I’ve always thought it would be
great sport. I wonder if we can sail?”
“I don’t know,” Bob replied. “It’s likely
to be pretty cold, I guess, out on the bay.”
“ We wouldn’t mind that,” asserted Bunny,
positively. “We could put on sweaters. I
wonder if the bay would be frozen over in real
cold weather?”
“Search me,” answered Bob.
“The thing for us to do right off is to find
out if we can go or not,” said Bunny. “Or
maybe you don’t want to go?” he added,
with a laugh.
“Sure I want to go!” answered Bob.
“Only I don’t know how mother and father
will feel about it.”
“ It would be fun for Ted and you and me
to be together again, though,” said Bunny,
rather wistfully. He liked Ted Halliday al-
most as well as he did Bob Struthers, though
he hadn’t known him so long.
“We certainly could have a peachy time,”
said Bob. “I’m going to write to mother
at once and find out.”
“I’ll write to father and Ted right off,”
declared Bunny.
“What I’m afraid of,” said Bob, sitting
88BASSET COMES TO CLINTON
down at his desk and arranging his writing-
paper before him, “ is that mother will think
I ought to stay at home for vacation. She
says she hardly sees me at all.”
“What day does Christmas come on?”
questioned Bunny, hunting about for a
calendar. “Here it is, Friday, the 25th.
Now let’s see. If we go down on the following
Monday and stay till Thursday, we can get
back for New-Year’s. If we don’t ask too
much, maybe your mother will be willing to
let you go. Of course, father and I will have
Christmas together—”
“ Oh, but mother wanted you to come home
with me,” put in Bob, in a disappointed tone,
“ and I thought, of course, you were coming.”
“But I can’t leave father all alone,” re-
turned Bunny, “besides, I want to see him
myself. I guess he can take a day or two
off from business. Then I want to see Har-
grave, too.” This last being a reference to
the football coach, of whom Bunny was very
fond. “ Of course,” he went on, “ father can’t
give up all the time to me, and I had expected
to come and see you for a few days, anyway;
but if we go down to see Captain John it will
change our plans a little.
“ I guess you’re right about not asking too
much,” Bob replied, thoughtfully, “so let’s
89THE LAST LAP
make it the way you said: Go down to
Blue Point on the Monday after Christmas
and back for New-Year’s.”
“All right,” replied Bunny, “I think that’s
a good scheme.” And both boys went to
work on their letters.
While they were waiting for answers Henry
Basset made his first appearance as a pupil
of Clinton School. He was the same rather
lanky fellow that the boys had met on the
road on their way back from the fire. He
didn’t seem at all embarrassed at being a new
boy, and grinned upon every one in the most
good-natured sort of a way.
The evening of his arrival, Bob spoke to
Bunny of the matter, which had not been
mentioned since Walters’s visit.
“Basset’s here,” Bob said, a little uneasily.
He wasn’t angry any more, and wanted very
much to know how Bunny felt about it.
“Oh yes, I saw him to-day,” Bunny re-
plied, easily. “ He has his grin with him all
right, and it’s catching. We had a little talk
together, and he certainly is pleased to be
here. To tell the truth, I rather like Hank.”
Bob was surprised at Bunny’s cordial atti-
tude toward Basset, and wondered if he had
changed his mind since their last conversa-
tion on the subject.
90
)BASSET COMES TO CLINTON
“You know I’ve been thinking a lot about
this business,” he began, “and honestly,
Bunny, I don’t see that there’s anything
wrong in what Walters and Thornton have
done. Hank doesn’t know a word about it,
so, of course, he isn’t a professional.”
“No, I don’t believe he is,” Bunny agreed,
readily. “I don’t blame Hank.”
“Then I don’t see how we have been un-
fair,” Bob argued. “Of course, if we hired
a professional to run, that wouldn’t be
' square; but then Basset isn’t a professional.”
“No, he isn’t,” said Bunny. “At least it
doesn’t seem to me as if he was; but I wasn’t
thinking of him at all. It’s what we do that
matters.”
“But we’re trying to help Basset,” replied
Bob, hesitatingly.
“ Now you’re getting down to dots,” Bunny
returned, with a smile. “Are we trying to
help Hank to get a good education, or are we
trying to get a good runner for the track team ?
That’s the question. Tell me honestly, do
you think Walters would ever have thought
of Basset if he hadn’t been a runner?”
Bob saw what was coming, but he was
honest enough to reply:
“No, I don’t think he would.”
“Exactly!” Bunny exclaimed. “I don’t
91THE LAST LAP
mean that Walters isn’t generous, or that he
wouldn’t help a poor fellow if he could, but
that isn’t what we’re talking about now..
The fact is, Walters wanted to get a good
runner into school, and that was the first
thing he thought about, and that’s the reason
I don’t think it’s fair.”
“It sounds pretty deep to me,” Bob in-
sisted.
“Get out!” retorted Bunny, with a laugh.
“You understand just as well as I do, though
it took me some time to get to the bottom of
it. If Walters hadn’t known Hank was a
runner and had just liked him, or was sorry
for him, I would have done my share of pay-
ing his tuition just as quickly as any one else,
and if he had turned out a good man for the
track afterward, why so much the better; but
Basset comes to Clinton because he is a good
runner first, and I don’t think that’s square.
I believe I’m right when I say it all depends
why the thing is done.”
“I see what you mean,” Bob admitted, re-
luctantly, “and—yes, I guess you’re right,
now that I think of it in that way; but
there’s something to be said for the other side,
too, especially as far as Hank himself is con-
cerned.”
“That isn’t up to us,” Bunny replied.
92BASSET COMES TO CLINTON
“We haven’t anything to do with Walters
and Thornton, and the best thing for us to
do is to forget it.”
“But I can’t forget he’s a fine runner,”
Bob admitted, frankly, “nor can I forget
that we need him.”
“That’s all right,” said Bunny. “Whethei
he’ll be any good to the team or not remains
to be seen.”
“Oh, he’ll be good!” Bob declared, with
enthusiasm.
“Maybe,” Bunny said, doubtingly, remem-
bering that on two occasions Basset had shown
a disposition to think of himself first.
“Why do you say that?” demanded Bob.
‘ ‘ I guess I ought to know whether he can run
or not.”
“Sure you ought,” agreed Bunny, “but
there’s more to running a quarter than just
being fast.”
“What do you mean?” asked Bob.
“I mean nerve,” said Bunny; and that
was all Bob could get out of him on that
subject.
The next day Bunny had a letter from his
father saying that he might go to Blue Point
during the Christmas holidays, and that under
the circumstances it would be better fun
than to stay in the city with nothing to doTHE LAST LAP
but go to theaters and things like that. So
far as Bunny was concerned, his trip to Blue
Point was assured if he wanted to go.
Bob was still doubtful about what his
father and mother would decide. He rather
expected that he would not be permitted to
go, and so when Mr. Reeves’s letter came for
Bunny, he sat down and wrote another “ teas-
ing” letter to his mother.
Ted Halliday wrote to Bunny, saying he
was “crazy to go,” and hoped for the best,
but wasn’t sure, because his mother counted
a good deal on seeing him at Christmas, and,
of course, it all depended upon her; “but,”
he added, “the Mater usually lets me do as I
please, which sometimes makes it hard on a
fellow because he might take advantage; so,
while I’d love to go to Blue Point with you
and Bob, I won’t leave her unless my older
brother, Harry, is going to be home. If he
will be there, I’ll go with you. You see,
Mater hasn’t any one in the world but just
us boys, so we oughtn’t both to go away
during the holidays.”
“He’s a mighty fine fellow,” said Bunny,
enthusiastically, as he finished Ted’s letter.
“ He won’t leave his mother all alone, though
she will let him do as he pleases, and I guess
he’s ‘crazy to go,’ all right.”
94BASSET COMES TO CLINTON
“ I think I’m pretty lucky to have both a
father and a mother,” said Bob, thoughtfully.
“Here’s Ted without any father and you
haven’t any mother, and—”
“You bet you are lucky,” Bunny inter-
rupted. “You fellows don’t half appreciate
what it is to have some one at home thinking
about you and worrying over you.”
“I guess that’s right, too,” agreed Bob,
“but sometimes you don’t think of that when
you want to do something and your mother is
afraid things might happen to you. I will
be mighty disappointed if mother doesn’t let
me go to Blue Point.”
But he wasn’t disappointed, for a few days
later a letter came from Mrs. Struthers saying
he might make his arrangements to go, and
about the same time Ted sent word that he
had heard from his brother, who would be
with his mother all the holidays, so that he,
too, would be on hand for their winter trip
to the sea-shore.
Bunny at once wrote to Captain John, say-
ing that they were coming, and notified Ted
what train to take for Blue Point, so that
they could all go down together.
The remaining days of school passed quick-
ly, and almost before they realized it the time
had come to say good-by, for Bunny lived
95THE LAST LAP
in New York, while Bob’s home was in Phila-
delphia.
“Take care of yourself, old man,” said
Bunny, and Bob and he shook hands on the
station platform.
“So long. See you Monday,” returned
Bob. “And say, Bunny, I wish you were
coming home with me.”X
AT BLUE POINT
THE days that Bunny spent with his fa-
ther were all too short. He couldn’t
remember when he had been so happy, for
now that he was old enough to be something
of a companion to his father, Mr. Reeves
treated him like a chum, and the two had the
best sort of a time together.
Nothing happened out of the ordinary, and
really Bunny didn’t want anything to hap-
pen. Mr. Reeves was an engineer who built
huge bridges, and he took Bunny with him
when he went to make his inspections. He
talked about the work, explaining as much
of it as his son could understand, and Bunny
was so interested that he thought of little
else.
“ This is the kind of thing you will be doing
one of these days,” Mr. Reeves told him.
“I’ll be ready to stop when your time comes
along, and you can do the running around
while I sit in the office.”
97THE LAST LAP
“ I’d like it,” said Bunny, with enthusiasm,
“but I’ll have to know such a lot.”
“That will come if you stick to your les-
sons,” Mr. Reeves assured him. “Of course,
we’re looking a good many years ahead, but
some day we’ll find the firm name changed to
‘Reeves & Son, Bridge Builders,’ and then
I suppose you will be telling me how to do
things.”
Mr. Reeves ended with a laugh, but some-
how Bunny hadn’t noticed the last remark.
He was thinking of the time when “Reeves
&	Son” would be an actuality, and he
couldn’t help being a little sober at the
thought. Nothing in the world would give
him as much pleasure, and he tried to imagine
that distant day and to realize how proud
and happy he would feel.
They talked over school matters, for Mr.
Reeves was a Clinton boy, too; though it
had been a good many years before, when
Doctor MacHenry had been a young man.
Bunny told his father about Hank Basset,
and Mr. Reeves agreed with him that it wasn’t
fair to Academy. They discussed it at
length, for Bunny wasn’t absolutely sure he
had gotten at the bottom of the matter,
though he always felt he had been right in
the main.
98AT BLUE POINT
When Monday after Christmas came, it
was with a good deal of regret that he said
good-by to his father, even though he did
expect to see him again shortly.
“Have a good time, my boy,” said Mr.
Reeves, at parting, as the train was about to
pull out of the station, “ and if you get a shot
at any rabbits you can tell me how that new
gun works.” And so Bunny went off to meet
Ted and Bob at Monmouth Junction, where
the Bamegat train leaves the main line on its
way from Philadelphia.
Bunny had half an hour to wait, but the
train came at length, and there were the two
boys waving to him.
“Hello, Bunny!” called Ted, at the top of
his voice, and in a few minutes the three were
together again with a comparatively empty
railroad coach to themselves.
There are not many trains running to Blue
Point in the winter, and the ones that do
run stop at every little station along the
line and do not seem to be in a hurry to
- start on again when once they have come to
a halt, so that it takes twice as long to get
there as it does in summer.
But the slowness of the train didn’t bother
the three boys in the least. There were so
many things to talk about. All the adven-
99THE LAST LAP
tures of the summer before, the football game,
Christmas presents, and a hundred and one
other things that boys are interested in. And,
of course, they couldn’t help speculating upon
what they would do at Blue Point.
“You know,” said Ted, enthusiastically,
“I think I’d rather come down here than do
anything else I know of. I’ve never been
to the sea-shore in winter. Don’t know that
I ever thought of going before, but it ought
to be fine.”
“I’m wondering if the bay will be frozen
over,” said Bob, thinking of skates.
“ I don’t believe salt water freezes, does it ?”
asked Ted.
“I don’t know,” replied Bunny. “I think
it does if it’s cold enough, but I’m sure it
doesn’t freeze as easily as fresh water.”
“ I would like to get some skating,” saidBob.
“I’d rather have a sail than anything,”
Bunny remarked.
“ There won’t be any boats in commission,”
Ted predicted. “They will all be laid up for
the winter.”
“There might be a sneak-box around,”
suggested Bunny, hopefully.
“There will be plenty of snow, anyway,”
said Bob, looking out on the white landscape
through the car-windows.
IOOAT BLUE POINT
“That will spoil your skating, all right,”
said Ted. “ Did you bring your rubber
boots?” asked Ted.
“Sure!” answered the others, in chorus.
“And we’ll need them, too,” added Bunny.
“ I want to see what the ocean looks like,”
said Ted. “ Say, Bunny, how would you like
to go in bathing?”
“B’rr!” shivered Bunny. “I never did
like cold baths.”
“I think I’d rather like it,” said Bob,
airily; “it would be fine to float around on
a cake of ice.”
“ You can have my cake,” returned Bunny,
cordially. “You can have it for keeps.”
As they crossed the draw at Bamegat and
started slowly up beside the bay, they crowded
to the windows to look out upon the scene of
many sailing adventures, and to talk over
past events that the shore and familiar
scenery brought to their memories.
“ I tell you, the water looks cold!” said Ted.
“ I guess you won’t have any skating on this
bay, Bob.”
They looked upon the broad waters of
Bamegat Bay, showing gray against the white
of the snow-covered shores, and it did look
decidedly cold. It was a clear day, and the
sky was a deep blue except for a few fleecy
IOI
*THE LAST LAP
clouds that were hurrying away to the north.
A brisk south wind came up the bay, whipping
the tops off the small waves as they broke
against the ice-covered shore, and as far as
the eye could reach there was no sign of a
boat.
“It looks sort of desolate, doesn’t it?” said
Bunny, rather thoughtfully.
“Yes, and just think of it here in the sum-
mer when it’s fairly crowded with cat-boats,”
Ted remarked.
“There’s Tom’s River,” called Bob, as the
train made its way along the coast. “ I don’t
know whether I’d like to take a boat up
there to-day or not. Strikes me a fellow
would be pretty cold and wet, beating up
against this breeze.”
“ Yes, and getting wet to-day wouldn’t be
any fun, either,” said Bunny.
“Makes me think of stories you read,”
said Bob. “You know the kind, about the
sailors that have to chop the ice off the ropes.
I guess it’s true, all right.”
“All the same, I wouldn’t mind a sail even
if it was cold,” said Bunny, looking wistfully
out across the waters and thinking of his
little cat - boat, the Beth, put up for the
winter.
“Well, maybe Captain John will have some
102AT BLUE POINT
kind of a thing for you to sail in,” Bob said,
encouragingly.
Farther along (they were nearly at Blue
Point by this time) they could see the reaches
of the upper bay, with its tortuous channels,
that all three knew well, and Bob pointed out
the Gunning Ditch course and Mast Head Point.
“There’s where we found you first,” said
Bunny, speaking to Ted.
“ And I was pretty nearly all in, too, wasn’t
I?” he answered, still feeling a little humili-
ated over the fact that he had run his boat
aground on that point, and had been knocked
senseless by a jibing boom.
“You needn’t feel badly about that,” put
in Bunny. “Most everybody in Blue Point
who owns a boat has been ashore there more
than once. Beastly place!”
“ But they haven’t let themselves be knock-
ed about by the boom,” said Ted.
“I tell you,” said Bunny, “maybe if you
hadn’t been, we wouldn’t ever have been
such good friends.”
“That’s so,” answered Ted, “and I guess,
thinking of it that way, I’m glad it happened.”
“ It is certainly funny how things turn out,”
remarked Bob. “ When we were sailing up
the bay that day the last person we expected
to see was Ted Halliday.”
8	103THE LAST LAP
“There’s the river!” cried Bunny. “Come
on, get our things together; we’re most there.”
“Do you think Captain John will be at
the station?” Ted asked.
“Sure he will, and Captain Sam, too,” re-
plied Bob. And Bob was right. The first
person they saw as the train stopped was
Captain John Clark.
“Well, there you are, the three of you,” he
called, stepping forward as the boys clam-
bered down from the steps to the platform.
“I’m certainly glad to see you all. And you
brought your guns, I see. Sam says he knows
where there’s a couple of rabbits, anyway.”
“That’s right,” said Captain Sam Bartlett,
coming up to help with the luggage. “Any
trunks among you fellows?”
“No,” they answered, “we didn’t need
trunks.”
“That’s right,” said Captain John. “This
ain’t no summer boarder’s trip, you know.
You have just got to take pot-luck with the
rest of us Jerseyites.”
There were a number of people at the
station, most of whom the boys knew, and
there was a good deal of hand-shaking and
much friendly welcome, till Captain John
thought it was time to go.
“Come on!” he called, “there’s a dinner
104AT BLUE POINT
waitin’ to be et up where I live. We don’t
hold with no fancy times for feedin’. Only
momin’, noon, and night with us, and dinner
slap on the stroke of twelve.”
“I’m ready for it,” said Bunny.”
“ And so am I,” echoed Bob, “ I’m as hungry
as a bear. And say, Captain John, is there
any skating?”
“ ’Fraid not, son,” said the Captain. “ The
river is frozen ’way up, but there’s a foot
of snow on it. Guess you’d better forget
skat in’.”
“I want to sail,” said Bunny. “Is there
anything that isn’t laid up?”
“What did I tell you?” said Captain John,
turning to Captain Sam. “ Didn’t I say that
Bunny feller would be after a boat first
thing?”
“We’ve got a sneak-box for you,” said
Captain Sam, with a nod. “ It ain’t very big,
but it will hold you three boys all right.”
“And you’ll find it ain’t like summer sail-
in’, either,” Captain John remarked, as they
walked along. “You won’t think it much
sport to handle a frozen sheet, but I guess
you’ll want to learn that for yourselves.”
“How’s the Olymp, Captain?” asked Ted,
referring to the Captain’s boat, the Olympia.
“ She’s snug for the winter,” replied the old
105THE LAST LAP
boatman. “She gets a new set of sails this
summer. I’m makin’ ’em now. They’ll be
bigger than the last suit.”
By this time they had reached the house,
or rather the little cottage, where Captain
Clark and his wife lived. It wasn’t very big,
but the boys found it warm and comfortable,
and that the huge dinner they ate was very
appetizing in spite of the Captain insisting
it was “just pot-luck,” and “not fancy, like
you get at hotels.”
“I think it’s a lot better than we ever get
at any of the hotels,” said Bunny.
“Ho, ho!” said the Captain, with a
chuckle, “you’re tryin’ to get on the right
side of the cook.”
' “ Trust Bunny for that, ” said Ted, laughing.
“He doesn’t have to try very hard,” said
Mrs. Clark. “All I want you boys to do is
to eat, and then I’ll be satisfied. I hate to
see men-folks peck their food.”
“Then I’ve been pleasin’ you all my life,”
said Captain John; and so the meal went on,
laughing and jolly and warm, while outside
the south wind whipped up the bay, and now
and then they could hear the booming of the
surf on the shore. . “Now, boys,” said Cap-
tain John, when dinner was finished and he
had lighted his pipe, “ I ain’t goin’ to enter-
106AT BLUE POINT
tain you none, understand that! You’re down
here to do as you please. To-morrow Sam’s
goin’ to take you rabbit-huntin’, but except
for that you must hunt your own trouble.
You know when the meal-times is, and you
can bring in the biggest appetites you can
find and we’ll guarantee to fill you up, but I
ain’t goin’ to lead you ’round like you was
two-year-olds, so you can go off and do any-
thing you’ve a mind to. I guess you won’t
kick at that, neither, fer I know when I was
your age I didn’t want no old man a-traipsin’
around after me. So go ahead and don’t
stand on no ceremony, but make yourselves
at home and do as you please.”XI
IN THE LOWER BAY
THAT afternoon the boys spent on the
beach, which they found quite different
from the beach they knew in the summer.
In the first place, it was very dirty and lit-
tered from end to end with all sorts of things
that had been thrown into the sea from
passing vessels. Heaps of driftwood lined
the high - tide mark and formed a barrier
between the snow and the sand, which was
kept clean by the constant ebb and flow of
the waves breaking on the shore. They
faced a diminishing south wind, and walked
along near the sea, talking and laughing and
being much interested in possible discoveries
among the wreckage about them. The waves
pounded the beach incessantly, as they al-
ways did, but there was no vessel in sight and,
like the bay, the ocean looked cold and deserted.
The cottages lining the boardwalk were all
closed, and the boards covering the windows
gave them a look of being blind.
108IN THE LOWER BAY
Altogether the entire scene was anything
but cheerful. But the boys didn’t mind that.
They tramped through the wet sand to in-
vestigate some pile of rubbish that promised a
discovery. It was fun just to wander along,
talking over the many things they were in-
terested in, and enjoying the unfamiliarity
of the scene and not demanding any particular
adventures to entertain them.
Clinton athletics versus Academy athletics
were, of course, one of the chief topics of con-
versation, and a good deal of discussion was
indulged in. Ted stood for Academy, and
Bunny and Bob championed Clinton; but,
although there was plenty of friendly banter,
there was never any ill-nature or bad feeling
between these three. It was a part of their
creed that it wasn’t necessary to be deadly
enemies to contest against one another, and
they didn’t see any reason why Clinton
couldn’t try as hard as possible to beat
Academy without thinking the latter were
muckers. Of course, Bunny and Ted had
been mainly interested in football, and they
talked over the game just passed. Ted as-
sured Bunny that there was another year
coming in which Academy would show them
how the game should be played, while Bun-
ny was equally certain that Clinton had
109THE LAST LAP
found the way to win from Academy indefi-
nitely.
So the afternoon passed, and, before they
knew it, the sun was getting low and it was
time for them to start back.
That night they sat around the big stove
in the sitting-room of Captain John’s cottage.
Captain Sam came in, and the two old men
told the boys stories of various happenings
on the bay and off the coast that had come
into their experience; and, before they knew
it, it was time for bed, and off they went, all
three in one little room under the roof. They
were tired and ready enough to tumble into
the cots piled high with comfortables of Mrs.
Clark’s own making, and there was little time
wasted in talking.
The next day was decidedly warmer. The
wind had dropped and the sun was shining,
so that it seemed almost like spring. Cap-
tain Sam, true to his promise, took them to
hunt for rabbits, and they returned, hungry and
ready for dinner, with six to their credit instead
of the two Captain Sam had promised them.
After dinner the weather was still growing
warmer, and Bunny began to tease about his
sail. So Captain John found a sneak-box for
them, and they went off down the bay in
good spirits.
noIN THE LOWER BAY
But they didn’t get very far, because the
winter day was so short, and they came about
with considerable reluctance.
“I say, fellows,” said Ted, “I don’t think
we could have much better fun than this.
Let’s make a day of it to-morrow.”
“Fine idea!” exclaimed Bob. “We’ll ask
Mrs. Clark to put us up some lunch and we’ll
get up early and go down into the lower bay
exploring. What do you say, Bunny?”
“ I’m more than agreeable,” replied Bunny.
“I’ve been thinking of it, but I wasn’t sure
you fellows cared as much about sailing as
I did.”
They suggested this plan at supper that
night, and Captain John said he didn’t see
any objection to it if the weather held as it
was; so far as “ grub ” was concerned, “ they’d
have to fix that with the cook”—but Mrs.
Clark at once offered to put up a lunch for
them, so there was no difficulty on that score.
It all depended upon the weather, and that
could not be determined till the next day.
“It’s more’n likely,” Captain John de-
clared, “ to hold like this and continue warmer.
I guess you’ll have as good a time knockin’
about in a boat as anything else.”
But the next day, although it was decidedly
warmer and there was little or no wind stir-THE LAST LAP
ring, Captain John didn’t seem quite satisfied
with the look of things.
The boys, however, still bent upon having
their day’s sail, insisted that even if there
wasn’t much wind, there was enough to send
a boat along, and if worst came to worst they
could row the sneak-box.
“I ain’t worryin’ about that,” said Captain
John. “You’ll find enough wind to push
you along, but there ain’t no tellin’ what this
sort of weather will turn to. However, I
guess you won’t be satisfied till you go, and
I can’t see that there’s likely to be anything
more’n some rain before nightfall, though
there may be a little snow. Still, I reckon
you boys can take care of yourselves. You
know the bay, and you’re certainly old
enough, so I won’t make no objections.”
Captain Sam was of very much the same
opinion, so the boys started off, warmly clad
and with a sou’wester and oilskin coat for
each of them stored “up-bows” in case of
rain.
They left the little dock joyfully, and for
a few moments the sun came out quite warm,
so that any fears the two captains might have
had were banished for the time being.
“They can’t come to much harm,” said
Captain John to Captain Sam as they watch-IN THE LOWER BAY
ed the little boat getting smaller and smaller
in the distance, “and, anyway, they’re sen-
sible boys, and if anything should happen
that Bunny feller has nerve enough to pull
’em through somehow.”
“ I don’t think there’s any cause to worry
with any of ’em. They know the bay, and
they can sail better than most of the grown
folks that come down here in the summer,
aiid, besides, they won’t get scared easy.”
Captain John nodded his head and looked
up at the sky, sniffing.
“I don’t like the look of it altogether,” he
muttered; “but, then, I can’t see what could
happen ’cept they’d get good and wet.”
Meanwhile the boys were off down the bay.
At first they thought they would go up the
river to explore as far as they could, but as
they went on they decided that perhaps
they’d better go right down to the lower
bay and land where it seemed inviting. They
found breeze enough to push the little sneak-
box through the water at a fair rate, and, as
they had no particular object in view, it
didn’t much matter.
In the lower bay, instead of more wind as
they expected, the breeze grew puffy and un-
certain in direction, but still they made mile
after mile, slowly to be sure, but certainly.
изTHE LAST LAP
About noon they were well down and ready
for the lunch Mrs. Clark had put up for them.
The wind had died out entirely, and they de-
cided it was a good time to go ashore. They
had to row about a quarter of a mile to reach
the ocean side of the bay, and at once set to
work gathering driftwood for a fire to make
coffee in the pot they had brought for that
purpose.
“Where do you suppose we are?” asked
Bunny, looking up and down the deserted
shore.
“We’re just below Lavallette,” Bob an-
swered. “There’s the mouth of Tom’s River
over there, three or four miles south of us.
But let’s eat; I’m starving.”
They speculated more or less about how
they were going to get home if the wind did
not spring up pretty soon, and Bunny looked
a little anxiously at the dull sky, wondering
what might be expected, but, at worst, it
could only rain, he thought, and if they had
to row back—well, it would be another ex-
perience and not a bad one, either, with three
of them to relieve one another.
The first sign of changing weather came
when they were huddled around the fire, and
a puff of wind from the north blew the smoke
into their faces.
114IN THE LOWER BAY
“Humph!” grunted Bunny, getting him-
self out of the way, a cup of coffee in one
hand and a hard-boiled egg in the other.
“If that’s the way she’s coming we’ll have
plenty of breeze going home and a beat all
the way.”
“It was sort of cold, too,” remarked Ted,
following Bunny’s example and getting on
the other side of the fire.
“Cheer up! Cheer up!” cried Bob; “we’ll
get there all right; but if I had my choice I
wouldn’t pick a sneak-box to beat up all the
way to Blue Point.”
“This is the time you don’t have a choice,”
Bunny remarked.
“Oh, I know,” said Bob, still cheerful. “I
don’t care when we get there. There’s
lunch enough here to make a good supper,
too.”
“Good old Mrs. Clark!” murmured Bunny,
with his mouth full.
“They’re mighty kind to us, aren’t they?”
said Ted, munching away; then he looked up
at the sky significantly. “Say, did you fel-
lows feel any rain?”
Bunny took off a mitten and held out his
hand for a moment.
“It’s raining all right,” he said.
“And here comes more wind,” said Ted,
usTHE LAST LAP
as he pointed to a squall whirling across the
bay and ruffling up the water before it.
“It needn’t do that for me,” said Bob; “I
don’t hanker after a wet boat in this weather. ”
As the squall reached them they shook
themselves.
“Gee! That came out of the north, all
right!” exclaimed Bunny. “I don’t see why
Peary should have wanted to find the North
Pole. We ought to have brought a gas-
stove along.”
“ If this keeps up, my boys, we’re going to
have all the winter we’re looking for before
we get back to Blue Point,” Ted exclaimed.
“Me for the fire!” said Bob, as another
squall came following closely upon the last.
“Wish we could take it with us,” added
Ted.
Before they quite realized it the puffs from
the north had settled down into a steady
wind that increased in strength momentarily.
“We’d better get out of this and begin to
think of home and home cooking,” said
Bunny. “I don’t like it altogether.”
“Looks to me as if we were in for a blow,”
agreed Ted.
“And a wet sneak-box all the way home.
Glad we’ve got those oilskins,” put in Bob.
“Come on, let’s get things together,” sug-
116IN THE LOWER BAY
gested Bunny, and they went to work at
once.
While they were at this task the slight rain
turned to snow, and by the time they were ready
to embark it was falling heavily and driving
ahead of a fair-sized gale out of the north.
“ I suppose you fellows realize we’re on a
lee shore, ’ ’ said Bunny as they got in. “ Which
means rowing out before we put up a sail.”
“And if this wind gets any heavier we’re
going to have more sail than we want to
carry unless we reef down,” Ted asserted.
“I think we’d better do that right now,”
suggested Bob, whose experience about the
bay was wider than that of either of the
others. “I’ve never been out in a north-
westerly gale in winter, but, if I know any-
thing about this bay, it is my guess that we
are in for a blow, all right, all right!”
This suggestion met with instant approval,
and without the formality of agreeing in so
many words all three set to work to reef down
the mainsail.
“Of course, this won’t increase our speed
much,” remarked Bunny, referring to the
shortened sail.
“It will keep the boat drier, though,” said
Ted, “and I guess we’ll have all the sail we
want before we’ve gone much farther.”
117THE LAST LAP
“ But who would have thought it would do
this when we started this morning ?” said Ted,
thoughtfully.
“Old Captain John was thinking of some-
thing,” suggested Bunny.
“ If he’d been thinking of this he wouldn’t
have let us come,” declared Bob, positively.
“Look at her snow, will you!” Ted ex-
claimed, stopping a moment to face the gale
that whipped across the bay. “It’s getting
thicker every minute.”
“Maybe it’s only a flurry,” said Bob, hope-
fully.
“ It don’t flurry, my son, when it’s fine
snow like this,” Bunny declared. “You can
make up your mind to go into it all the way
to Blue Point.”
When the sail was reefed to their satis-
faction, they put on their sou’westers and
oilskins, and a moment later pushed off from
the shore into the bay. As they left the
shelter of the sand-dunes along the sea-front
they felt the increasing weight of the wind,
and Ted, who was rowing, found it took all
his strength to make any progress. Fifty
yards off shore they made sail, and, with Bunny
at the tiller and Ted and Bob huddled in the
narrow cockpit under an old sail, they started
on their first tack toward Blue Point.
118XII
A BLIZZARD
FOR a while the boys talked cheerfully
about the increasingly heavy snow and
wind, making light of the cold, and laughing
heartily whenever a wave, slapping against
the bow, covered them with icy spray. They
didn’t feel that there was any danger, all of
them being perfectly at home in boats; and,
moreover, they were boys who were not given
to borrowing trouble or anticipating diffi-
culties. But, as they went farther out into
the bay, the snow began to fall thicker and
thicker, and the wind to blow more and more
fiercely, so that Bunny at the tiller found him-
self obliged to luff constantly, even with the
small sail they carried.
Very shortly the far shore, toward which
they were sailing, was completely blotted out
by the snow, and it soon became impossible
for Bunny to tell whether or not they were
making any headway to windward. He knew
the little sneak-box couldn’t point very close,
9	119THE LAST LAP
and the increasing strength of the waves made
it all the more difficult to keep a course, espe-
cially where he had nothing to guide him.
Bunny began to feel uneasy, but he kept
silent; and by this time the other boys were
quiet also, for the severity of the storm began
to have its effect even upon their exuberant
spirits. Bob and Ted sat covered up almost
completely, and huddled together for greater
warmth. They were not bothering how the
boat was sailing, leaving that to Bunny until
it was time for one of them to relieve him.
So they did not realize exactly how greatly
the storm had increased until they suddenly
discovered that Bunny was coming about.
“What’s the matter?” shouted Bob. “We
can’t be near the west shore yet.”
“No, we’re not,” answered Bunny; “but I
couldn’t see on account of the snow, so I
thought I’d better come about to get my
bearings on the east side.”
“Why, it can’t be as bad as that!” cried
Ted, sticking up his head like a turtle and
gazing around him.
“Gee!” exclaimed Bob, as he took a look.
“Where is the shore, Bunny?”
“ We’re heading for it, I think,” said Bunny;
but even he could see nothing of the beach
they had left a few moments before.
120A BLIZZARD
“I say, Bunny,” began Bob, getting to his
feet and looking about him, while the wind
caught at his oilskin coat and seemed to
strive to fling him overboard—“ I say, this
begins to look like the real thing in snow-
storms.”
“ Yes, and if you think it’s any fun sailing
into it you’re entirely mistaken,” returned
Bunny, a white, snow-covered figure crouched
in the stem.
“But, Bunny, how do you know where
you’re steering?” asked Ted. “I don’t see
how you can tell without a compass.”
“I’m steering according to the wind,” an-
swered Bunny. “Just keeping the leach off
the shake; but it’s rather uncertain. This
thing won’t point up for shucks, and if it
gets any worse we can’t go against it at
all.”
“ I don’t believe we’re making anything to
windward, anyhow,” said Bob.
“ We can’t tell till we make the other shore,”
Bunny replied.
“We can’t tell then,” declared Bob, “un-
less we run in far enough to see where we built
our fire.”
“I’m going to run in, anyway,” replied
Bunny; “but it seems to me the snow is
getting thicker and thicker every minute.”THE LAST LAP
“It’s all you can do to see the bow of the
boat,” observed Ted.
“Bunny,” said Bob, seriously, “you don’t
dare to run in too far on this tack without
being able to tell where you’re going. You’re
likely as not to be ashore before you know it,
and that will take the mast out of her.”
Bunny, acknowledging the wisdom of this
remark, put down the tiller, and again the little
sneak-box came about on the opposite tack.
They sailed on for a few minutes longer,
straight into the gale, which continued to in-
crease.
“I tell you,” said Bunny, at length, “I
don’t believe I’m making a foot to wind-
ward, and it’s getting worse every second. If
I don’t luff she’ll be shipping so much water
that well have to bale, and her bow is getting
covered thick with ice.”
“Is the wind due north?” asked Bob, sud-
denly. “If it is, it might pay us to ease our
sheet and run straight across and take a long
tack up the other way.”
“ I don’t know whether it’s due north or
not,” replied Bunny; “we can’t tell now, be-
cause we can’t see anything; but if we were
on a lee shore when we left, as we were, I
don’t understand how we can make the star-
board tack the long one.”A BLIZZARD
“The shore bends in where we were,” ex-
plained Bob, “just like a cove. That’s the
reason we felt the wind more when we got
out of it.”
“ I don’t see how that would make any
difference in the direction of the wind,”
returned Bunny. “Anyway, we can’t sail
without anything to guide us but the wind.
We ought to have a compass—as it is, we don’t
know where we’d land; we might keep going
back and forth across the bay time after time
without making a mile to windward; besides,
if this blow gets any heavier we’ll have to
drop our peak, and then we simply can’t go
into it.”
“Where are you going now?” asked Bob.
“To tell you the truth, I don’t know,” re-
plied Bunny, rather anxiously; “but we’re
heading toward the west shore more or less,
though, if the wind has shifted to the west at
all, we’re heading down the bay, and will
probably land somewhere near Bamegat or
up the Tom’s River shore.”
They were all silent for a while, each strain-
ing his eyes to pierce the thick veil of wind-
driven snow that came down thicker and
thicker as the minutes passed. Moreover, the
cold was increasing with the severity of the
storm, while the waves in the bay lifted up
123THE LAST LAP
their heads higher and higher as the gale
whipped them before it.
“Fellows,” shouted Bob, finally, “this is a
blizzard!”
As if the word itself had some power to
harm, the boys at that moment seemed to
feel for the first time the possibility of serious
danger. Before, it had been a matter of
trouble and inconvenience to manage the
boat in such weather, but the thought of
personal harm had not entered their heads.
Cold and discomfort they were prepared for.
They had all three been wet many times, and
had suffered hunger, and had been becalmed
half a day at a time. They had faced storms
that threatened to capsize their little boats,
and on one occasion had been wrecked one
whole night before help came. But a blizzard
was outside their experiences. They began
to realize that here was a condition for which
they were not prepared, and that their lives
were in danger.
This knowledge affected each of the boys
in a different way. Bob, perhaps because all
his life he had been looked after and protect-
ed, grew a little pale and felt a sinking heart.
“ What shall we do, Bunny ?” he exclaimed;
and that showed more than anything else his
feeling of helplessness.
124A BLIZZARD
Ted Halliday laughed cheerfully, in almost
a reckless way, in fact; but Ted wasn’t afraid.
“Oh, we’ll get out of it some way,” he
shouted, and put a hand on Bob’s shoulder.
Bunny didn’t say a word. He stood for a
moment at the tiller, looking ahead and
watching the wind and waves and snow beat-
ing the little boat. He shut his teeth tighter
and faced the storm with squared shoulders.
“We’re going ashore,” he said, at length,
as he gave the tiller a twist. “The worst
thing we have to fear is getting lost, and if we
make the east shore we can follow the sea-
line, and then we’ll know where we are, at
any rate. This way we can’t tell what is
happening. ’ ’
That showed Bunny. He was cool, thought-
ful, and, like Ted, unafraid; but, unlike Ted,
he was willing to take the responsibility for
getting them to safety, although he was not
so ready as Ted to say “it will be all right.”
In fact, Bunny began to have an impression
that it wasn’t all right, by any means. When
Bob had spoken the word “blizzard,” he as
well as the others remembered many sto-
ries he had read of people who had perished
in such storms. Of men, strong, husky men,
wandering on the prairies within a short
distance of shelter, but blinded by the
125THE LAST LAP
storm so that they had lost all sense of di-
rection and had gone about in circles, not
knowing where they were, until at length,
wearied and exhausted, they had fallen in
their tracks.
Bunny still felt that out in the water the
direction of the wind gave him something
to go on. He wouldn’t keep going in circles,
at least, so long as he pushed his boat’s head
into the eye of the wind; but equally he
wouldn’t be getting anywhere. Moreover,
he feared one thing very much. Should they
go ashore on the land side of the bay, they
might easily enough get bewildered in a
strange and uninhabited part of the country,
whereas if they were on the east shore, that
long strip of sand running between the ocean
and the bay, they would be able to keep their
direction by walking into the wind along the
sea-shore.
But this plan, although the best Bunny
could think of, had its serious difficulties;
for he knew they would have to toil through
sand for many miles before they came to a
settlement inhabited at that time of the year.
Nevertheless, he did not hesitate after deciding,
and it was characteristic of him to say, “ We’re
going ashore,” instead of wasting time argu-
ing the matter.
126A BLIZZARD
Bunny brought the boat about once more
and headed in the direction he supposed the
other shore to be. He eased his sheet, get-
ting the wind just forward of the beam, and,
although the spray continued to fly across
their little craft, it was easier sailing, and
they did not feel the buffeting of the sea and
wind so strongly as before.
“You fellows sit down and cover up,” he
said to Ted and Bob.
“Hadn’t you better let me take the tiller
for a while?” asked Ted. “I’m a dandy at
running a boat ashore, and you must be
getting a bit frost-bitten.”
“I’m all right,” replied Bunny; “you look
after Bob.”
“Oh, Bob’s all right,” Ted called, cheer-
fully; “he’s the original little snowman,
aren’t you, Bobby?”
“I wish we were out of this,” sighed Bob.
“Have you any idea where we are, Bunny?”
he added, anxiously.
“We’re heading for the east shore, and we’ll
land somewhere,” replied Bunny. “You’ll
both know when we get there, too, for in all
probability we’ll hit bow-on at full speed and
everything will go. I can’t see a yard ahead
of the boat.”
Bunny hoped that there might be a let-up
127THE LAST LAP
in the storm as they neared the land, although
he was not very sanguine of it. The cold con-
tinued to increase, the wind whistled, and
the snow fell so thickly that it was almost
impossible to face it. It swirled about them,
filling every nook and cranny like fine sand.
Bunny’s eyes smarted from having to look
ahead, and each little crystal seemed like a
sharp piece of ice intent upon cutting into his
flesh.
As the minutes passed Bunny became more
and more anxious to strike the shore. They
had been headed on this tack for what seemed
like a long time, and he had been bracing
himself for the expected shock, but still it
did not come. He tried to figure out how
far they must have gone, but he had no
starting-point from which to begin his calcu-
lations. On the other hand, he knew that,
since easing his sheet, they had been going
through the water rapidly, and he didn’t
understand how it was that they did not
make their landing. Presently he began to
doubt whether or not the wind was so good
a guide to direction, after all.
“If it has shifted west,” he said to him-
self,” we will be going all right running this
way. ’ ’ And then the appalling thought came,
“But suppose it has shifted east?”
128A BLIZZARD
In that case he would be headed down the
bay right in the center of it, for all he could
tell, and they might go on like this for hours.
The only thing in that direction to stop them
was the railroad bridge above Bamegat.
Bunny’s confidence in not getting lost in
the boat was beginning to wane.
“Could the wind have shifted east?” he
asked himself.
“Of course it could,” he was forced to
answer, and his perplexity increased. Still
he held on, thinking it was better to steer the
present course than to try experiments.
“ Seems to me we ought to be there by this
time,” said Ted, after five minutes or so.
“We must have gone farther toward the
other shore than I thought,” replied Bunny.
He saw no reason for telling the others what
he feared.
“It’s awfully cold,” Bob complained, “and
I’m aching all over from crouching here.
Suppose you let me steer, Bunny? Maybe
it will warm me up.”
“I’d sit tight if I were you,” said Bunny.
“You won’t find it any particular sport steer-
ing, and it isn’t a warm job, either.”
“ Come and let your uncle Ted warm you,”
shouted that individual, as he put an arm
around Bob and hugged him. “And, say,
129THE LAST LAP
Bunny,” he went on, gaily, “we wanted to
see what the sea-shore was like in winter-time.
Well, my son, we’re finding out, aren’t we?
At any rate, it’s different from the Fourth of
July.”
Bunny rather envied Ted Halliday’s cheer-
ful and reckless disposition. He himself was
always so sober and thoughtful over every-
thing, while Ted was inclined to let things go
and make the best of it.
“We aren’t getting ashore,” complained
Bob, again. “I’m freezing, Bunny, honestly
I am.”
“ Drop the sail and let her slide,” suggested
Ted. “You can’t tell where you’re going,
and it’s an even chance we’ll hit something
if you let the old lady take her own course.”
“I think I’d rather do it myself,” said
Bunny.
“All right, you’re the captain,” agreed Ted.
“How do you know where you are going?”
demanded Bob, suddenly struck by an ap-
palling thought.
9
“Well,” said Bunny, with assumed con-
fidence, “we have a north wind, and we’re
quartering it on our port bow, therefore we’re
running east.”
“That’s all very well,” said Bob, “if the
wind is north; but suppose it’s northeast?”
130A BLIZZARD
“I had thought of that,” Bunny con-
fessed.
“ Then why don’t you do something ?” cried
Bob. “You must change your course, Bunny.
I’m sure the wind has shifted east. If you
keep on this way you’ll just be going down
the bay and never striking the shore. Please
head her up.”
“But suppose the wind hasn’t shifted?”
argued Bunny.
“But I’m sure it has or we would have
struck the east shore long before this. You
must see that. Ted, don’t you think he
ought to change his course?”
“If you want to know what I think?” re-
turned Ted, cheerfully, “ I think we’re lost,
and I’ve been thinking that for some time.”
“Bunny!” began Bob, in a rather panic-
stricken voice, “you must head her up into
it or else go about and make for the other
shore. We’ve got to do something! We
can’t go on like this or we’ll be frozen to
death. Oh, Bunny, please—” But even as
he spoke the little sneak-box took the ground,
the mast snapped, and Bunny was thrown
into the middle of the boat on top of Bob
and Ted.
“We struck something all right,” shouted
Ted from the bottom of the pile.
131THE LAST LAP
“Hooray!” cried Bob, his spirits rising as
he struggled to his feet.
But Bunny was in no mood to laugh. He
knew that they were only exchanging one
difficulty for another.XIII
ON THE BEACH
THE boys climbed out of the boat with
all speed. The little sneak-box was a
wreck, and looked forlorn enough, with all
her gear piled on the bow and a stump of a
mast sticking through the limp sail; but it
would not be long before all trace of this
disorder would be covered with snow.
They pulled the boat up on the beach as
far as they could drag her, and then stopped
a moment to think what they had bet-
ter do.
The momentary cheerfulness of Bob when
they had struck the shore began to abate
considerably as he tried to look about him
and make out where they were. Nothing
could be distinguished ten feet before them.
The snow blotted out every clue to their
whereabouts. The only difference in their
position now was that they were on land in-
stead of being on the water. Moreover, it
was growing dark. Bunny looked at his
133THE LAST LAP
watch and noted that it was three o’clock.
There was only an hour of daylight left.
“Well, what shall we do now, cap?” asked
Ted, cheerful in spite of the cold and stiff-
ness he was beginning to suffer.
“We’ll take what is left of that lunch and
make for the beach,” said Bunny.
“Come on, crew!” shouted Ted to Bob.
“Stand by to grab left-over lunch.”
It was inspiring to see Ted taking this
good-natured, bantering view of the case.
It helped Bunny, because he knew that, in an
emergency of any sort, Ted Halliday could be
counted upon absolutely, and in their present
circumstances it was just as well that every-
body should not be too serious.
Bunny was afraid of Bob’s going to pieces.
Not that Bob hadn’t nerve and courage, but
he wasn’t nearly so strong physically as the
others, and he was used to being taken care
of. Bunny was fond of Bob, probably fonder
of him than of any other fellow in the world,
but that didn’t blind him to his friend’s weak
points. Moreover, as Bunny told himself, no
one was perfect, and if Bob had failings in one
direction he made up for them by sterling qual-
ities in others. So he depended upon Ted’s
cheerfulness to keep Bob in a happy frame
of mind. As for himself, Bunny knew that it
134ON THE BEACH
was impossible for him to be gay and lively
under the circumstances. He wasn’t built
that way, for he had always taken things very
seriously from the time he was a little kid,
and, although he didn’t think of shirking his
responsibilities, he couldn’t make light of
them as Ted did. Bob needed cheering up,
and he was mighty glad Ted was there to
help.
“What are we going to do?” asked Bob,
while they made the remainder of the food
into a bundle with a rope about it, so that
it could be slung across the shoulders.
“We’re going to walk up the beach,” said
Bunny, assuming all the confidence he could.
“Where to?” demanded Bob.
“Well, we can’t walk all the way to Blue
Point,” said Bunny; “but we ought to make
Mantoloking. ’ ’
“ That must be three or four miles at least!’ ’
exclaimed Bob. “ There must be other places
nearer than that. What’s the matter with
Lavallette or Chadwick?”
“ But they are all summer places,” Ted put
in. “There aren’t any people there now.”
“Then, what shall we do?” demanded Bob.
“We’re going up the beach till we strike
something,” said Bunny. “There’s nothing
else we can do.”THE LAST LAP
“Why can’t we stay where we are?” asked
Bob. “ We can get under the boat and pull
the sail over us, and this storm will stop
pretty soon, I’m sure. If we go off we’re like-
ly to get lost and—”
“We can’t stay here,” said Bunny, posi-
tively. “We’d freeze.”
“ But we could build a fire,” suggested Bob.
“How could you find wood under all this
snow?” Ted put in. “You haven’t X-ray
eyes, old man. No, come on, we’ll follow
the captain.”
“ We’ll make for the sea-shore,” said Bunny,
starting ahead. “Once we get the sea on
our right, we’ll know where we’re going, any-
way. Come along now and stick close to-
gether. ’ ’
“ Go on, Robinson Crusoe,” said Ted, cheer-
fully. “Your man Friday is with you.”
“ If you’re Friday, what am I ?” asked Bob,
plaintively.
“I guess you’ll have to be the goat, my
son,” chuckled Ted.
They started off slowly to cross the narrow
tongue of land between the bay and the
ocean, but as they left the water’s edge they
began to sink into the soft sand, and found
it well-nigh impossible to make rapid prog-
ress. Still they clambered on, and presently,
136ON THE BEACH
as the ground began to rise, they knew they
were mounting the sand-dunes that divide
two bodies of water.
“ Only a little farther and we’ll be over and
down on the shore where the sand is hard!”
shouted Ted, at the top of his voice.
“ We can’t go far like this!” Bob called back.
“We won’t have to!” said Ted. And they
struggled on.
Finally they topped the rise of piled-up
sand and beach-bush and began the descent.
Here, for the first time, they heard the roar
of the ocean above the clamor of the storm,
and for a moment it was distinctly cheer-
ing’
“Do you know how the tide is setting?”
shouted Bunny in Bob’s ear.
It was hard to make themselves heard, and
Bunny hadn’t spoken much before; but now
another thought had come to him. At full
tide the firm sand would be under water, and
they would be forced to continue their strug-
gle through the snow and dёbris above the
high-water mark. This Bunny knew would
very shortly exhaust them utterly, and he
was most anxious to know how the tide was
running.
“I think it was low water about noon,”
said Bob. “Why?”
137THE LAST LAP
“Oh, nothing, I was just wondering,” an-
swered Bunny, and pushed on.
They came to the firm sand eventually,
and the comfort of having something solid
to walk on roused their spirits consider-
ably.
“ Isn’t this just like Broadway ?” Ted shout-
ed, at the top of his lungs. “ Now for a little
walk to Coney Island! Say, Bunny, how do
you like the sea-shore in winter-time ?”
“Fine!” cried Bunny, trying his best to be
gay and play up to Ted, “such brisk, healthy
atmosphere. No germs in this wind.”
“No room for them,” said Bob, with an
attempt at cheerfulness, which Bunny noted
with considerable relief.
Although the walking was better, it now
became necessary to face the storm in ear-
nest. They were walking directly into it,
skirting the shore on the right and so keep-
ing their direction, despite the fact that they
could hardly see a yard ahead of them.
Occasionally, as the shore was broken, they
found themselves getting into the soft sand or
walking into the water, and the spent waves,
hissing up the beach, lapped about their feet
before they realized where they were wander-
ing to.
But the storm showed no signs of abating.
138ON THE BEACH
On the contrary, it increased in violence, and
the cold became intense.
It was almost impossible to face it, and the
three boys plodded on doggedly with their
heads down, seeing only what was at their
feet. Sometimes they would find themselves
the center of little whirlwinds of snow that
forced a halt, but again they would struggle
on.
Because of the roar of the ocean and the
rush of the wind, it was impossible to hear
anything else, and the occasional remarks
they made had to be shouted into one another’s
ears.
Bunny was becoming thoroughly chilled, in
spite of the hard walking in heavy oilskin
coat and rubber boots. Nothing, seemingly,
could keep out the cold that came hurtling
out of the north, and he grew seriously appre-
hensive.
Also it had grown quite dark, and Bunny
noticed that they were being driven nearer
and nearer the soft sand above high-water
mark. The tide was coming in, and, with
this storm behind it, would probably be a
high one.
Bunny was thinking of this when he turned
his head to look at Bob, who should have
been beside him. But no one was there.
139THE LAST LAP
He moved over farther and came in contact
with Ted, whom he recognized.
Bunny was frightened, and gripped the arm
swinging listless as the other plodded along.
“Stop!” he shouted. “Stop!”
“What’s the matter?” returned Ted, lean-
ing near him.
“Where’s Bob?” demanded Bunny, in an
agony of suspense.
“Why, he was right between us!” called
Ted. “Isn’t he here?”
But Bunny did not answer. Instead he
turned his back to the wind and called,
“Bob!” at the top of his lungs.
Ted shook his head.
“Even if he can hear you, we can’t hear
him,” he said. “Come, we’ll go back and
find him. Now don’t get worried, Bunny.
I thought, of course, he was right there be-
tween us, and I’ve been thinking—”
“I can’t hear a word you say!” Bunny in-
terrupted, putting his mouth close to Ted’s
ear.
“It doesn’t make any difference!” Ted re-
turned, “I only said, ‘Don’t worry!’”
“But I can’t help it!” said Bunny. “If
we don’t find him he’ll freeze to death sure!”
And again he shouted “Bob!” at the top of
his lungs. .ON THE BEACH
These shouts of Bunny’s redoubled all the
roars of the storm and the ocean. They had
gotten used to it in a measure before, but now
that they tried to talk against it they realized
how fierce it was.
They started back over the ground they
had just covered, but from the very first it
seemed a hopeless quest. They were abso-
lutely isolated in the restricted space in which
they found themselves at the moment, a
small circle that changed as they walked,
but was exactly like the circle they had just
moved out of. They were surrounded by
walls of snow that shut out everything from
their sight; except for the sand at their feet
and the foam-topped water as it slid up the
beach, there was nothing visible. Bunny,
within touch of Ted, could only make out
dimly the yellow blur of his oilskin coat.
He moved closer to his companion.
“We’d better hold hands!” he shouted.
“ If we get separated I don’t know what will
happen! ”
“All right!” called Ted, still cheerful.
“Don’t get stuffy now; we’ll be falling over
Bob in a minute!” And then he lifted up
his voice and shouted for their lost com-
panion.
Again and again Bunny called aloud for
141THE LAST LAP
Bob, and then the two would stop, hoping to
hear an answering shout; but nothing save
the roar of the wind and waves filled their
ears.
“Bob! Oh, Bob!” shouted Bunny, becom-
ing more and more fearful as his imagination
pictured the boy lying on the sand and being
rapidly covered by snow.
“ What shall we do ?” he asked Ted. “ We
may have passed him. He may be lying
down somewhere, or perhaps he has crawled
up to the soft sand. What shall we do?”
Bunny made no attempt to disguise his
feelings, and the responsibility was heavy
upon him. He began to blame himself for
having proposed the plan.
“And it’s all my fault,” he told Ted. “If
we’d stayed there with the boat it might have
been all right; but I insisted upon going on,
even when Bob wanted to stay where he
was.”
“Nonsense! We’d have frozen to death
there,” replied Ted, and squeezed Bunny’s
hand to show that he sympathized and that
he could be depended upon to the last.
A particularly heavy wave forced them
higher up the shore, and Bunny spied some-
thing yellow at his feet caught upon a half-
sunken stick. He leaned over and picked up
142ON THE BEACH
a sou’wester. It was the one Bob had been
wearing, and Bunny showed it to Ted without
a word. He couldn’t make out the meaning
of it, but he feared the worst.
“He must be about here somewhere,” said
Ted, and again they shouted their friend’s
name.
Once more they strained their ears, and
then, very faintly, they heard an answering
shout above the roar and tumult of the storm.
Bunny clutched Ted by the arm almost
desperately.
“Did you hear that?” he cried; but with-
out waiting for a reply he raised his voice
again.
“Bob! Hey, Bob!”
“It was behind us,” shouted Ted, facing
about to windward.
Again they listened, and again faintly but
distinctly there came an answering shout.
Then, as they were about to call together
once more, there came out of the gloom the
yellow glow of a lighted lantern, and the
next instant a man walked into them.
“Hello!” he yelled, hoarsely. “What are
you boys doin’ here?”
“We’re looking for Bob!” cried Bunny.
“ Have you see anything of another boy any-
where ?”
143THE LAST LAP
Bunny held his breath, waiting anxiously
for the answer.
“I heard some one shoutin’ down here,”
the man replied, “but I ain’t seen no other
feller. Was there three of you?”
“Yes,” answered Bunny, with a sinking
heart. “We missed him a little way above
here, and we’ve been trying to find him.”
“We’d better find him pretty quick,” re-
plied the man, holding up his lantern and in-
specting the two boys. “This ain’t very
good weather to get lost in. Was you stand-
in’ here when you shouted?”
“Yes,” answered Ted. “We’ve been here
for five minutes at least, though it seems
longer. ’ ’
“Right on this spot?” asked the man.
Bunny nodded.
“Then,” said the man, positively, “the
hollerin’ I heard couldn’t have been you,
’cause I was to windward of you, and a feller
can’t hear nothin’ against this racket. It
must have been your friend I heard, and he
can’t be far from us. Come on, stick close
together and we’ll find him.”XIV
THE MAN WITH THE LANTERN
NEITHER Bunny nor Ted could make
out who this man was or what he looked
like. He wore a sou’wester, pulled well down
over his face, and an oilskin coat that came
below the tops of his boots. But they knew
by the way he talked that he was one upon
whom they could depend, and Bunny es-
pecially felt a great sense of relief that they
had found him—or rather that he had found
them. They plodded on together for fifty
yards or so, the man just in front of them,
holding aloft the lantern and waving it about
from time to time, and then he stopped.
“You see,” he shouted at them, “we can
hear him if he hollers, but he can’t hear us, so
all we can do is to keep getting nearer to
his shouts and depend upon his seein’ the
light from the lantern. Now stand still and
listen.”
They waited with held breath for a mo-
ment, and then, very faintly, they heard a
145THE LAST LAP
shout above the roar of the wind. It sounded
like “ Bunny,” but they couldn’t be sure.
“Come on!” cried the man, and again they
moved forward fifty yards or so. Again they
stopped to listen, and once more the faint
call reached them, but it seemed no nearer
than before, and the man with the lantern
grunted disappointedly:
“ He’s goin’ up the shore as fast as he can,”
he told the boys, “and we’ve got to go
faster. ’ ’
They moved forward again, battling against
the wind with all their strength, striving
desperately to keep up with the man who
strode ahead as if he didn’t mind either wet
sand or wintry weather. They went a hun-
dred yards before he stopped them, and this
time the shout was much nearer.
“Bunny! Oh, Bunny!”
They could hear it plainly now, and the
man beside them lifted up his voice and,
with one gloved hand beside his mouth, made
a roaring noise that had no definite meaning
nor syllables.
Again in silence they waited for Bob’s
shout, feeling that he was near and knowing
that, if the snow was not blinding them, he
would be in plain sight.
“Bunny! Ted!”
146MAN WITH THE LANTERN
The call was fainter again, proving that
Bob was still going on up the beach, and it
was necessary for them to hurry forward
once more.
“Do you suppose he means to go all the
way to Blue Point at this rate?” growled the
man to himself. “Wish he’d stop for a rest
and look about him. He’s got his back to
us or he’d see this light, I’m thinkin’. Stop!”
He held the other two in their tracks with
outstretched arms, and they strained their
ears.
“Hey, Bunny! Bunny Reeves!”
The call was so close this time that Bunny,
brushing aside the man’s arm, ran ahead
shouting “ Come on!” and a moment later the
yellow form of Bob was before him, and he
reached out and clutched the bowed shoulder
that was still pressing forward against the
wind.
“ Oh, Bunny!” shouted Bob. “ I though I’d
lost you!”
Bunny couldn’t speak. He just put one
arm about his chum and squeezed him against
his shoulder; but Bob understood. Then Ted
and the man came up to them with the
lantern.
“Well, Charley Ross!” cried Ted, grasping
Bob’s hand, but there was no disguising his
147THE LAST LAP
delight in seeing his friend again, though he
did try to be bantering, as usual.
“Gee!” cried Bob, after a moment, “talk
about finishing a quarter! It was like
sprinting a mile. I’m certainly glad to
see you fellows. It was awfully lone-
some. ’ ’
“You boys better come with me to the
station right off,” said the man with the
lantern. “You’ll be freezin’ your fingers
and toes standin’ here, and you’ve got half
a mile to go yet.”
They hadn’t been thinking of the cold of
anything else except Bob for the last half-
hour ; but, when the man called their atten-
tion to it, they did begin to realize that it
was decidedly chilly, and that a warm place
where they could sit down and rest would be
the finest thing they could think of.
“Where did you say we could go?” asked
Bunny.
“To the station,” the man answered.
“Station!” cried Ted, vaguely. “The rail-
road station?”
“No, the Life-Saving Station,” replied the
man.
The three boys looked at one another. It
had not occurred to them to wonder who or
what the man was, but now that they found
148MAN WITH THE LANTERN
he was a life-saver they knew that their
troubles were over.
“ Did we pass the station coming up, then ?”
exclaimed Bunny.
“Sure you did!” replied the man. “But,
of course, you couldn’t tell from where you
were. There might have been a city there
for all you would have known! Now come
along and don’t get lost again!”
As they plodded back Bob explained how
he had happened to become separated from
them.
“You see,” he told them, “my sou’wester
came untied, and all of a sudden it blew off,
and I stopped to pick it up, but a gust of wind
took it again, and, though I shouted, you
fellows didn’t hear me, and I tried to find
it, because I was afraid I’d freeze my head
off without it. Then I lost it in the snow,
and by the time I decided I couldn’t find it
I had lost you, and, though I shouted to you
again and again, I couldn’t make you hear.”
“ Do you realize that we passed one another
while we were looking for you?” asked Ted.
“Sure!” said Bob. “I could hear you fel-
lows calling and tried to make you hear me.
You don’t know how funny it seemed, know-
ing all the time you were near. Then all of
a sudden I didn’t hear you any more, and
149THE LAST LAP
that must have been the time you passed me.
I tell you I think we were pretty lucky to have
this life-guard find us. ’ ’
“ I rather guess we were!” exclaimed Bunny,
in a very heartfelt way.
“ Oh, I knew it would be all right!” shouted
Ted, cheerfully.
“I wish I had been as sure of it,” replied
Bunny. “ I tell you I was worried for a
while. ’ ’
It occurred to Bunny that he had been the
only one seriously alarmed by this experience.
Ted, happy-go-lucky, took things as they
came, which was to be expected; but Bunny
was much surprised at Bob. While they had
been together the latter seemed to be the
least dependable; but, once thrown on his
own resources, he had become an entirely
different fellow. He had not appeared es-
pecially worried at the prospect of having to
take care of himself, nor frightened at being
alone in the storm. On the contrary, he had
gone ahead doing the best he could; so Bunny
came to the conclusion that Bob had plenty
of nerve, after all, and that he only needed to
be placed upon his own responsibilities to
show it.
These thoughts of Bunny’s were broken into
by the man with the lantern, who, with a
150MAN WITH THE LANTERN
gruff “This way!” struck off to the right and
led them up the beach. Presently several
lights showed blurred through the snow, and
then outlines of the station became visible.
A moment later they were through the door
and their escort ushered them into a large
room filled with men clustered about a huge
stove, who looked up at them with various
exclamations of surprise.
“ I just found these boys on the beach, Cap-
tain,” said their rescuer, addressing a gray-
haired man seated at a little desk underneath
a lamp.
This man came to his feet at once.
“You ought to know better than to bring
’em in here!” he growled, and with little cere-
mony he bundled the boys out into the snow
again.
“Bring a couple of lanterns,” was his
next command; and when these were brought
he began an inspection of the boys.
He looked carefully at their faces and
fingers, and asked them whether their feet
were cold or not, and upon being informed
by Ted that one of his feet had been mighty
cold, but was all right now, the captain of the
station had his boot and stocking off in a jiffy,
and, after one glance at it by the lantern-light,
he began rubbing the foot vigorously with snow,
li	151THE LAST LAP
“Humph!” he grunted once or twice.
“ Nothin’ like snow for a frozen foot. Fool
thing bringin’ them into that hot room.
No sense!”
The captain was a most efficient rubber, as
Ted found out, and he kept at it for some
time, but finally the foot was thawed out to
his satisfaction, and they all went back into
the room, though the boys were warned not
to go too near the stove for some time.
Chairs were brought for them by the other
men, and there, seated in a row before the
captain, who had resumed his place under
the lamp, they told their story from the
happy start from Blue Point that morning
up to the time they had been found and
rescued.
It was a friendly, sympathetic audience
that the boys had as they related their ad-
ventures, and now and then there would be
a comment from one or other of the men,
showing that they had a full realization of
what the boys had gone through. Questions
were asked about various details of their
trip, and it was the generally accepted ver-
dict that the boys were lucky to have gotten
out of it without serious mishap.
“You’re safe now, anyway,” said the cap-
tain, who had talked but little so far. “ We’ll
152MAN WITH THE LANTERN
be glad to care for you till the storm lets up
and you can get back to Blue Point again.”
Then Bunny, who had been looking about
the room, spied a telephone, and immediately
thought of Captain John, who would most
certainly be terribly worried about them.
“ I should like to let them know at Blue
Point that we are all right,” he said.
“Why, certainly,” said the captain. “I
guess old Capt’in Clark is about havin’ a
fit over this snow and no sight of you young-
sters.” And he immediately went to the
telephone and called up Blue Point.
There was some difficulty in getting the
connection, and also some trouble in making
Blue Point hear on account of the vibration
due to the storm. Finally, however, it seemed
to be satisfactorily explained, and the captain
of the Life-Saving Station was about to hang
up the receiver when he gave a loud “ Hello!”
“Yes, this is Capt’in Crawford. Oh, how
are you, Capt’in Clark? Yes, sir, we’ve got
’em here, all safe and sound, and we’ll take
care of ’em till they get a train up. Well, I
I don’t know. From the way it looks down
here shouldn’t say it was likely to let up for
a day or two, anyway. I wouldn’t expect ’em
down to-morrow. No, don’t believe the trains
’11 be runnin’ through. What’s that? Last
153THE LAST LAP
summer. Yes. Stealin’ the Olympf Sure I
do. What? You don’t say! Which one?
Bubby? Oh, Bunny! So long. Yes, I’11 see
they’re all right. Good-by.”
And with that the captain hung up the
receiver and turned to the three boys.
“Which one of you is called ‘Bunny’?” he
asked, striding over to them.
Ted and Bob pointed to their blushing com-
panion, who knew from what he had heard
of the telephone conversation what was
coming.
“ I want to shake you by the hand,” he said,
grasping Bunny and pulling him to his feet.
“Boys,” he went on, turning to the group of
men, “this is the young feller what stopped
those thieves in the upper bay last summer.
You know all about it.”
“Sure we do,” was the chorus from the
men.
“Well, this here’s the kid,” said Captain
Crawford, beaming down upon Bunny. “And
you can bet old John Clark hasn’t left nobody
in or near Bamegat in ignorance of how the
Olymp was stolen, and how a boy went all
by himself and scared the thieves off. We
heard it, and I want to tell you you’re a
plucky lad, and we’re proud to have you here.
Ain’t that right, boys?”
154MAN WITH THE LANTERN
a
The chorus of approvals that followed this
was too hearty to be doubted, and when the
captain had finished they were surrounded
by men who insisted that the story be told
all over again; and they were hard at it when
somebody announced supper.
“We’d better break up this combination,
hadn’t we?” said the captain, as they moved
over to the long table at one end of the room.
“We’ll just separate these guests of ours and
kind of spread ’em around the table. We’re
likely to get acquainted quicker that way.
What’s your name, son?” he asked, pointing
at Ted, who told him. “ Well, Ted, my boy,
you set down there by that red-headed life-
saver who brought you fellows in. He’s No.
8 and goes by the name of Jack. Now, my
boy, what’s yours?”
“Bob,” answered that individual.
“Then, Bob, you sit over there by No. i,
and seein’ as he’s old enough to be your father,
you can call him Mr. Parks, though we all go
by numbers here. Now this here Bunny boy
can sit down in the middle, and I guess we’ve
got ’em divided up О. K. Fall to, boys;
there ain’t no women here, and consequently
no ceremony. We do our own cookin’ and
our own eatin’, too, so pick out what you
want, help yourself, and if you don’t git
155THE LAST LAP
filled up it’s your own fault. Now, Bunny
boy, pass me them pertaters. ’ ’
With this introduction the captain sat
down, the rest of the men and boys took their
seats, and the conversation became as gen-
eral as hunger would permit.
The boys did not need to be urged. Nor
did they criticize what was put before them,
but “fell to” as the captain had suggested
and only talked between mouthfuls.
“By-the-way, Ted,” called Bunny down
the long table, “where’s that left-over lunch
you were carrying?”
“ I don’t know,” replied Ted. “ Must have
lost it somewhere, and I’m not going out to
find it, either.”
“What’s the matter, ain’t you gettin’
enough to eat?” demanded the captain; and
everybody laughed when Bunny tried to
explain.
Meanwhile the snow continued to fall heav-
ily. and the sea swept up the beach, roaring
above the clamor of the wind.
“Gee! I’m glad we’re here!” said Bob, as
a particularly heavy blast struck the lonely
little house on the sands, and Ted and Bunny
nodded assent vigorously.XV
AT THE LIFE-SAVING STATION
IT did not take long for the boys to feel
perfectly at home among the men who
made up the crew of the Life-Saving Station.
As the captain said, there was no formality.
They were there for a certain purpose, and
everything else was made to serve that pur-
pose. They did their own housework and
cooking, and all the other things necessary
for their comfort, and it may be said at once
that, so far as their quarters were concerned,
they were entirely comfortable. But later
the boys began to get a more definite idea
than they had ever had before about the
service these men performed, and it would
be a good thing if every boy knew of the brave
work done year after year by the crews of the
United States Life-Saving Service.
It was after supper that Bunny received his
first hint of what the men did. He and Cap-
tain Crawford were sitting together while Ted
and Bob were in another part of the room
157THE LAST LAP
talking with some of the other men. Some
were smoking, others clearing the dishes from
the table and straightening things generally,
while two were in the kitchen washing up
and putting that place “ to rights.” Bunny
counted that there were six men besides the
captain.
“It was rather lucky Jack was out there
or we wouldn’t have gotten much farther,”
he remarked.
“Yes, it was lucky,” agreed the captain.
“What was he doing out on a night like
this?” Bunny asked, rather innocently.
The captain looked at him quizzically for
a moment, and then smiled broadly.
“It was his business to be out, sonny,” he
replied, with a chuckle. “ It’s what he’s
paid to do, and he was taking his turn at
patrolin’ the beach. There’s two men out
now. ’ ’
“How long do they have to do it?” asked
Bunny.
“The regular patrol is from dark till it’s
light enough to see from the tower on the top
of the house,” the captain explained; “and
that means beginning about four o’clock in
the afternoon and goin’ on till seven or eight
in the momin’; but in weather like this we
keep at it night and day. It’s what we’re
158THE LIFE-SAVING STATION
here for, and the worse the weather the worse
we’re needed.”
“It must be awful,” said Bunny, thinking
of his late experience.
“ Oh, it ain’t so awful when you’re used to
it,” the captain went on; “patrolin’ the beach
is the least of our troubles. We only hope and
pray nothin’ else happens; but weather like
this keeps me nervous.”
Bunny would not have thought that Cap-
tain Crawford was ever nervous; but one of
the men confided to him that when the
weather was fine the captain was the most
silent of men, spending his time reading all
sorts of historical statistics, but that when it
was stormy he couldn’t read. Then he kept
talking constantly, though they didn’t believe
he was thinking half the time what he was
saying.
After that, since his attention was called
4
to it, Bunny did notice that Captain Craw-
ford seemed to have only half his attention
upon what was going on about him, and had
the air of one who was listening or expecting
something.
The boys soon began to feel tired, and they
had a good example set them. Some of the
men who had to make a late, or rather an
early, morning patrol went to bed almost
159THE LAST LAP
immediately after supper, so it was natural
for some one to suggest that perhaps they
would like to go, too, even though it was still
early.
Ted’s red-haired friend Jack, who seemed
to have taken charge of them since he had
found them on the beach, escorted them up
the narrow stairway and led them into a room
almost exactly like the one down-stairs, ex-
cept that this one was filled with cots ar-
ranged side by side with a narrow space
between.
There were plenty of beds, because it is a
part of the duty of the service to be ready to
accommodate a reasonable number of rescued
men, and make them comfortable for some
time if they have been injured or are in a
serious condition from exposure, as they
often are.
Bunny and Ted and Bob made little delay
in getting to bed, and the comfort they ex-
perienced in stretching out was so complete
that, even if they had wanted to talk, they
would have been asleep before the conversa-
tion had gone very far.
It was scarcely light when they were routed
out of their warm beds the next morning to
find that the weather was still stormy. The
wind roared about the unprotected house, and
160THE LIFE-SAVING STATION
the cold was intense; but as they looked out
of the narrow window they could see the
ocean, and knew that it was not snowing so
thickly as it had been in the afternoon and
evening before. Still, for all that, it was
snowing hard, and drifting into huge banks
at all the places where the wind was broken.
They hurried into their clothes, for the room
was none too warm, and were soon down-stairs
again ready for breakfast.
Captain Crawford was there with the rest
of the men, except the two who were out on
the beach at the time, and he called “Good-
morning” to them most heartily.
“ Didn’t seem no call for you boys to go on
sleep in’,” he said to them. “We have break-
fast early here, and seein’ that you ain’t
invalids, though you might ’a’ been, I just
thought you’d better come along and feed
with the rest of us, even if it was earlier than
you was accustomed to.”
“ We don’t want to make any extra trouble,”
said Bunny.
“And we won’t let you,” replied the cap-
tain, heartily. “We’ll make you a part of
the crew while you’re with us, and you can
turn to and help all you’re able. I sup-
pose you made your beds before you came
down ?’*
161THE LAST LAP
The three boys looked at one another guiltily
and shook their heads.
“We never thought of it,” said Ted, in an
apologetic tone.
The captain pretended to look very serious.
“ Think I’d better send ’em up before break-
fast?” he asked, addressing the table gener-
ally. “ It’s agin regulations to eat break-
fast before your bed’s made.”
“ Better give ’em an extra patrol, Captain,”
said Mr. Parks, with a solemn shake of his
head.
“ We’ll go right now,” said Bunny, starting
to get to his feet; but the laugh that followed
his taking this banter in earnest was most
hearty.
“Sit down! Sit down, son!” cried the cap-
tain. “ We’ll let you off this time, and you
can get them beds made afterwards. And
say, boys, you mustn’t mind a little kiddin’.
This here crew of mine don’t mean nothin’
by it, but, try as I will, I can’t stop ’em.”
“He’s the worst kidder in the place,” Jack
whispered to Ted. “ He must have his fun,
no matter what happens, when there’s a storm
goin’. In fine weather he ain’t the same
man at all. You’d think he was grouchy
then.”
After breakfast the boys hurried up-stairs
162THE LIFE-SAVING STATION
to make their beds, rather glad that they were
allowed to wait upon themselves. It gave
them a feeling that they were a part of the
Life-Saving Service for a little while, at least,
and also that they were not in the way or
making more trouble. Ted made friends with
the cook, and was put to work wiping the
dishes, while Bob found a broom and did his
share in sweeping out the living - room.
Bunny’s part of the general work was carry-
ing out ashes from the big stove, and the men,
seeing that they were willing, let them help,
and liked them better for it.
“ I think we’ll have to sign you for the
season,” said the captain to Bunny when the
work was nearly done.
“I’d like it,” replied Bunny; “but I don’t
believe we’d be of much use when there was
any real work to do.”
“That you’d have to learn like the rest of
us,” replied the captain.
“I suppose,” Bunny said, a little later,
“that there really isn’t any chance of our
getting to Blue Point to-day?”
Captain Crawford shook his head.
“Not unless you walk, and I shouldn’t
advise it, son,” he answered. “I’ve been
callin’ up the railroad station, and they say
there’s eight feet of snow on the tracks down
163I
THE LAST LAP
Barnegat way, and there ain’t no chance of
gettin’ a train through for to-day, anyway.
Maybe to-morrow, but they ain’t noway
certain.”
“Then we won’t get home New-Year,”
said Bunny.
“’Fraid not, son,” said the captain, “and
I guess that ’11 be a disappointment to you;
but we’ll do the best we can to make you
comfortable, and—and you’re welcome.”
The captain meant what he said, and
Bunny felt that, had it been possible, an
effort would have been made to get them to
Blue Point. But even then they couldn’t
have gotten to either New York or Philadel-
phia.
So Bunny, although he couldn’t help being
sorry that he would miss a day or two with
his father, was sensible enough not to grieve
over what could not be helped; also he was
not indifferent to the fact that this novel
experience would be very interesting, and, so
long as he could not help it, he intended to
enjoy it as thoroughly as he could.
“We must let them know at home that
we’re safe. They’ll be worried,” said Bunny.
“ That’s right,” agreed the captain. “ That’s
right. Glad you thought of them as is at
home worryin’. As a rule boys ain’t none
164
/THE LIFE-SAVING STATION
too thoughtful that way. We’ll get off some
telegrams. ’ ’
This was not so easy as it appeared. The
wires were down in several places, and New
York was cut off entirely; but, after some
trouble, word was sent through to Philadel-
phia, and from there to Mr. Reeves in New
York; and after that Bunny gave himself up
to a full enjoyment of the situation.
“ Now there’s nothing to worry about,” said
Bob.
“ Not a thing,” said Ted. “ We’ll be giddy
little life-savers for a while, anyway.”
As the morning advanced there seemed no
let-up in the storm, and Captain Crawford
moved about uneasily, going back and forth,
first to the little watch-tower on the top of
the house, then to the barometer in the hall-
way, and every hour or so to the telephone
to talk with the other stations along the coast.
The men sat about, reading or playing
cards, or sleeping after a hard two hours’
patrol on the beach.
In one of the intervals between his trips
to the tower, the captain called the boys over
to his desk, and, motioning them to sit down,
he told them something of the service.
“ I suppose you boys would like to know
what we’re here for?” he began.
165THE LAST LAP
“Yes, indeed!” they answered together,
drawing up their chairs.
“Well,” the captain went on, “there’s a
good bit of routine and a good bit to under-
stand; but we’re here to save life and prop-
erty. That’s what the regulations say, and
that’s what it all means in the end. Don’t
make any difference where the trouble is; if
it’s a cat-boat capsizin’ in the bay yonder,
or a five-masted schooner or steamer on the
bars along the coast, it’s all one to us. We’re
here to go and help. ’ ’
“Or three boys lost in a blizzard,” said
Bob, feelingly.
“Exactly!” replied the captain, with a nod.
“ You ’ ve hit it exactly. Where there ’ s trouble
and we can get to it, we’re expected to be
there, doin’ what we can to save life and
property, and—if I do say it myself—we gen-
erally are on the spot doin’ all mortal man
can do.”
“ I tell you we appreciate it more than we
ever did before,” said Bunny.
“Of course,” put in Ted, “we’ve heard of
the life-savers, but we never knew just what
they had to do. We thought they just hap-
pened to be around when a vessel went
ashore.”
“Aye!” returned the captain. “It’s just
166THE LIFE-SAVING STATION
bein’ ’round that counts, and, when you come
down to it, the patrol is the most important
duty we have. It keeps men walkin’ along
lookin’ out for trouble the whole length of the
coast from Florida to Maine every night dur-
ing the season — and in daytime, too, when
the weather is bad. You see,” he went on,
“there’s a station above us and one below,
and two men leave from here, one goin’ north
and the other south till they meet the men
from the other stations; then they come back
again, and two more men go out. So there
ain’t an inch of the beach that ain’t patroled
once every two hours, for its whole length.”
“And, of course,” Bunny put in, “the
worse the weather is the more careful you
have to be.”
“In a way, in a way,” the captain agreed;
“but you mustn’t think it’s only in bad
weather we’re of any account. No, sir!
We’ve got to keep just as good a lookout
when it’s fair—though it’s hard to believe.
There’s some sailor - men that ain’t fit to
handle a boat, and, of course, we’d rather not
have a wreck if we can help it, so we come
in pretty handy even when it ain’t stormy.”
“ I don’t quite understand,” said Bob, with
a puzzled look on his face.
“ Nobody that wasn’t in the business would
12	167THE LAST LAP
understand,” the captain continued; “but let
me tell you a story to show you what I mean
by an experience of my own before I was
made keeper of the station. I was out on
patrol one night early in the fall when you
wouldn’t think nothin’ could go wrong. The
moon was shinin’ clear, as bright as day-
light, and any trouble was the last thing
you’d think of. Well, there was a three-
masted schooner standin’ in, makin’ a long
tack with the wind off shore, and when I first
seen her I says to myself, ‘She’ll be cornin’
about in a minute,’ and stood watchin’ her.
“She seemed to be headin’ straight for me,
cornin’ from the south’ard, boomin’ along with
her runnin’ lights showin’ stronger every sec-
ond, and the lamp at her masthead steady
as a church, there was that little sea on.
Expectin’ all the time that she’d come about,
I waited, knowin’ that there was still plenty
of water under her; but she keeps right on
till all of a sudden it comes over me that she
didn’t mean to come about at all, and that
the lookout was asleep and the man at the
wheel not payin’ any attention.”
The captain paused for a moment to
glance out of the window, and then went on.
“ It seemed like a fool thing to do,” he re-
sumed, “to bum a light on a night like that,
168THE LIFE-SAVING STATION
but I wasn’t takin’ no chances. I lit up one
of the patent torches we always carry with
us that bum red. The schooner took the
glint of it on her sails and looked a picture, I
tell you, with all her canvas drawin’; but she
never altered her course an inch. On she
comes till I thought her forefoot was in the
breakers, and I lit another light. With a
msh she comes about then, and I tell you I
was scared till I seen her clear.”
“Gee!” exclaimed Bob, “it must have been
exciting. ’ ’
“She was too close to be exciting, let me
tell you, sonny,” the captain said, “for as
she squared away on the other tack some-
body yelled to me, ‘Much obliged to you!’
and I could hear it plain as I can hear you.
That ’11 show you how close in she was.”
“But there can’t be many sailors as fool-
ish as that,” said Bunny, incredulously.
“So you’d think,” admitted the captain;
“but see here.” He reached up to a shelf
above the desk and took down a black-bound
volume. “These are the reports for last
year,” he went on, opening the book. “Now
look. There was eighty-three steamers and
eighty-eight sailin’ vessels that was warned
off just that way last year.”
“It’s mighty hard to believe,” said Bunny.
169THE LAST LAP
“Son,” said the captain, soberly, “you nor
nobody else would believe it; but there it is
in black and white. And let me tell you
we’re expectin’ trouble every minute we’re
on duty, rain or shine, daylight or dark—
’cause we have to be! Now let’s go to
dinner. ’ ’XVI
“stand by!”
AFTER the dinner things had been cleared
away, the table put to rights, and the
dishes washed, the men disappeared to the
room above for naps. All the night before
and all that day they had been taking their
turns at patroling the beach, and were look-
ing forward to another long night upon the
wind-swept shore. No one could tell at what
moment they would be called upon to help
in the rescue of some unfortunates who might
be wrecked upon their coast, and, in that
event, there was no knowing when they would
have a chance to sleep. The captain, who
was on duty all the time, went up to the tower,
leaving Jack, the red-haired fellow who was
Ted’s particular guardian, in charge down-
stairs.
Jack was a young fellow, clean-shaven,
with a bronzed skin and clear blue eyes. All
three boys had taken a fancy to him, and he,
in turn, liked them; and the fact that he was
171THE LAST LAP
the one who had found them on the beach
made their intimacy all the more natural.
As Captain Crawford was going out of the
door, Jack spoke to him.
“ Guess these visitors of ours would like to
see the apparatus, Captain?” he said.
The keeper stopped for a moment and
looked back into the room.
“Sure! Take ’em in and show ’em the
gear,” he answered; “but, boys,” he went on,
addressing the three, “just let me say one
word of caution. Don’t move anything you
see there. Don’t handle the oars or any-
thing else. Jack will tell you why.” And
he left them.
They all four went over to the big bam-
like room on the other side of the hall, with
its double doors opening directly on the
beach, and there they saw the various ap-
pliances with which the life-savers fight the
wind and waves.
“What the captain meant by not touch-
ing anything,” Jack explained to them, “was
that everything is in its place, ready to be
taken out on the instant. You see over
here is the big surf-boat,” and he led them
to it as he spoke. “Maybe you’ve noticed
the captain cornin’ in and out of here this
momin’ ? Yes ? Well, he’s been goin’ over
172“STAND BY!”
all this stuff here, to be sure everything is all
right; and you can bet it is. It’s important,
you know, that things he might want are all
as they should be, for it may mean lives
saved or lives lost.”
Then he showed them the breeches-buoy,
explaining how it worked and the difference
between it and the life-car, which is a small
decked-over affair that sits on the water in-
stead of being hauled above it. Then there
was the little brass cannon that was used to
shoot a line to a stranded vessel, and the
shot itself attached to a long line of cord
like a clothes-line, neatly coiled on a special
box with pegs sticking up so that there
would be the least amount of resistance when
it was fired. There were many interesting
things to look at, and Jack told them all about
each in turn, but it seemed to the boys that
the big surf-boat, standing on its carriage,
ready on the instant to be put into service,
was what attracted them most. He led them
over to it finally, and they clambered aboard.
Now they began to understand just what
Captain Crawford meant by not touching
anything. There lay all the gear, neatly
packed, each piece in its proper place, pre-
pared for any emergency. Life-preservers
with straps, arranged so that no time would
173THE LAST LAP
be lost in adjusting them, oars, masts, sails,
heaving-lines, water-casks, spare parts of all
kinds, and, in the stem, the great steering-
oar. After that the boys understood what
it meant to have things ready.
“Here’s my place,” said Jack, seating him-
self on a thwart amidships, “and there’s been
many a time when I wasn’t sure whether we
was goin’ to get ashore again or not.”
“Tell us about them,” demanded Bunny.
“Oh,” laughed Jack, “I ain’t no story--
teller. There’s lots of the boys can do better
than me at that, and, besides, a feller can’t
talk about himself in this kind of a job, ’cause
he don’t do much of it by himself. He’s
just one of the crew, and it’s all of us doin’
things together that counts.”
“Yes,” said Bunny, nodding, “what we
call team-work on the football-field. ”
“That’s it exactly,” replied the life-saver.
“Team-work’s a good name for it, and it’s
because of that we have our drills every day
that the weather lets us. So that each of
us knows exactly what he has to do and when
to do it and how to do it. It gets to be second
nature to us, and when the time comes we
just don’t have to think.”
“That’s team-work,” said Ted, seriously.
“But there has to be a captain, too,” Jack
*74“STAND BY!”
went on, “ and, let me tell you, he has the hard
job! Now the keeper at a station (we call
him captain, though keeper’s official) is the
man who has the responsibility, and if he’s
a good man then his crew is a good one, and
vicy versy. But it ain’t only that makes the
job of keeper a hard one—it’s the lives of us
fellers that he has to take care of, ’specially
when we’re out in the surf-boat. Say he’s
bringin’ us in with a gale bio win’ and a heavy
surf breakin’ half-mile off shore. He’s got
to calculate just how fast the seas is runnin’,
just the point they’re breakin’, just how
much shove to give her and how much to
hold her back—and all the while he’s strainin’
on this oar”—he laid his hand on the sweep
lying across the thwarts nearly the entire
length of the boat—“strainin’ every muscle,
keepin’ her head straight on to the waves,
while every sea that comes is doin’ its best
to slew her ’round and swamp the whole out-
fit. Just one miss, just a little too much to
port or starboard, and the sea has caught her
in a second and the boat-load of us is in the
water, ’most as good as gone. Well, the
captain knows all that, and he keeps think-
in’ of it every time he takes the boat out,
so you can’t blame him for bein’ careful
that the gear is all right, seein’ that our
175THE LAST LAP
lives are dependin’ upon him and it, so to
speak. ’ ’
Jack paused while the three boys sat silent,
trying to imagine such a scene as the life-
saver had described.
“It ain’t no particular fun bein’ keeper,”
Jack went on. “You take Captain Crawford,
for instance. He’s been at the business for
years, and there’s nothin’ about beach-work
he don’t understand; but, for all the years
he’s been at it, he don’t take nothin’ for
granted. There ain’t a week goes by that
he isn’t in here goin’ over this entire out-
fit inch by inch. But that isn’t all. There
ain’t a day goes by that he isn’t in here lookin’
over some particular piece of apparatus, and
always the last thing he takes a look at is the
big oar, the big steerin’-oar, and you can bet
there ain’t anything wrong with that when
we go out. Captain Crawford is a dandy,
let me tell you, and there ain’t a feller
in the crew that wouldn’t go through any-
thing if he said the word. Why, there was
the time the Alice Palmer came ashore—but
maybe you’re tired hearin’ me talk this way ?”
The boys chorused a negative, and Jack
smiled.
“Well, we’d better be gettin’ over in the
other room,” he said. “It ain’t none too
176“STAND BY!”
warm here, and, besides, I want to be nearer
the telephone. I’m on duty, you see.”
They went back to the big living-room,
and after an inspection of the barometer and
a look at the weather, Jack sat down beside
the boys and began again:
“The Alice Palmer came ashore two years
now this next February. As luck would
have it, most of us fellers was down with
grippe—the influenzy, they calls it—and the
men that was able was doin’ double duty.
Four of us was in bed, and Captain Crawford
should have been there, too, but the fog an’
gale brought him out in no time.
“About noon this day the captain himself,
who was cookin’ and standin’ watch and play-
in’ nurse for us sick fellers, went up to the
tower to relieve the man there while he got
his dinner. The next thing we knew he was
tearin’ down the stairs shoutin’ orders for all
hands to get out the boat.”
“A wreck!” exclaimed the boys, excitedly.
“Sure thing!” replied Jack. “It was the
Alice Palmer, though we didn’t know it then.
Well, you understand, at a time like that,
bein’ sick don’t count none, and before you
could wink the whole crew were in their oil-
skins and at their stations ready for the next
order.
177THE LAST LAP
“ And we got it all right. We launched the
boat, and with a fair wind we sailed down on
the schooner that was three miles or so below
us here. I can tell you it didn’t look very
promisin’ when we got there, along about
three o’clock in the afternoon. She lay on
her starboard side, with white water all about
her. Her bowsprit and foremast and main-
topmast were gone. Both deck-houses, fore
and aft, were swept clean, and her stem up
to the mizzen was split wide open and spillin’
out her cargo of timber all over the sea. There
was eight men on her, huddled in a bunch
around the stump of the foremast, and they
gave us a cheer when they saw us. I guess
you boys never heard a cheer like that; it
fair made your heart sick to hear it.”
“It must have been awful!” said Bob.
“Aye,” agreed Jack; “but it was cheerful
in a way, too, and it made us ready to work
to help those poor chaps off that wrecked
schooner. Time and time again we tried to
get near her, easin’ our boat in and out of the
logs and sawed timber, tossed about in a high
sea and threatenin’ to smash us to bits every
moment. Yes, we tried, takin’ our lives in
our hands—but it was no go. We just
couldn’t make it; though the captain put
us in places I didn’t never expect to get out
178“STAND BY!”
of alive, yet we couldn’t make it. By that
time the night had come down on us, and
there was nothin’ to do but stand by to pick
up any of the men we was lucky enough to
find in case she went to pieces.”
“It must have been hard to be that near
and not be able to help,” said Bunny.
Jack nodded.
“It was hard,” he went on. “Well, we
anchored and settled down to spend a long
night; all of us cold, hungry, wet, and sick.
Captain Crawford was on his feet in the stern,
pushin’ and haulin’ on his oar to ease the
tackle and keep us from bein’ swamped, and,
sick as he was, he tried to cheer us up, kept
our hearts in us, talkin’ continual, though
ordinarily he’s a silent man. You see, he
didn’t dare to let us go to sleep like we would
have done, for any moment it might blow
harder; so he just had to have us ready for
anything that might turn up. And you
wouldn’t think how he kept up our spirits.
He kidded us and told us funny stories, and
some that wasn’t funny, I guess, though we
laughed anyhow, while every muscle of our
bodies ached with cold, a cold wind cuttin’
us like a knife. And a queer noise we must
have made laughin’ and shiverin’ and sneezin’
with the grippe in us.”
179THE LAST LAP
“Was it the same boat we were in?” ex-
claimed Ted, excitedly.
“ The same one, and Captain Crawford was
standin’ aft where Bob was sett in’ five minutes
ago,” Jack affirmed, and went on with the
story. “ Well, after the keeper had told all
the stories he could think of, he started us
singin’, leadin’ off himself with any old tune
that came into his head. They was hymns
mostly, the old kind we all knowed since we
was kids, and we sang up strong, all shoutin’,
while we pulled an oar here or there to help
the captain steer. It was funny music, I
guess, and none too pretty; but it warmed us
up a bit and helped to pass the time. And
all that night we knew, and the captain knew,
that our lives were in his hands; and we was
mighty glad it was old Crawford, let me tell
you. ’ ’
Jack stopped and seemed to be thinking,
forgetting his surroundings, till Bob spoke
up excitedly:
“Tell us how it came out.”
“It came out all right,” Jack replied, half
laughing at his eagerness; “ but it was a long
night, though it did come to an end finally.
The schooner showed up in the gray mist,
and you may be sure we looked hard to see
whether all the men were there yet. They
180“STAND BY!”
was, though the main and mizzen masts had
gone in the night. Still, we couldn’t do any-
thing, ’cause the sea was runnin’ too high,
and it wasn’t till the change of the tide that
it eased up enough to let us make another try.
We anchored about fifty yards to windward,
and then, lettin’ out the cable and steadyin’
her with our oars, we veered down on her
till we could heave a line. We couldn’t get
nearer than that, so the poor fellers fastened
the rope around ’em and jumped overboard,
and we hauled ’em, one at a time, through
the surf into the boat. And then we had to
row back to the station and go on with our
regular duties, like nothin’ had happened.
But let me tell you a funny thing: there
wasn’t none of us that ever thought of grippe
again that year.”
“Isn’t there anything done in a case like
that?” Bunny asked, with a wrinkled fore-
head. “ I should think there would be some-
thing or other—”
“Oh, we got medals for that rescue,” Jack
cut in; “but, honest, if you look at it the
right way, it was the captain did it all. I
often think what he must have had on his
mind all those hours, for it wasn’t only those
poor chaps on the Alice Palmer, but there
was us fellers, too. You know he kind of
181THE LAST LAP
feels like we was his children, and, say, we’d
go through fire and water if he gave the
word!”
“It’s fine!” cried Ted, after a moment’s
silence.
“Yes,” said Bunny, thoughtfully, “it is
fine!”
“Gee!” exclaimed Bob, “I wish I could see
a wreck.”
“ I don’t,” said the life-saver, soberly. “ It
ain’t much of a show, and—”
At that moment there was the sound of
quickly running feet over their heads.
“Stand by!” came roaring down the stairs
in the voice of Keeper Crawford. “Stand
by, all hands!”
Jack sprang to his feet like a shot.
“Here’s trouble!” he cried, and went out
of the room on the run.XVII
A WRECK
FOR a few moments the boys stood still
where Jack had left them, so surprised
by the suddenness of the change in the life
about them that they hardly knew which
way to turn. The quiet routine that had
been so much a part of the place an instant
before was suddenly and completely altered.
There was no confusion, hardly anything was
said, only sounds of hurrying feet above them
and the muffled thud of boots on the steps
showed that anything unusual was in prog-
ress. Captain Crawford stood at the front
door while No. i helped him into his oil-
skins and sou’wester. The men, entirely
ready for anything that might come, stood
silent at their stations in the big room that
the boys had just left, waiting for the next
order.
Up from the beach, panting from running,
came the man who had been out on patrol,
and it was for his report the captain waited.
13	183
1THE LAST LAP
“I saw you,” the keeper shouted. “What
is it?”
“Schooner ashore about three-quarters of
a mile to the south’ard.”
“How far off?”
“Three hundred yards,” returned the man,
briefly, and came into the station, taking his
place with the others without a word.
For an instant the captain looked at the
sea before him, then up at the sky, and
shook his head.
“No place for a boat, boys!” he cried.
“Out with the apparatus! Quick now, there
isn’t much daylight left!”
The captain turned and went to the tele-
phone. He walked past the boys as if he
could not see them, and in a moment was in
communication with the station below him.
After a brief conversation he hung up the
receiver and started for the door. Then, for
the first time, he seemed to realize that the
boys were there, and stopped.
For an instant he hesitated, then he spoke,
almost harshly:
“ Get into your oilskins and boots and come
along. But don’t get in the way. And,
mind, you’ve got to take care of yourselves.”
And with that he left them.
This brought the boys to their senses, and
184A WRECK
they tore up-stairs at top speed. A few
minutes later they were down again, tying
on sou’westers as they came; but already
the breeches-buoy, with all the necessary
apparatus to set it up, was out of the house
and headed for the scene of the wreck.
The only change in the weather was a
slackening in the fall of snow. A bitter, cold
wind still held, and the sea, breaking in a
white smother of foam far off shore, roared
angrily, while huge breakers crashed on the
beach and came hissing up to the snow-line.
It was clearly impossible to launch even a
surf-boat.
Nor was the task of getting the apparatus
along through the sand an easy one, for the
load was considerable. Besides the brass can-
non and the boxes holding several lengths of
shot-line, there were the stout cable and tackle,
spades and pickaxes, and many other things,
the use of which the boys did not learn till
later. In front, four of the crew hauled on
a rope, while two behind pushed the heavy
carriage. Two others carried the sheers, and
the captain stalked ahead, stopping now and
then to give a direction or to lend a hand at
a particularly difficult place.
But in the excitement of the moment the
boys saw little of these details. All they
185THE LAST LAP
realized was that here was a wagon piled high
with various things, upon which the lives of
they knew not how many people depended,
and that it must be gotten to the scene of the
wreck as speedily as possible.
And the need for haste was imperative.
A vessel ashore is at the mercy of the pound-
ing seas, and, if she is old or badly strained,
may go all to pieces at any moment, throwing
those on board into the water, which means
almost certain death. So every instant is
precious, and the life-savers bend every effort
to accomplish a rescue as speedily as they
can.
Bunny and Ted ran to the rope ahead to
lend what strength they had, while Bob put
his shoulder to the back of the cart and
pushed.
It isn’t easy under the best of conditions to
drive that kind of an outfit through the
soft, clinging sand. Although the wheels have
wide tires, they will sink deeply, and, with
the wind and snow buffeting the men and
adding their quota of resistance, it is des-
perate work that goes slowly, inch by inch.
Under ordinary circumstances it would soon
wear out the stoutest courage, but these men,
and the boys, too, had no thought of the
difficulties except to overcome them. No
186A WRECK
one seemed to tire or to notice that, in a little
while, each was panting as they strove with
every muscle against the heavy gale. They
had no solid foothold to push against, and the
sand and snow held them back as if deter-
mined not to let them go on. Nevertheless,
there was no hint at discouragement. Every
one worked with the strength of ten, pushing
or hauling desperately, grunting and panting
in their efforts to overcome the clamoring
elements.
There were lives to be saved. There was
a wreck being battered to pieces and swept
from end to end by great waves, and upon it
were men wet to the skin, freezing, half dead
from exposure, whose only chance of rescue
depended upon the efforts of those on shore.
These were the thoughts of the men, who,
although they had done this same thing
winter after winter, never lost any of the
enthusiasm that makes each disaster a new
experience to be met with all the resource
and strength at their command.
And, of course, the boys had some of this
same feeling as they struggled with the
others to send the heavy cart forward. Still,
they did not know, as did the men beside
them, what they might expect. Bunny, pull-
ing with all his strength, had a feeling of
187THE LAST LAP
dread over what might be before them, and
now and then, as the captain stopped with
a word of encouragement, he sobbed as he
strained at the rope. But the wind and cold
were lost sight of; aching muscles and a
heaving chest, cut hands and faces, were for-
gotten in the desperate effort to shove and
haul that precious cart, yard after yard, down
that wind-swept beach.
It was within a quarter of a mile of the
wreck that they came to the most difficult
part of their journey. Heavy beach - bushes
and a mass of piled-up wreckage forced them
down near the water, and the spent waves
lapped about their feet. As they splashed
on, the cart suddenly sank to the hubs of the
wheels and everything stopped with a jerk.
“Quicksand!” some one shouted, and Cap-
tain Crawford, who had been ahead, came
running back.
“All together now, boys!” he cried, laying
hold of the rope.
The men who had been pushing joined
those in front, and they all pulled as one
man; but the cart, rising a little, settled
back with a sucking noise.
“ We’ve got to get her out!” cried the cap-
tain. “ It ain’t ten feet wide, and we mustn’t
let her settle. All together now! Heave!”
188A WRECK
Once more the men and boys put forth all
their strength with held breath till the veins
swelled almost to bursting with the strain
of it—and the cart moved forward a foot.
“She’s coming! Once more now! All to-
gether!”
The captain’s voice rang high above the
roar of the tumult around them, and with a
shout of “All together!” the crew responded
with a will.
Again and again they strove against the
dead weight of the clinging, sucking sand,
and, driving their feet deep to get a firmer
footing, throwing off their gloves to secure a
tighter hold on the rope, staggering as they
tugged, each man was conscious only of a
pounding heart inside a heaving chest.
It was cruel work, and each exhausting
effort seemed almost in vain; but they never
for a moment gave up, and gradually the
cart neared the edge of the quicksand.
“We’ve got her, boys!” the captain shout-
ed. “Now!”
Once more they toiled mightily, and the
wheels of the cart, striking the firm sand, lifted
slowly, but for one agonizing moment it hung.
“Hold her! Hold her, boys!” cried the
captain, and they held, catching breath for
the final struggle.
189THE LAST LAP
“All together now! Heave!” came the
command, and the cart bounded out with a
sudden jerk that let the men fall prostrate
in their tracks.
For a moment they lay exhausted, the
steam rising from their heated bodies, and
the moisture from their panting lungs formed
a cloud above them as it condensed in the
frosty air, then the captain struggled to his
feet.
“We ain’t there yet, boys!” he cried.
“There’s some poor fellers lookin’ for us.
Come on!” And the crew jumped to their
places with a cheer.
At last, after what had seemed like hours
to the boys, the little rescuing party arrived
opposite the wreck. The stranded vessel
could be seen dimly through the veil of snow,
a blurred mass with two masts, rising above
a smother of white water. Sometimes an
unusually heavy squall would blot it out en-
tirely. During a lull it appeared more clearly,
and those on shore could distinguish black
spots which they knew to be men in the
rigging of the foremast.
The life-saving crew lost no time in setting
up their apparatus. At a place designated
by the captain, two of them began digging a
deep hole, in which the cable carrying the
190A WRECK
breeches-buoy was to be anchored. The
sheers, two long poles fastened at one end
with a bolt, were laid out on the beach in the
form of a huge inverted letter V, and the
boys were to learn that this was necessary
to lift the cable above the ocean between the
shore and the wreck.
Others were busy unloading the cart and
mounting the little cannon on its platform,
setting out the boxes of shot-line, straighten-
ing out blocks and tackle, all hurrying des-
perately yet carefully.
But, with all this bustle about them, the
three boys had nothing to do, and, fearing
to get in the way, they stayed together
some little distance off, silent and awed by
the serious spectacle taking place before
them.
“It’s awful, isn’t it?” said Bob, as he
pushed close to Bunny. “ I wish they’d
hurry and save them.”
Bunny could only shake his head. It
didn’t seem as if he had any words to say or
to express what he felt. He had read of
shipwrecks, but he had never imagined what
it was really like. He had never before seem-
ed so powerless to do anything, and he just.
stared out into the ocean, forgetting every-
thing but the pity he felt for the poor souls
191THE LAST LAP
clinging to the broken rigging in that raging
sea.
It was the captain who brought him to his
senses.
“ Hey!” he shouted, above the roar of wind
and waves. “ If you boys stand there like
that you’ll freeze! Hurry up and find some-
thin’ to do!”
They moved over toward him.
“ No, don’t come here!” he went on. “ Can’t
have you gettin’ mixed up with these lines;
but suppose you rustle around and pick up
driftwood for a fire. You’ll find plenty of it
under the snow if you hunt for it, and we’ll
need all we can get. I’ll let you know when
I’m ready to fire the shot.”
The boys welcomed occupation of any kind,
and soon were busy digging in the snow and
pulling out the wood hidden under it; but, in
the midst of their work they were stopped
by a hail, and hurried over to the little knot
of men clustered about the captain.
Keeper Crawford was about to make an
effort to reach the vessel. The cannon,
mounted on its platform on the sand, stood
ready. About it were several boxes con-
taining the line, each covered with a tarpaulin
to keep it dry, and the captain, with his back
to the wind, kindled the match.
192A WRECK
It is no easy matter to send a line to a
stranded ship, especially in a gale. There
are many problems to solve, and the question
of the force and direction of the wind and the
distance from the shore must be calculated
to determine the weight of the line and the
powder charge that is to be used. There is
no way of making this calculation exact. It
is all a matter of judgment, and a captain
sights his little cannon with everything
against his success.
It seemed a long time before the captain
was ready, though, of course, it really was
only a few minutes; but he was careful, and
before he applied the match he thought over
again all the conditions, and saw to it that
his gun was still aimed as he wanted it. At
last, however, he was ready, and, with a nod
to Mr. Parks, who whipped off the tarpaulin
covering one of the boxes, he touched off the
cannon.
There was a flash, a smothered report, and
a white streak flew up and out toward the
wreck.
The anxiety of those few seconds was in-
tense. The men stood rigidly, gazing at the
frail line uncurling as it rose in the air, with
a full realization of how much depended upon
its successful flight. As it reached its maxi-
193THE LAST LAP
mum altitude and started to fall, they could
hardly contain themselves.
“ It’s too far south,” muttered one.
“She’ll make it,all right!” cried another.
They watched it fall with increasing swift-
ness till, of a sudden, it disappeared in the
smother of snow and spray dashing over the
helpless vessel.
“ She hit!” two or three exclaimed together,
excitedly, and the others nodded agreement.
The three boys, who until that moment
since the shot was fired had actually not dared
to breathe, gave a sigh of relief.
From then everything seemed changed.
The time had come when those on board the
vessel must do something for themselves, and
those ashore could only wait. The wrecked
sailors must haul in the cable and fasten it to
the mast. It was all that was required of
them, but that much was necessary; and,
until it was accomplished, the life-savers were
helpless.
So they all waited, the boys with beating
hearts, the men striving to curb their im-
patience, and the captain, sturdy, motionless,
gazing straight before him into the open
sea.
It was then that the boys began to feel the
strain of what they had been through. So
194A WRECK
long as something was being done, so long
as they could do even a little to help, they
forgot themselves; but now, suddenly, they
began to realize how cold it was, how harshly
the wind was blowing, how sharply the driv-
ing snow cut their faces. The worst time of
all is this period of waiting.
The captain became plainly impatient.
“ What do they mean ?” he shouted. “ Why
don’t they pick up the line? It will be dark
soon, and then we can’t do nothin’.”
“The shot carried, all right,” called one of
the men.
“I thought so, too,” growled the captain,
“but you can’t never tell,” he added, under
his breath.
“How can you be sure?” asked Bunny,
who was standing near Jack.
“You can’t absolutely, in a case like this,”
he answered. “And really we don’t expect
more’n half of the shots to land. There’s lots
against it. Then, again, it may have carried
but landed on a part of the wreck that couldn’t
be reached.”
“Will the captain shoot another line?”
asked Bunny.
“Sure!” answered Jack. “See, he’s fixin’
one now. He wants to get ’em off before
night comes down on us, ’cause we can’t do
i9STHE LAST LAP
anything when it’s dark, and she may go to
pieces any minute.”
Shortly after this the captain sent another
shot, which, to the anxious watchers ashore,
seemed to go directly across the stranded
vessel; but again there was no result, and
before another could be sent the night had
come down and all hope of a rescue till day-
light was given up.
The men gathered more wood to add to the
pile already collected by the boys, and, hav-
ing lighted a roaring fire, the crew was
divided, four men staying on watch while
the others went back to the station to pre-
pare food for themselves and their comrades.
“You boys get back to the station,” the
captain commanded. “You’ll be more use
there than here. I only hope that when you
come in the momin’ you’ll find the wreck
still where she is. Otherwise it ’11 be a pretty
sad daybreak for us all.”XVIII
HAPPY NEW-YEAR
AT the station the boys helped to get sup-
• per, and to do anything else that came
to their hands, but there was really very little
they could do.
“We’ve just got to sit tight and wait till
momin’,’’ said Jack, who was one of those
sent back to the station. “ If only that
wreck holds together we’ll get ’em off all
right, but you can’t tell what may happen
between now and then. It’s awful waitin’,
too. I’d a good deal rather be riskin’ my
life in a boat than stayin’ ashore doin’ nothin’.
That’s the hardest job we’ve got.”
“I don’t see,” No. 3 put in, “what’s the
matter with the men on that ship. Certainly
one of those shots made her, and I’d be ready
to swear both of ’em did.”
“But wouldn’t they haul it in if they saw
it?” asked Ted.
“They might, and then again they
mightn’t,” answered Jack. “It’s funny how
197THE LAST LAP
ignorant sailors are sometimes. Then you
can’t tell what condition they’re in. Prob-
ably they ain’t more’n half in their senses,
bein’ wet through and ’most frozen. It’s
pretty tough, I tell you, and some of the
poor chaps we’ve brought ashore couldn’t
move, much less climb down to a deck to
pick up a line. I don’t know what’s the
matter with those fellers, but I’ll feel a mighty
lot better if she’s there in the momin’ as she
is now.”
“ I suppose the captain will stay there all
night?” said Bob.
“ Oh yes, he’ll be on hand, no matter what
comes. We’ll take somethin’ to eat down
to him and some hot coffee. That’s all he
wants. But we’ll all be on duty again at
daylight. ’ ’
“I wish we could do something to help,”
said Bunny.
“Yes, I know how it is,” replied No. 3.
“We all feel that way, and sometimes we get
fair crazy just waitin’, but there ain’t nothin’
to do, and if you take my advice you’ll get
to bed early, for you’ll be up and on the
beach again before you know it.”
Almost directly after supper the boys went
to bed, though they stayed up to hear if any
change had taken place, until the men who
198HAPPY NEW-YEAR
had been left to guard the beach came for
their suppers. But things were quite the
same as they had been, so far as they could
tell, though, of course, there was nothing to
see. However, one good fact was to be ob-
served. It had stopped snowing, and the
morning bade fair to be clearer and with less
wind. '
“Of course,” said No. 7, “it won’t help
those poor chaps much, ’cause it’s the sea
that we’re worryin’ about, and that won’t go
down for a day or two after the wind stops
bio win’.”
The house was very still, and although
there never is very much noise about a life-
saving station, particularly in bad weather,
on this night it seemed more quiet than usual,
and, as each gust of wind struck the house,
the boys, in their warm beds, thought of the
sailors alone in the blackness of that night,
hugging an ice-covered mast, half frozen,
starved, and in momentary peril of their lives.
“It’s awful, isn’t it, Bunny?” said Ted, in
a whisper.
“Yes,” answered Bunny, “it is awful!”
“ I wish I hadn’t said I wanted to see a
wreck,” murmured Bob. “I don’t believe
I can sleep thinking of those poor men out
there. It’s just too awful.”
14	199THE LAST LAP
“Do you think well save them?” asked
Ted.
“Yes,” answered Bunny. “Yes, I do, for
if I didn’t I don’t think I could ever be happy
again. ’ ’
The boys hardly expected to go to sleep
very quickly. Bunny, in particular, didn’t be-
lieve he could forget those poor fellows on the
wrecked schooner till he was sure they were
safe; but, once inside their warm beds, the
fatigue and excitement having tired them
more than they realized, before they knew
it all three were sound asleep.
It was Jack who called them the next morn-
ing, and they came out of their dreams with
anxious hearts for the safety of the men on
the schooner.
“It’s all right, I guess,” Jack told them.
“They’re all there, six of ’em. We can see
’em plain this momin’, and, if nothin’ goes
wrong, and they’ll only make the line fast,
we’ll have ’em ashore in no time. You’d
better hustle now, for the captain will be
shootin’ again as soon as it’s a little lighter.”
The boys made quick work of dressing and
eating breakfast, and were soon on the beach
again.
Although the sun was not yet up, it was
fairly light, and they saw at once that the
200HAPPY NEW-YEAR
weather was clear, though still cold. The
wind had quieted down considerably, but the
sea was still pounding, and giant waves roared
up and down the coast.
The captain gave them a nod when he saw
them, but he was too busy with his prepara-
tions to waste time in “ good-momings. ”
When the sun	arose the boys	could	see	the
wreck plainly.	She was lying bow-on,	her
two sticks standing, and on the foremast five
men could be distinguished clinging to the
rigging, while all alone on the mainmast was
another figure.
Captain Crawford made all preparations
for another shot, and was about to fire again
when a shout from one of the men drew every-
body’s attention to the wreck.
At first no one could be sure, but it looked
as though the	man who was	alone	on	the
mainmast was	slowly coming	down	to	the
deck.
“What’s he doing that for?” grunted the
captain. “He’d better stay where he is.”
But down the man came slowly until he
was near the deck, and there he seemed to
hang for a long time.
“What’s he after?” growled the captain,
but at that moment the man dropped to what
looked like certain death to those on shore
201THE LAST LAP
and disappeared under the next wave that
swept the stranded vessel from stem to stern.
“Oh, he’s gone!” cried Bunny, clutching
Ted by the arm.
“No, he ain’t! No, he ain’t!” cried the
captain. And there, sure enough, they could
see the man making his way toward the fore-
mast, and before another wave struck him
he was in the rigging.
“ I guess he was just lonesome,” the captain
commented, and was about to shoot again,
when, glancing down at the two lines that
had been sent out the afternoon before, he
noticed that one of them was beginning to
pay out.
He gave a shout that brought everybody
around him, and as they looked they saw the
line steadily going out and, from the move-
ment upon the foremast of the schooner,
there was no doubt that those on board were
at last at work helping themselves as well as
they could.
It seemed strange how suddenly the pay-
ing out of that line changed everything once
more. Everybody became cheerful on the
instant. Even the captain’s grim face re-
laxed its eager, anxious expression, and as
the men fastened the cable with its tackle
to the line, so that it might be lashed to
202HAPPY NEW-YEAR
the mast of the vessel, they were ready to
joke.
There was no remembrance of the hard
work they had done, no thought of the cold
and the struggle against the wind and snow
of the day before, no thought of themselves
at all, only a great joy in their hearts that
their labor had not gone for nothing, and that
there were lives almost saved.
But there was much to be done yet. Getting
a cable to the schooner was a slow process.
The sailors were exhausted with their cold
vigil in the rigging, and, although there were
six of them, it was a good while before they
finally hauled in the hawser and made it fast
above the cross-trees of the foremast.
“We’ve got ’em!” cried the captain, when
a signal from those on the wreck told him
that the cable was fast. “ Now, boys, up with
it!” And the crew ran to their work again.
Now that the sea end of the cable was fast,
all that remained to do was to anchor the
other end and take in the slack. Here was
where the sheers that the boys had wondered
about came into play. When the shore end
was fastened to an iron post driven into the
hole that had been dug, and this hole had
been filled up with sand to make it more
secure, the cable was lifted up on the sheers,
203THE LAST LAP
and then the men with the tackle hauled it
taut.
Slowly the long hawser came up out of the
water, lifted above the waves that seemed to
jump at it, and gradually stretched out in a
firm - line from the foremast to the shore.
The breeches-buoy was hung on this cable
and fastened to the lighter line swinging be-
low, and all was ready.
At a shout from the captain the men grasp-
ed the whip that operated the buoy, and, as
they ran along the beach, it swung in the
air and started on its first trip to the stranded
vessel.
There was some little delay, but finally
those on shore saw a man fix himself in the
buoy, and, at another signal from the cap-
tain, the crew, with a cheer that showed how
glad they were to perform this part of the
work, ran up the beach again, and in a short
time the first man from the wreck was
ashore.
Hardly was he out than the buoy started
back, and the captain turned to the rescued
man.
He was a little, fat person, and he seemed
to be in a very bad humor in spite of his cold,
blistered hands and face and generally frozen
condition. He stood up and stamped around,
204THE RESCUEHAPPY NEW-YEAR
not at all like the exhausted seaman the boys
expected.
“What’s the boat?” questioned the cap-
tain.
“The Jenny Bates, from Charleston,” he
answered.
“How many aboard?”
“Six, and they would have all drowned,
the pigs, if it hadn’t been for me,” he went
on, angrily. “Fine sailormen they are.”
“And what are you?” demanded the cap-
tain.
“I am the cook,” he returned, with an air
of pride. “And I had to go down and get
the lines you sent out to those lubbers.
They wouldn’t go down themselves last night,
though they were plain as day, but get ’em
they wouldn’t, and when the buoy came out
they were afraid to get in it. Fine sailormen
they are!”
“What was the captain doing?” asked
Keeper Crawford.
“ He was holdin’ on to the riggin’ like the
rest of ’em. Afraid to move. They’re all
square-heads and don’t deserve to be saved.
I am German!”
By that time the second man had come in,
and he, whether from fright or exposure, or
both, could hardly stand up, so the captain
205THE LAST LAP
sent one of the men up to the station with
him and the cook.
“And, say, boys,” he called to Bunny and
his companions, “you go up to the station
and make these chaps comfortable as we send
’em to you. Rub their faces and hands and
feet with snow before you take ’em in, then
you can put ’em to bed and give ’em some
coffee. They won’t bother you no more after
that, and you’ll be making yourself useful.”
“Gee!” cried Bob, “isn’t it great!”
“They look pretty well frozen, though,”
said Ted.
“I’m glad it turned out this way,” ex-
claimed Bunny; “but I must say I don’t
want to see any more shipwrecks.”
The boys heated up the coffee, and as fast
as the men came they rubbed them with snow
and helped Jack take off their wet clothes and
get them between warm blankets.
They had not been severely frozen, Jack
told the boys.
“I’ve seen lots worse than these fellows,
though, of course, they were exposed longer.
They tell me they took the ground about
noon yesterday, and were only in the riggin’
through the night.”
“That would be long enough for me,” said
Ted, feelingly.
206HAPPY NEW-YEAR
“ Oh, I’m not sayin’ it wasn’t bad enough,”
replied Jack. “I’m only pointin’ out that it
might have been worse.”
By ten o’clock the keeper and all the crew
were back again at the station ready for a
well-earned rest. The six seamen had been
taken off the vessel successfully, and were at
that moment sleeping comfortably in the
room up-stairs.
“Captain,” said Bunny, when he had an
opportunity, “ I think you’ve enough guests
on your hands now, with six extra. Don’t
you believe you would like to get rid of
three boys?”
Captain Crawford smiled down on him.
“Son,” he returned, “I don’t want to get
rid of none of my guests, but I’m thinkin’
you’d like to get back to your folks, which is
right and proper. Suppose we find out about
these here trains?” And he went to the
telephone.
The trains were running, and it was de-
cided that the boys should start off almost
immediately, so that they could leave again
for their homes that same day.
“Do you realize what day it is?” asked
Ted.
“ Why, no, I haven’t thought of days since
I struck this place,” answered Bob.
207
/THE LAST LAP
“ Well, it’s New-Year’s Day,” Ted answered;
“and this is the way our plans turn out.”
“So it is!” exclaimed Bunny. “We’ll get
home in time for dinner, anyway. ’ ’ And then
he went off to find Captain Crawford.
“Happy New-Year, Captain!” he called.
“ Well, now, that’s right,” said the old man.
“It is New-Year after all — and here we’ve
all forgotten it. Same to you, and many of
’em.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever forget this New-
Year’s Day,” said Bunny, soberly.
“Nor I,” said Ted.
“ The fellows up-stairs are the ones who will
remember it longest,” remarked Bunny. “ It
was certainly a happy New-Year for them.”
The boys said good-by to each of the crew
in turn, thanking Jack particularly for having
found them on the beach.
“Don’t let that trouble you,” he returned,
making light of the matter, “we find lots of
queer things on the shore—and we was glad
to have you.”
Captain Crawford came to the door with
them and pointed out the railroad station,
a long mile away.
“You won’t get lost to-day,” he said.
Bunny held out his hand to him.
“I don’t know exactly what to say, Cap-
208HAPPY NEW-YEAR
tain,” he began, “but I hope you know we
appreciate what you have done for us, and
that if it hadn’t been for you and Jack we
wouldn’t have had any New-Year.”
Ted and Bob in turn tried to thank the old
keeper as well as they could, and he under-
stood.
“ Don't say a word about it, boys,” he said,
looking down at them with a kindly gleam in
his eye. “We’re here to save life and prop-
erty, you know. It’s our business and what
we’re paid for. But I’m glad if you appre-
ciate the service, and I’m thinkin’ when you
hear people talkin’ that don’t know nothin’
about it—and there’s lots of ’em that says
we don’t earn our keep—well, you’ll be able
to tell ’em different, hey?”
“You bet we will,” cried Ted and Bob
together.
“Yes,” said Bunny, “we not only can, but
will.”XIX
HOME AGAIN
THE experiences of the last few days had
made a decided impression upon the
three boys, and they were very thoughtful
as they trudged through the snow toward
the little railroad station that was in plain
sight, now that the weather was clear. There
was no danger of their being lost when they
could see, for each of them knew the coast
well, and they would have had no trouble at
all if they had been able to tell where they
were when they abandoned the sneak-box.
As they looked over the bay all the dangers
they had gone through came back to them,
and they were not inclined to talk. Rather,
they seemed to realize the seriousness of it
all for the first time, for the wreck had put
the thought of their own troubles out of their
minds.
“I tell you,” said Bunny, thoughtfully,
“ the next time I read of a vessel going ashore
I’ll know what it means. And we think foot-
210HOME AGAIN
ball is hard work! Why, these life-savers
aren’t so very different from a football team
except what they do is much harder.”
“Yes, and their work counts for some-
thing,” agreed Ted, “while football is just
play.”
“It was fine the way they went at it,”
cried Bunny, enthusiastically. “They didn’t
think of anything but just getting to that
wreck! And Captain Crawford — he’s a
dandy!”
Gradually they went over all their ex-
periences, comparing impressions, appreciat-
ing the seriousness of it, and getting good
lessons out of it.
“I tell you,” said Bunny, as they neared
the station, “I’ve come to the conclusion
that nerve counts for most everything in this
world, and that the test of nerve comes in the
last quarter.”
“I don’t quite understand,” Ted said, with
a puzzled expression.
“I’ll bet Bob does,” said Bunny.
“Yes, I know,” returned Bob. “It isn’t
always the last quarter of a mile, but it is the
last lap of the race that shows what a
fellow has in him.”
“Oh, that’s so in football as well as on the
track, ’ ’ Ted agreed. “ If you mean just hang-
211I
THE LAST LAP
ing on and keeping at it when you’d give any-
thing to stop, gritting your teeth together
and remembering that the other fellow is just
as tired as you are; if you mean keeping
after the ball during the last fifteen minutes
of play, when you’re nearly dead on your
feet—then I know what you mean all right;
and it’s true.”
“ It’s true with everything, I guess,” Bunny
said. “Suppose those life-savers, when they
were all tired from patrolling the beach, had
said it wasn’t worth while to go out that
night they picked us up? Suppose they’d
said they couldn’t see anything, anyway, if
it had gone ashore, and just let things go ?
Where would we have been ? And yet I don’t
believe they like to go out in a blizzard any
better than we would.”
“Of course they don’t,” said Ted.
“But they didn’t stop to think of that,”
Bunny went on. “They didn’t take any
chances, but did all they could, no matter
what they had to face. That’s like the last
lap in a relay race, say, or a football match,
or anything else. It’s sticking at it to the
end that makes all the difference.”
“Yes, and it takes nerve!” Bob cut in,
positively. “ It took nerve for those fellows
to push that cart through the sand; and,
212HOME AGAIN
although it didn’t make any difference in this
case whether they got there in a hurry or
not, it might have—and they couldn’t tell.”
“And if that vessel had gone to pieces in
the night,” continued Ted, “they would have
known they had done all they could, anyway.”
“They didn’t stop there at the end when
it looked as if we couldn’t get the cart through
that quicksand,” Bunny remarked. “It’s
just as I say: it is the last quarter that counts
in everything.”
“And that takes nerve!” reiterated Ted.
The train came along finally, and, though
it was late, they arrived in Blue Point after
more or less delay, where Captain John and
Captain Sam met them.
“We got word from the station you was
cornin’,” said the former, as he greeted them,
“so we just come down to see if you got here
all right. We didn’t know but what you
might have run the train off the track or
somethin’. Next time I don’t mean to let
you out of my sight.”
“You give us a fine scare with your bliz-
zard,” said Captain Sam. “John, here, was
’most crazy till we heard from the station.”
“I guess that’s right,” admitted Captain
John. “It wouldn’t have been no nice job
to tell your folks you’d been lost in the snow
213THE LAST LAP
and was dead, most likely. I knowed there
be trouble when the wind shifted north, and,
when the snow came, I didn’t know what to
do. We was thinkin’ of goin’ out to look
for you when the message got here.”
“We’re all right now,” said Bob.
“Thanks to the life-savers,” Bunny added.
“And we decline any ownership in that
blizzard,” Ted put in. “But Bunny’s right;
we wouldn’t have been here if it hadn’t been
for the life-savers.”
“They’re fine fellers,” said Captain John.
“I’ve knowed Keeper Crawford for nigh on
thirty years now, and when there’s any
trouble you’ll find him standin’ by, doin’ all
mortal man can to help. It’s a fine service,
though city folks seem to think there’s nothin’
to it but the drills they see once in awhile.”
The boys had little time to waste in talk-
ing. There was packing to be done, and
clothes to be changed, and, most important
of all, dinner to eat before they went for the
train that was to take them home. Mrs.
Clark pretended to scold them for going off
“visitin’,” and asked if they liked their meals
better at the station; but the boys did such
ample justice to her New-Year dinner that
she was entirely satisfied.
“ I never ate so much in my life,” said Ted,
214HOME AGAIN
as he finished, “and it seems to me that I’ve
been hungry all the time I’ve been here.”
“Have some more dinner,” cried the cap-
tain. “ I wouldn’t have it said you was
starved in my house.”
“Oh, I don’t mean now,” replied Ted, and
they all laughed.
“Well, it does seem that the sea air gives
a feller an appetite, winter and summer,”
said the captain; “leastways, I never found
mine failin’—hey, mother?”
Mrs. Clark nodded her white head briskly.
“ Never seen a heartier eater,” she returned,
“and I’ve seen some you’d wonder where
they stowed it all.”
They thanked Captain John and Captain
Sam and Mrs. Clark for being so good to them,
and, with mixed feelings of regret and glad-
ness to start back again, they said good-by
to their friends and boarded the train.
“ I don’t think that I’m particularly fond
of the sea-shore in winter-time,” said Ted, as
they moved away from the station.
“I don’t know,” replied Bunny, thought-
fully. “In some ways I’m glad I came,
though it is awfully desolate; but we’ve
learned some things since we’ve been here.”
“And we’ve had a real adventure,” added
Bob. “I used to envy Bunny, because he
15	2I5THE LAST LAP
always had such exciting things happen to
him—but never again! The old home fire-
side is good enough for little Bobby.”
They looked eagerly out of the windows of
the car as the train made its way back along
the edge of the bay, and, as one after another
of the familiar landmarks came into view,
they again talked over the incidents of the
last few days. Below Lavallette they watched
for the boat, and there it was, almost hidden
under a pile of snow, but safe for the time being.
“ I don’t believe it will be stolen in this
weather,” Bob commented.
“By-the-way,” exclaimed Ted, “did any
one tell Captain John where it was?”
“I did,” returned Bunny; “and he’s going
down to get it when the weather lets up a
little.”
“I never thought of it,” said Bob.
Soon they reached the long draw above
Bamegat, and, as the train crossed it, they
looked back and caught a final glimpse of
the bay.
“I’ve had all the sea-shore in winter that
I want,” said Ted; and the others nodded
their heads in agreement.
Gradually, as they left the coast behind
them, they began to remember school and its
activities.
216HOME AGAIN
“ I won’t see you again till the hockey
game,” said Bunny to Ted as they neared
the point where they were to separate.
“No,” replied Ted, “but I don’t know
whether you’ll be glad to see me then or
not. We’ve got a good seven this year,
Bunny, and you’d better prepare for trouble.”
“We’ll be looking out for it,” returned
Bunny.
“How’s the track team, Mr. Captain?”
asked Ted, turning to Bob.
“Too early to tell yet,” he replied; “but,
of course, we’re handicapped by losing Curtis.”
“He was a good man,” Ted admitted. “I
remember him last year; but Academy wants
the cup, don’t forget that.”
“You’ll have to win it,” Bob returned,
confidently. “We’ve found a fellow to take
Curtis’s place all right, and I think he’ll be
even better, though Bunny don’t seem very
enthusiastic.”
“I don’t know anything about it,” said
Bunny, rather shortly.
“ We’ll give you a race, anyway,” said Ted,
and then, turning to Bunny, “I suppose we
have our annual little scrap putting the shot
against each other?”
“Sure!” exclaimed'Bunny, with a laugh.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. It’s the
217THE LAST LAP
only fun I ever have at a track meet. The
shot-putters never do shine much, you know.”
“No, it’s the long-legged boys that are the
favorites on the track,” said Ted, with a
laugh and a nod at Bob.
“Huh!” grunted that young man, derisive-
ly, “you fellows think that football is the
only game in the world.”
“Well, don’t you?” replied Ted, with a
wink at Bunny.
“No, I don’t!” retorted Bob, seriously.
“I know, of course, you’re only joking; but
I tell you it takes just as much grit to run
as it does to play your old football.”
“You and Ted fight it out,” said Bunny,
as the train began to slow up. “ Here’s where
I’m forced to leave you. Good-by, Ted, till
the hockey game. See you Monday, Bob;
give my love to your mother.” And with a
parting handshake Bunny left them to take
the train for New York.
Bunny was a little anxious to see his father.
The dangers he had gone through in the past
few days seemed to make him feel the need
of an older person to lean on for a little while,
at least. After all, he was only a boy, and,
although he didn’t shirk duties, he did find
himself now and then a trifle lonesome, and
other boys didn’t seem to fill the need.
218HOME AGAIN
He took a taxicab and hurried across
town to the old house on the east side of the
city, and the first question he asked of the
servant was:
“Is father home?”
He was, and perhaps Mr. Reeves was a
little surprised when Bunny threw his arms
around him and gave him a hug, for Bunny
wasn’t very much given to letting his feel-
ings get the better of him, but the strain he
had been under had been a severe one, and
the sight of his big, strong father made him
very happy to be back again.
“Oh, I’m so glad to see you, father!” he
exclaimed.
“And I’m glad to see you, my boy,” re-
plied Mr. Reeves. “I’ve been a bit worried
about you, with all this snow. I didn’t know
what might have happened, but your telegram
reassured me to an extent.”
“ I don’t want to go to the sea-shore again
in the winter-time,” returned Bunny, a little
breathlessly. “ It’s really awful, father, just
awful!”
“ I didn’t realize it was as bad as that,” said
Mr. Reeves, patting his son’s shoulder, for he
saw that the boy was upset over something
he didn’t know about.
“ Yes, it is,father,’’Bunny insisted. “ Every-
219THE LAST LAP
thing seems so cruel in winter. The sea and
the bay and the wind—they all are trying to
kill everything. It’s awful! I’m so glad to
be home I don’t know what to do.”
Bunny told his father all about it at dinner
that night, and still seemed a little upset as
he talked over his experiences.
“ It was all right so long as I had to take
care of Bob,” he concluded. “ I didn’t think
about myself at all, but when I left them and
knew that everything was all right I sort of
felt queer inside, as if T wanted to cry,
though, of course, I didn’t.”
“I understand perfectly,” said his father.
“I suppose I lost my nerve,” Bunny mur-
mured, mournfully.
“Not at all,” said Mr. Reeves. “Not at
all. That isn’t a question of nerve, but of
the reaction from the strain you have been
under. As long as there was any respon-
sibility you met it like a brave boy, and I’m
proud of you. Now that it is all over, it is
perfectly natural that you should feel—well,
shall we say, tired?”
“Yes, I think that’s it,” replied Bunny.
“Not tired in my body, but just sort of tired
in my head. Of course, I wasn’t exactly
worried on Ted’s account. He’s a brick, and
it didn’t make any difference what came
220HOME AGAIN
along, he was always ready with a joke, and
was as cheerful as could be all the time; you
could count on him right through; but Bob
isn’t as strong as we are, and I was anxious
about him. Then that wreck was awful. I
sha’n’t ever forget those poor men hanging on
that foremast with the waves trying to reach
up and get them.”
“You must stop thinking about it, my boy, ”
cautioned Mr. Reeves. “ Remember they were
all saved. Perhaps it would be sensible if
we went to the theater and got your mind
off all this.”
“No,” replied Bunny. “I’ll be all right
now. I’ve sort of gotten it outside of me.
And, please, father, if you don’t mind, I’d
rather stay here with you than go to the
theater. We don’t have much time together,
you know.”
Mr. Reeves leaned over and patted the boy’s
hand affectionately.
“Yes, we’ll stay home to-night, just by
ourselves, and talk,” he said.
“Yes,” returned Bunny, “that would be
nicest. ’ ’XX
WALTERS SOLVES A PROBLEM
THEY had been back at school for a
week after the Christmas vacation, and
things were beginning to run smoothly again.
Bob, anxious about his track team, was in
daily consultation with Billy Bryan, the
trainer, and going about among the boys
urging them to come out and try for places.
Bunny, who was a member of the hockey
team, was busy practising, for the ice was in
good shape and the seven wanted to take full
advantage of it. The Clinton basket-ball
team were getting ready to play their first
game with Academy, and they were a very
active lot of boys, all of whom had some vital
interest outside their lessons.
Bunny liked hockey, and was a good player;
but, of course, it wasn’t football. He might
have played basket-ball on the Clinton team,
and they would have been very glad to have
him, but Ted Halliday played hockey, and
Bunny was always glad of the chance to be
222WALTERS SOLVES A PROBLEM
in a game with Ted, because he knew it would
be fair, and that, when he won, the victory
meant something.
But the track team was the most impor-
tant matter connected with the school athletics
at that time of the year, and, although the
other games were of interest and contested
with all the vigor the boys could put into
them, they were really secondary to the dual
meet in the spring.
Bob, of course, told Bunny all his troubles;
how this fellow wouldn’t come out, and that
fellow had to be teased, and the hundred and
one difficulties and responsibilities that fall
to the lot of a captain. Bunny knew what
it all meant, and sympathized. He en-
couraged his room-mate in his quiet way, and
helped to persuade reluctant candidates to
begin training.
Naturally Bunny had been expecting to
hear something of Henry Basset, the town
boy whom Walters and Thornton had brought
to Clinton, but for two weeks Bob never said
a word. The training season was beginning
in earnest, and every afternoon saw the gym-
nasium full of candidates jogging around the
indoor track under Billy’s vigilant eye, but
Bunny saw nothing of Hank.
One day he went over to the gymnasium
223THE LAST LAP
after hockey practice to have a talk with the
old trainer.
“ How are things coming on with the track
men, Billy?” he asked.
“We haven’t the material,” he answered,
with a shake of his head. “I don’t know
whether it isn’t in the school or not, but I
don’t see it here. There’s lots of lower-form
boys who’ll make good athletes some day,
but I wouldn’t count on anything much this
year. ’ ’
“Bob seems to think we’ll get along all
right,” remarked Bunny.
“ Oh, he’s a hopeful young chap, is Stru-
thers,” Billy went on. “No matter what may
happen, he’ll think it’s all right—and he works
hard himself, I’ll say that, though his form
needs improving. But we’ll miss Curtis.”
“Won’t the new man fill his place?” asked
Bunny. “ I certainly thought he could run.”
“New man?” repeated Billy, vaguely.
“What new man?”
“Hasn’t a fellow by the name of Basset
been out ?” questioned Bunny, much surprised.
“Never heard of him before,” replied the
trainer. “What is he like?”
“He’s a day student who lives in town,”
replied Bunny; “and he can run. I’ve seen
him do it.”
224WALTERS SOLVES A PROBLEM
“I haven’t seen him, and this is the first
time I ever heard of him,” Billy insisted.
“Hasn’t Bob said anything to you about
him ?” asked Bunny, more surprised than ever
at this mystery, because he knew that Basset
was still in school, for he had talked to him
now and then when they met on the campus.
“Bob hasn’t said a word to me,” replied
Billy; “but if he has a good distance man I
wish he’d bring him along; we’ll need him—
though I have one boy that I think will sur-
prise some folks before the season’s over.”
“You mean Harkness?”
Billy nodded.
“Tell me more about this other chap,” he
went on. “One man can’t do it all, and I
certainly would like another to help in the
distance runs.”
“Oh, I don’t know much about him,”
Bunny replied, non-committally. He didn’t
want to be telling any tales out of school, and,
although he didn’t know exactly how Billy
might view the method by which Hank had
been induced to come to Clinton; he didn’t
wish to put any ideas into the other’s head.
It wasn’t his affair, he said to himself, and he
was sorry he had brought the subject up at all.
“I guess he’ll be out some time,” he told
the old trainer, as he was going away.
225THE LAST LAP
“He can’t come any too soon to please
me,” replied Billy; “but if he’s one of the
kind that needs coaxing, I don’t care much
whether he comes or not.”
After dinner that night Bunny spoke to
Bob about Hank Basset.
He did so rather reluctantly; but feeling
sure that Billy would mention it to Bob, he
wanted his room-mate to know that he was
the one who had brought the matter to the
attention of the old trainer. Also, he didn’t
see why there should be any mystery between
himself and Bob, nor any reason why he
shouldn’t speak of it if he wanted to.
“By-the-way, Bob,” he began, casually,
“where’s Basset? Billy says he hasn’t had
a sight of him yet. Strikes me he ought to
get to work if he’s going to. Or have you
decided not to ask him to come out?”
Bob was distinctly embarrassed for a min-
ute or two, and hesitated before replying.
“ I don’t know what to make of the fellow,”
he blurted out, finally. “He says he doesn’t
want to run because he can’t take the time
from his studies.”
“You mean to say he’s just a grind?” ex-
claimed Bunny, in amazement.
“That’s just what he is,” replied Bob.
“He insists that he didn’t come to Clinton
226WALTERS SOLVES A PROBLEM
to run on the track team, but to study; and
he means to do it! He’s been running all his
life, he says, but this is the first good chance
he has had to study.”
Bunny laughed. He couldn’t help it, in
spite of the fact that Bob was inclined to
have his feelings hurt.
“Of course, it is funny,” said Bob, laughing
in spite of himself. “To think that the fellow
was really gotten here because he could run,
and, now that he’s here, won’t do it—well, it’s
funny, all right.”
“I should say it was!” replied Bunny.
“What do Walters and Thornton say?”
“They’re furious!” said Bob; “but they
don’t know what to do. They can’t tell him
that they are the ones who supplied the money
for his tuition, and, when they talk to him of
the honor of the school and school spirit, and
all that, why, he just grins and says he’s here
to study.”
“Well, that’s certainly a queer situation,”
said Bunny. “And, after all, you can’t
blame Basset.”
“That’s all right, too,” replied Bob, rue-
fully; “but we need him on the track team,
need him in the worst way, and it does seem
a shame that now he’s here he won’t run.”
Bob was clearly upset over the situation,
227THE LAST LAP
and Bunny couldn’t help but sympathize with
him. The prospect for the team was far from
good, even with Basset, and Bunny could
easily understand how Bob felt in the matter.
“ Of course,” Bob went on, rather dolefully,
“ I know what you think about this Basset
business, and I don’t say you aren’t right;
but now the fellow is in school, I wish he
would come out. If he wasn’t such a dandy,
I wouldn’t care so much; but, when I know
that he’s good, it makes me tired to have him
sit down and do nothing for the team.”
“ I suppose it’s really the relay team you
are thinking most about?” said Bunny.
“Yes, it is,” replied Bob. “I don’t believe
we’ve got the ghost of a show to win the
meet, though, of course, I’m not saying that
to any one; but to lose the relay would be
the last straw. I would give anything to
win that, and then I’d feel that my team had
done something.”
Bunny realized that it was hard for a cap-
tain to keep up the spirits of his men and
encourage them to do their best when he feels
certain of defeat.
“ I wouldn’t be too sure you wouldn’t win
that meet,” said he, to hearten Bob. “ There
is a lot of time between now and spring, and
you can’t tell what may happen. And as
228WALTERS SOLVES A PROBLEM
for the relay, there’s Harkness trying, and
Billy says he expects there will be a surprise
in that quarter.”
“Oh, Harkness!” exclaimed Bob. “There
is no use talking of Harkness. If we have to
depend upon him there isn’t any sense of our
entering a team.”
“Anyway, I wouldn’t give up yet,” Bunny
insisted. “Besides, he may fool you; and
Bob, remember, the last lap is what counts. ’ ’
“Oh, I’m not going to give up,” said Bob,
“only now and then I get discouraged, and,
as you used to say yourself last year during
the football season, ‘there’s more than just
glory in being captain.’”
“I know,” replied Bunny, “it’s hard work;
but keep at it and things will come out better
than you think. It’s always like this in the
beginning of the season. You remember how
it was last year. We didn’t expect we could
win, and yet we did.”
“You’ll have to win the shot-put, then,”
said Bob, “ and not let Ted Halliday beat you
as he did last spring.”
.	‘‘ Now you’re getting personal, ’ ’ replied Bun-
ny, with a laugh. “ I won’t promise to beat
Ted—but I’ll try, you can depend upon that.”
“ I wish I could depend upon all the team
to try as hard,” replied Bob.
229THE LAST LAP
As he spoke there was a knock at the door,
and, in answer to Bob’s “come in,” Walters
and Thornton entered.
They seemed just a trifle embarrassed at
the sight of Bunny, though they tried not to
show it.
“Thought we’d come over and have a talk
about the team,” said Walters, addressing
Bob.
“Don’t mind Bunny,” said Bob, who saw
what was in their minds. “Out with it. I
know it’s something to do with Hank Basset.”
“I’ll take a sneak,” said Bunny, getting to
his feet in a hurry. “I’ve got to see—”
“You don’t have to see anybody,” Bob
interrupted. “You sit down. There isn’t
anything you can’t hear, and, if it has to do
with Hank Basset, you know already all there
is to know. If there is anything else to be
done for the track team along the same lines,
and Walters don’t want to tell you, then I
don’t want to hear it, either.”
Bob made his declaration of loyalty with
his whole heart. He and Bunny had differed
upon more than one occasion, but Bob didn’t
propose that his visitors should think for
a moment that he would side with them
against Bunny in anything.
“ Oh, there isn’t any mystery,” said Walters,
230WALTERS SOLVES A PROBLEM
easily. “Of course, we know what Bunny
thinks about Hank Basset, but he won’t say
anything. We just came over to tell you he
was coming out to-morrow.”
Bob could hardly be expected not to be
overjoyed at this news, and he expressed his
delight.
“Good! I am glad!” he cried. “I didn’t
expect you’d ever get him away from his old
books. How did you do it?”
“ Oh, we just talked to him,” said Walters,
in anything but a straightforward manner.
“Persuaded him,” Thornton put in.
“But how?” demanded Bob, hardly notic-
ing the awkwardness of the two. “We have
been talking to him ever since we came back
from the holidays, and he vowed he wouldn’t
do anything but study, and that his mother
wouldn’t like him to lose the time from his
lessons. I don’t blame him, really, because
he thinks his mother is making a sacrifice to
send him here, and he wants to get all he
can out of it. I can’t see how you did it.”
“We did it all right,” Walters declared,
positively, “and he'll be out to-morrow to
start training.”
“You bet he will!” said Thornton.
“Did you tell him what you’d done?”
asked Bob, looking very serious.
16	231THE LAST LAP
“No, I didn’t,” replied Walters. “I don’t
see that it makes any difference how we did
it, and I don’t mean to tell anybody. Per-
sonally I don’t think that it is any of your
affair, or that it matters in the least, but I
suppose Bunny would scold you if you weren’t
good, so you can take my word for it he
doesn’t know any more of how his mother
got the money than he did before.”
“That’s sure!” Thornton supplemented.
“ I don’t pretend not to be glad he’s com-
ing out, and, if it’s all right, I haven’t any-
thing more to say,” replied Bob.
“It’s all right,” repeated Walters.
“All right,” murmured Thornton, and they
left the room.XXI
BEFORE THE HOCKEY GAME
BOB and Bunny wondered a good deal
what Walters had done to change Hank
Basset’s mind so suddenly. That something
had been done they never doubted; mere
persuasion had already failed; but Bob
eased his conscience by saying that he had
nothing to do with it, and, when Basset came
out, he would be treated just like any other
candidate for track honors. Nor did he at-
tempt to conceal the fact that he was glad
to have so good a runner as he considered
Hank trying for a place on the team.
Bunny, although he said little, was by no
means satisfied. He didn’t know, of course,
what Walters and Thornton had been up to,
but he suspected them of trickery, and he
rather wished they wouldn’t take so active
a part in school athletics. It appeared to
Bunny that they cared for nothing so long
as Clinton won. How they won seemed a
matter of no importance. But Bunny kept
233THE LAST LAP
these thoughts to himself, seeing no advan-
tage in speaking of the matter to Bob or of
worrying him about things that could not be
helped. He strongly disapproved of the whole
Basset affair, but he could not prevent it and
tried to forget the incident entirely.
Also, about this time Bunny was very busy
with the hockey team, practising every day,
and expecting Clinton to make a good show-
ing against Academy.
The two had a series of games each year,
or, rather, they played one on Academy ice,
another at Clinton; but if, as often happened,
there was a tie, a third game was played, and
the place determined by the toss of a coin.
The athletic rivalry between the two schools
was very intense, and, no matter what the
match might be, there was always much in-
terest attending every struggle they had to-
gether. Consequently the hockey was always
exciting and hotly contested.
Bunny, at cover point, enjoyed the game
immensely, and, as usual, put his whole heart
and strength into it.
The first game at Academy was close,
though in the end the home seven won, five
to four, much to the disappointment of the
large Clinton crowd that had gone over to
encourage the team. The second game was
234BEFORE THE HOCKEY GAME
equally close, though this time Clinton won by
the same score; so that the opinion prevailed
that the team that was playing on its home
ice would win the third game, and that really
the championship between the two schools
depended upon the toss of the coin that was
to determine where the third game should
be played.
Clinton won, and the hopes of the school
rose almost to certainty. Every Clinton boy
was sure they must win, predicting a high
score and seeing no chance for Academy.
On the morning of the final game, Bunny,
coming out of a recitation, met a group of
fellows clustered together in the hallway. He
stopped, naturally enough, to see what was
going on, and Walters, who seemed to be the
center of it, called to him.
“What do you think of the prospects?”
referring to the hockey contest that afternoon.
“I think we’ll beat them,” replied Bunny.
“Sure we will,” was the chorus.
“ It’s like finding money,” cried Blair, from
the edge of the crowd.
“Hush!” warned Walters, in mock serious-
ness. “Don’t you know Bunny Reeves is
standing there, and he’d be shocked?”
“ That’s right,” Thornton cut in; “ wouldn’t
like to do anything to hurt his morals.”
235THE LAST LAP
“What’s all this fooling about?” asked
Bunny, flushing at the scorn Walters and
Thornton had put into the words they spoke.
“You’d better run along home,” replied
Walters. “ This isn’t any place for good little
boys.” And at this there was a laugh.
“Don’t be idiots if you can help it,” re-
torted Bunny, impatiently. “ What’s it all
about ?”
“I think we might tell him,” Walters re-
plied. “ I don’t believe he’d give us away,
and maybe he’d like to come in on it. The
more the merrier.”
“All right,” said Thornton. “Go ahead.”
Walters became mysterious and brought a
piece of paper out of his pocket, upon which
was written a list of names.
“I’ll tell you, Bunny,” he began. “We’re
just making up a little pool to put on to-day’s
game. There are a couple of chaps over here
from Academy that think we haven’t any
sporting blood, and we’re going to show
them. A lot of our fellows are cornin’ in,
but we’d like a little more cash just to con-
vince these Academy sports what we think
of the team. And, besides, it’s like finding
money, as Blair said.”
Bunny was in a quandary. It was well
known in school that his allowance was a very
236BEFORE THE HOCKEY GAME
liberal one, but he was distinctly not of the
sporting element, and betting was a thing he
had never done in his life. As to the right or
wrong of it, he had never thought much about
that, but his inclination was to say “no” at
once.
“I don’t believe I want to go into that,
Walters,” he said.
“ Huh!” growled Walters, sneering. “ ’Fraid
you’ll lose, I suppose?”
“No,” replied Bunny, “I don’t believe we
will lose, though you can’t be certain of
hockey. Academy might beat us. The fact
is, the two teams are so evenly matched that
a lucky goal may mean the game, though I
do think we’ll win it.”
“Then I don’t see why you’re not willing
to back your team ?” Walters retorted. “You
say you can beat them — haven’t you the
spunk to back your opinion?”
“ I didn’t say I was sure we could beat
them,” replied Bunny.
“Oh, you’re trying to hedge,” Thornton
put in.
“I want to know what your opinion is
worth?” Walters went on. “You say you
think you can beat them. Well, they think
they can beat us, but they’re willing to put
up their money to prove it. In other words,
237THE LAST LAP
they’ll back their team. I call that stand-
ing by your school. But you’re afraid you’ll
lose your money. We’ve got more faith in
the team than you have yourself, and you’re
playing on it. You’re willing enough to say
you’ll win so long as you aren’t risking any-
thing. ’ ’
“I’m not bothering about the money,” re-
plied Bunny. “You know that as well as I
do.”
“How do I know it?” demanded Walters.
“You’re not willing to back your opinion,
and I suppose you’d let these Academy chaps
bluff you. Well, they can’t bluff me. I’ll
stand by the school all right. There are
some fellows around here that talk a lot about
school spirit and all that, but when it comes
to doing something they always get cold feet.
I don’t talk so much, maybe, but you’ll find
me standing up for the school, win or lose.”
Bunny was angry. He felt they were put-
ting him in a false position, and yet the
other boys seemed to be siding with Walters.
Moreover, it had been made to appear as if
his loyalty was in question, and Bunny simply
couldn’t stand that.
“ All right!” he blurted out. “ If you think
I haven’t any faith in the team, and that I
don’t stand up for the school, you can put
238BEFORE THE HOCKEY GAME
me down for five dollars. Do you want the
money now?”
“No, 111 collect it later if we lose, which
we won’t,” said Walters, writing on the list
he held. “ I think more of you, Bunny, than
I did; I’ll say that.”
“So do I,” Thornton echoed, but Bunny
didn’t hear. He immediately regretted hav-
ing let himself be badgered into taking part
in the bet, and yet somehow he didn’t see
how he could have gotten out of it.
In his room he found Bob much excited
over a letter from Ted Halliday, saying that
if the two boys could put him up, he would
stay overnight with them.
This news put the bet and all connected
with it out of Bunny’s mind on the in-
stant.
“Good!” he cried. “That will be fun, and
we’ll get old Gravy to give us a special per-
mission for lights, and well get in some stuff
and have a midnight feast. What do you
say ? It will be fine to have Ted with us for
a good old chin.”
“Fine!” agreed Bob. “I’ll take care of
the commissary department. What shall we
have ? ’ ’
They sat down and made a long list of
easily handled edibles, and, whenever there
239THE LAST LAP
was a discussion, they solved the problem by
deciding upon both.
“It will be fun to see old Ted again,”
Bunny remarked. “ I had a chat with him
for a minute when we were over there for
the first hockey game, but it didn’t really
count.”
Academy brought over a good many fel-
lows to root for the team that afternoon, and
the rink was surrounded three deep at least
when the referee blew his whistle for the final
game between the schools. Nearly all the
professors of Clinton were there, and even
Doctor MacHenry, wrapped up in a fur-lined
overcoat, put in an appearance for a few
minutes.
“Good-luck, my boy,” he called to Bunny,
as the latter was stepping down on the ice.
“ I hope there won’t be any broken heads.”
“I hope not, sir,” replied Bunny.
“ Don’t forget you’re playing hockey and
not football,” warned the Doctor.
“I’ll try not to, sir,” answered Bunny,
“ though Ted Halliday will be playing against
me.
“Yes, I know,” replied the Doctor, “but
I	think I can trust you two not to get into
any trouble.”
“He’s going to stay overnight with Bob
240BEFORE THE HOCKEY GAME
and me, ’ ’ Bunny informed the Doctor. “ Bob’s
going to speak to Mr. Graves and see if he
won’t let us have a feast up in our rooms.”
“Don’t tell me anything about it,” the
Doctor broke in, hurriedly, wrinkling his
face and trying to look severe. “It is entire-
ly against the rules, and if I knew anything
about it I’d—I’d—be tempted to come, too,”
he ended, with a laugh.
“Wish you would, sir,” said Bunny, eager-
ly. “ We’d get anything you’d like to eat,
and I’m sure you’d think Ted Halliday was
a nice fellow. Won’t you come, Doctor?”
Doctor MacHenry was inclined to laugh at
this proposal of Bunny’s, but there was a
more serious side to it than appeared on the
surface, and he laid a hand on the boy’s
shoulder.
“I think I’m a little old for midnight
feasts. I have to get my beauty sleep, you
know,” he said, “but I appreciate your in-
viting me. Yes, I appreciate it more than
you can understand. It is the first midnight
feast I was ever invited to at Clinton. Now
go ahead with your game, and may the best
team win.”XXII
AFTER THE HOCKEY GAME
BUNNY saw Ted Halliday for a minute
before the game started, and they shook
hands heartily.
“See you after the game,” said Bunny.
“Bob’s getting ready for a feast.”
“Good for Bob!” cried Ted. “I thought
you’d be able to put me up. I didn’t get per-
mission to stay until the last minute, or I
would have let you know sooner.”
Ted was the goal-tender for Academy, and
he looked pretty big, with his huge leg-pads
and gauntlets, and for a moment Bunny eyed
him curiously.
“We’ll try to keep you busy, old man,”
he said, as he started down the ice toward his
own goal.
The preliminaries were quickly settled, and
the referee’s whistle blew for the start of the
game.
Soon it became apparent that Academy
meant to play an aggressively offensive game.
242THE HOCKEY GAMEAFTER THE HOCKEY GAME
Almost at once the puck was down in front
of Clinton’s net, and Bunny, at cover, with
the rest of his team, struggled desperately to
keep the rubber away from the goal. A
lucky stroke of Clinton’s right wing carried
them down to the center again, only to return
immediately to follow a fine shot by Academy’s
point. For ten minutes Clinton was unable
to get near their opponents’ goal, and fought
with all their skill to ward off the onslaughts
of Academy’s forwards, who seemed deter-
mined to force the puck through the Clinton
defense, but the pace was too fast to last,
and there was a gradual relaxation, and Clin-
ton, recovering, began to force the game to
the other end of the rink.
Once freed from their defensive work, the
Clinton forwards showed what they were
made of, and with a fair display of team play
carried the puck past Academy’s cover and
point, and would have scored but that Ted
Halliday was there protecting his goal splen-
didly. Twice the Clinton rover drove the
disk straight at him, but Ted blocked it off
with seeming ease.
At length the Academy points made a long
drive that gave a wholly changed aspect to
the game. By an exceptionally pretty bit
of team play the Academy forwards, forming
243THE LAST LAP
a straight line across the ice, charged down
upon the Clinton goal at top speed. Bunny
moved ahead to check the opposing center, who
carried the rubber, but he shot it to his right
wing, who, because the Clinton point backed
to help his goal tender shut off that side of
the net from attack, passed it to his rover on
the left side, who, in turn, made an easy goal.
So quickly had the play been made, and
so finely was it executed, that even the Clin-
ton fellows started to applaud before they
quite realized what they were doing. It was
real hockey, and the Academy enthusiasm
was vociferous.
“Can’t call that shinny!” they shouted,
exultantly.
But Clinton was not dismayed. A score
against them seemed to spur them to greater
activity, and the rest of the half saw a de-
termined effort on their part to break through
the Academy line. Again and again they shot
the puck at the net, only to find Ted Hal-
liday calm and ready to thwart all their
plans with exasperating ease. It seemed as
if nothing could get past him that day, and
some of the Clinton fellows declared that he
had the biggest feet they had ever seen. So
the half ended with the score one to nothing
in favor of Academy.
244AFTER THE HOCKEY GAME
The second half began with Clinton striv-
ing desperately to score, but Academy’s splen-
did defense saved their goal, and Ted Halli-
day, inserting a skate or a shin or his body
between the puck and the net, kept up the
brilliant work of the previous period.
It was about eight minutes after they had
started that Bunny had his chance. He was
back, of course, but edging nearer and nearer
to the other goal as the excitement increased,
and he longed to be in the thick of the struggle
in front of Academy’s net. Suddenly the
disk came out of the scrimmage skimming
toward him with three Academy forwards fol-
lowing as hard as they could skate. Bunny
stopped the puck, and, carrying it some ten
yards, lifted it and made a long shot for the
goal.
The puck whizzed in the air straight as a
die, and the Academy point directly in front
of the goal raised a hand to stop it. Ted
Halliday, behind him, called “Let it go!” but
he was too late, and the rubber, striking the
glove of the first man, glanced off at a sharp
angle and slid past Ted’s skate into the net.
v The score was tied, and Clinton cheered
furiously.
From that moment to the end of the game
the play was fast. From one end of the rink
245THE LAST LAP
to the other the forwards raced back and
forth, and those looking on had hard work
to follow the puck. Only when the referee
stopped the game for an off-side play was
there a breathing-space for the forwards, and
yet neither team slackened their pace for an
instant. Clinton, fighting on their own ice,
and having gone into the game with so much
confidence, felt that they would be much
humiliated by defeat; and Academy, deter-
mined to win the championship, and feeling
sure that they could save their own goal,
took chances in a desperate endeavor to score.
And at last their opportunity came. The
puck, bounding off the side of the Clinton
goal, shot into the center of the ice, and the
Academy cover, coming down on it at terrific
speed, carried it almost to the goal itself and
scored before any one on either team knew
what was going on.
With the score two to one in their favor,
Academy settled back on the defensive, while
Clinton, desperate and fighting, charged the
Academy goal with all the strength left in
them, only to have Ted Halliday make their
effort useless. They were still fighting when
the whistle blew to end the struggle, and Clin-
ton was beaten. The fact that it was a good
game, hard and cleanly fought on both sides,
246AFTER THE HOCKEY GAME
was little consolation to the home team or
their school-fellows, but they gave Academy
a complimentary cheer, and filed off the ice
to the gymnasium, feeling rather blue and
wishing they could have another chance.
“If it hadn’t been for Halliday!”
That was the universal comment made by
Clinton, and the truth is he was the star
player of his team. Still, Academy could play
a good offensive game, too, or she never would
have scored, and if she recognized her su-
periority on defense, and had taken advan-
tage of it, that only showed good judg-
ment, and could not be made to appear
her only strength or superiority over Clin-
ton.
Bunny’s first words to Ted when he saw
him were of congratulation.
“You did it all,” he added.
“Get out!” said Ted. “We all decided be-
fore the game to play it as we did. To settle
back on the defense whenever we were ahead,
and take chances on the offense.”
“All the same,” replied Bunny, “ if it hadn’t
been for your goal - tending we would have
scored I don’t know how many times. You’ve
improved a lot, Ted.”
“It was a good game, anyway, Bunny,
and you fellows mustn’t think you have to
17	247THE LAST LAP
win every time. The games would lose in-
terest if Academy never won.”
Bunny laughed.
“You have your share of the victories, all
right. You talk as if you fellows never beat
us. But it was a good game, anyway.”
A little later Bob came in after his work-
out in the gymnasium and, Bunny having
something to attend to, carried Ted off to
Barton Hall, where Bunny was to join them
later.
When at length Bunny was at liberty he
started for his rooms. He was hurrying along
with a half-smile on his face, thinking only of
the long evening before him and the late
lunch, and, best of all, a good talk over past
events, and was so much absorbed in his own
thoughts that he was hardly conscious of
where he was or what was going on about him.
Suddenly he heard some one speaking quite
near, and he came to himself with a start.
“I’m sorry, Walters, but Bunny said we’d
win, and I spent my last allowance on a feed,
and my washwoman was kicking and—and—”
“That’s a fine business,” Walters inter-
rupted, harshly, “to bet when you haven’t
got the money to pay when you lose! Do
you expect me to pay for you?”
Bunny stopped and saw Walters and little
248AFTER THE HOCKEY GAME
Peters standing near him, the small boy near-
ly in tears, while the larger fellow stood over
him threateningly.
“ What’s the matter ?”asked Bunny, though
he knew exactly what was happening, and
the few words he had heard had made him
feel anything but comfortable.
“Oh, it’s you, is it?” growled Walters.
“ Well, you’re just in time to pay up. Pretty
kind of hockey you fellows play, after brag-
ging you could beat them. Catch me bet-
ting on your team again!”
Bunny took a five-dollar bill out of his
pocket and handed it to Walters. Then he
turned to Peters.
“What’s the matter with you?” he in-
quired, kindly.
“Matter enough,” Walters cut in. “He
came in on the pool, and now that you’ve lost
it for him he doesn’t want to pay up. That’s
what’s the matter.”
“I do want to pay!” cried Peters, in a
choking voice. “Only, Bunny”—he raised
his eyes appealingly—“only I haven’t got it
now, ’cause my laundry woman insisted, and
—and—” He broke off again with a sob and
turned his head away from them.
“How much was it?” asked Bunny, ad-
dressing Walters.
249THE LAST LAP
“Two dollars,” said Walters, gruffly.
“Here it is,” replied Bunny, handing him
the money. “And now see here, Walters,”
he went on, his voice showing his anger and
mortification, “the next time you want to
do any betting you leave the kids alone. I’d
be ashamed of myself trying to get the lower-
form boys into this kind of thing. It’s a
beastly shame when you know they haven’t
the money to throw away. And don’t come
to me, either; I don’t want to have anything
to do with your kind of sport, and if I hadn’t
been a fool I wouldn’t have gone into your
pool in the first place.”
“I didn’t ask you to go in!” retorted
Walters, angrily. “And I didn’t say any-
thing to the kid, either. If any one is to
blame for it, I guess it’s you. You were so
cock-sure you’d win that hockey game that
the kid thought he couldn’t lose. He came
to me begging to be put down for two dollars,
and I did it to please him.”
“That’s true, Bunny,” Peters broke in.
“He didn’t ask me; but I heard you say we’d
win, and my laundry woman wouldn’t let me
have my clothes, and I had spent all my
allowance but two dollars, and it seemed to
me I could fix it all up.”
Bunny was very much upset. Little Pe-
250AFTER THE HOCKEY GAME
ters’s difficulties were not alarming, perhaps,
though they seemed serious enough to him,
but Bunny knew that the amount of money in-
volved was the smallest part of the trouble.
He saw clearly exactly how the small boy
had been tempted, and how the worry of
his washwoman had added to it. He knew
that the financial affairs of school-boys were
always more or less mixed, and that it took
time and experience to learn the lessons neces-
sary to keeping within one’s allowance.
“Come along,” he said to Peters, “I’ll see
you through.” And without a word to Wal-
ters he walked off with the boy.
“Oh, Bunny,” began the latter, when they
had gone a little way, “ I wish I hadn’t done
it. I just feel like—like a thief.”
“ You don’t feel any worse than I do,” mut-
tered Bunny, almost to himself.
“And, Bunny,” Peters went on, “I'll pay
you back, honest I will, as soon as my allow-
ance comes.”
“You’d better keep that for your laun-
dress,” said Bunny.
“ I paid her half,” Peters explained. “ It was
this morning, and she wouldn’t give me my
clothes, and so I just had to, don’t you see?”
“Then she came after you had made the
bet?” asked Bunny.
251I
THE LAST LAP
“Yes, that was it,” said Peters. “You
see, I was there when Walters was talking to
you, and when you bet I thought I would,
too, ’cause then I could have paid everything
all right, and it seemed so easy.”
“I understand,” said Bunny. “But re-
member this, Peters, I have made my last bet. ’’
“So have I,” answered the youngster. “It
don’t pay to lose your money that way.”
“It doesn’t pay even if you win,” Bunny
said,' “because you might be winning the
money of some chap that owed his laundry
woman a bill.”
“That’s so, isn’t it?” exclaimed Peters.
“ I never thought of it that way.”
“ That’s the way to think of it. And now
let’s shake hands and promise each other we
won’t bet again. How about that?”
“All right,” said little Peters, holding out
his hand. “I promise.”
“So do I,” said Bunny, seriously. “And
mind you, Peters, old man, it’s a solemn
promise, too.”
“Yes,” answered the boy—“yes, I know;
and say, Bunny,” he added, a little shyly,
“you’re awfully good to me, and I’ll pay you
back, truly I will.”
“All right,” returned Bunny. “But don’t
forget the promise.”
252XXIII
MR. GRAVES ACCEPTS
ЕПЪЕ Peters trotted off to his room so
much relieved to be out of his troubles
that he actually began to whistle. Bunny,
however, was far from feeling in so happy a
frame of mind. He cared little about the
money he had lost, less perhaps than he
should have, and, if he had not come into
contact with Peters and his difficulties, he
would probably have thought no more of the
matter. But that had made him see things
in an entirely new light, and, as usual with
Bunny, he continued to ponder over it.
Bob and Ted didn’t notice anything in
particular the matter with Bunny until after
supper, when, returning from a walk about
the campus, they went up to their rooms for
the night. Bunny was so often silent that
it didn’t impress the boys, but back in their
rooms they began to see that something was
not right.
“ What’s the matter with you, Bunny ?” de-
253THE LAST LAP
manded Bob, at length. “You aren’t bother-
ing about that hockey game, are you ?”
“No,” returned Bunny, “it isn’t that. I’m
just a fool, that’s all.”
“Tell us all about it,” Ted suggested, see-
ing that there was something serious in
Bunny’s mind.
At first Bunny shook his head, but, as both
the boys insisted, he finally yielded and de-
cided it wouldn’t do any harm to tell these
friends of his how he felt and the cause
of it.
“Did you fellows ever make a bet? A real
one, I mean?” he asked, suddenly.
Bob shook his head.
“Never did,” he said.
“I did once,” confessed Ted. “A fellow
wanted to bet me it would rain the next day,
and I said ‘All right,’ just for the fun of it.
Well, I won, and I never felt so mean in my
life. I knew that fellow couldn’t afford to
lose his money any more than I could. I
tried to get out of it, but he’s a square sort
of a chap and made me take it. It was only
half a dollar, but I’ve never forgotten how I
felt.”
“And I won’t forget my bet,” said Bunny,
rising to his feet and beginning to pace up
and down the room. “I’m a fool!”
254MR. GRAVES ACCEPTS
“Have you been betting?” exclaimed Bob,
genuinely surprised.
“ Yes, on the hockey game,” replied Bunny.
“Ho, ho!” cried Ted. “No wonder you
feel badly.”
“ It isn’t that,” returned Bunny. “ It isn’t
that, at all. I don’t care anything about
the money; but I hate to be mixed up with
Walters and that crowd.”
“ How did you come to do it ?” asked Bob.
“I’ll tell you,” Bunny began, and then he
recited the whole incident as it happened
before the hockey game.
“ I know who those Academy fellows were,”
said Ted, when Bunny paused. “They’re
Fielding and Smith. They bet on anything,
and think they’re terrible sports.”
“But there’s more to it than that,” Bob
insisted. “You wouldn’t act this way just
because you lost five dollars.”
“Yes,” Bunny admitted, “there is more
to it. After I made the bet, I give you my
word I never thought another thing about it
till after the game. I was coming up here as
fast as I could foot it, thinking of you fellows
chinning, and wanting to be in on it, too,
when I met Walters and little Peters. The
kid was nearly crying, and Walters was bully-
ing him to beat the band. ’ ’
255THE LAST LAP
“The brute!” ejaculated Bob.
“And all because little Peters had gonejn
two dollars’ worth in Walters’s pool, and when
he lost he didn’t have the money to pay on
the spot,” Bunny explained. “Of course, I
chipped in and told Walters what I thought
of him, but it made me hot because it was
really my fault.”
“I don’t see that,” said Ted.
“Nor I,” Bob cut in.
“All the same it was,” Bunny continued,
“because Peters (who is only a kid, you
know, Ted) heard me say the team would
win and saw me make the bet, and he’d been
spending his allowance on a feast instead of
paying his laundress, the way kids do, so he
thought it was a fine chance to get even
again. ’ ’
“ I hope you told Walters what you thought
of him,” said Bob, with considerable feeling.
“I didn’t say very much,” replied Bunny.
“It wouldn’t have done any good, and, be-
sides, I was thinking more about Peters.
He’s really a dandy kid, and I wouldn’t have
him started wrong for anything in the world.
But I’m done with betting, thank you.”
“Doesn’t pay even when you win,” agreed
Ted.
“ Well, I’m more cheerful now,” said Bunny.
256MR. GRAVES ACCEPTS
“I’ve talked it out of me, and, as for little
Peters, he promised me he wouldn’t do it
again, and I know he won’t. But I sure did
feel mighty mean, and I would have loved to
punch Walters, only that would have made it
all the worse. Let’s change the subject. I’m
all right now, and I think I’ve learned a lot
for five dollars.”
The boys talked of other things and lived
over again all the good fun they had had to-
gether until time came for the feast, which, of
course, must always be eaten in bath wrap-
pers with a good deal of pretended secrecy.
It wasn’t midnight, either, though feasts
are always so spoken of, but usually that is
a very long time to wait for the pickles and
mince-pies which form the staple of such
suppers. As a matter of fact, it wasn’t much
after ten o’clock when Bunny said, eagerly,
“Let’s eat!”
“All right,” Bob agreed, and the three set
to work to get things ready.
They were just about to sit down on the
floor and fall to when Bunny had an inspiration.
“Wait a minute, fellows,” he said, and, go-
ing to the window, opened it and looked out.
“ He’s up,” he announced, shutting the win-
dow and turning back into the room.
“Who?” demanded Bob.
2	57THE LAST LAP
“Old Gravy, of course,” replied Bunny.
“ I’m going to invite him to the feast. We’ve
got lots more than we can eat.”
“Oh, Bunny!” said Bob, aghast, “you
wouldn’t do that ? What on earth made you
think of it?”
“He knows what’s going on,” Bunny in-
sisted, “just as well as if we told him.”
“Yes, I suppose he does, really/’ agreed
Bob; “but why do you want him?”
“ Because,” Bunny explained, “ I think he’s
an awfully decent sort of a chap, and he’s
always treated us mighty square, and—well,
somehow it seems kind of selfish not to ask
him when he knows what we’re doing. Be-
sides, I like him, and I think Ted would. He
isn’t really old, you know, Ted, though we
call him ‘old Gravy.’ He hasn’t been out of
college long, and he’s crazy about athletics.
He used to be a hurdler.”
“I don’t mind,” said Ted. “It can’t get
me into trouble.”
“ You’ll have to ask him, Bunny,” Bob pro-
tested. “I wouldn’t have the nerve.”
“All right,” returned Bunny, gaily. “Here
goes. He can’t do any more than not come.”
And he disappeared through the door and
tiptoed down the stairs.
Mr. Graves, dressed in his bath wrapper,
258MR. GRAVES ACCEPTS
was much surprised to see Bunny Reeves
come into the room when he opened the door
in answer to the gentle knock. Perhaps he
was still more surprised when Bunny invited
him to the feast, but he didn’t show it.
“Er—Reeves,” he began, hesitatingly, “I
don’t—er—know about this. Er—what do
you think the—Doctor would say?”
“ He won’t find out anything about your
coming, ’ ’ returned Bunny, confidently, “though
he does know we’re going to have a feed, be-
cause I invited him to it.”
Mr. Graves’s long face puckered up into a
smile, and his eyes twinkled behind his glasses.
“ What did he say to that?” he asked.
“He said he might come,” said Bunny,
“though, of course, he was joking; but he
didn’t seem to mind.”
Mr. Graves thought a moment and then
looked at Bunny earnestly.
“Are you sure you want a prof at your
feast, Reeves?” he asked.
“Why, yes, sir; we’d be awfully glad to
have you—and I think you’d like Ted Halli-
day. He’s a dandy.”
“All right, I’ll come,” said Mr. Graves, and,
turning down the lights in his study, he and
Bunny went up-stairs.
There was a little awkwardness at first, but
259THE LAST LAP
Mr. Graves seemed to know how to make him-
self at home, and in a little while he lost all
his hesitating manner of talking. When at
last they had him seated comfortably in the
big chair with a tooth-mug full of ginger-ale in
one hand and a cheese sandwich in the other,
and on his lap a little wooden plate piled with
dill pickles, mince-pie, sardines, and soda
crackers, he seemed just like one of them-
selves, and they began to enjoy the sensation
of having him with them.
It was true, as Bunny said, that he hadn’t
been out of college very long, and he had
lots of things to tell them of ’Varsity games
and ’Varsity athletes of whom they had heard.
He had known football captains whose names
were famous, and talked of them most in-
terestingly. Then he spoke of the Inter-
collegiate Meets in which he had taken part,
and how the men at college trained, which
was of particular interest to Bob, who inter-
rupted to ask questions, and forgot all about
“old Gravy” being a “prof.”
And so the things to eat disappeared with
only a stray pickle or two amid the boxes
and wooden dishes to mark the end of the
feast, and still they talked.
Suddenly, to every one’s surprise, there
came a sharp rap on the door.
260MR. GRAVES ACCEPTS
“Boys—er—open the door—please.” The
words came in quite a perfect imitation of
Mr. Graves’s manner under such circumstances.
Those inside the room looked at one another
understandingly, and Bob started to laugh.
“Hush!” whispered Mr. Graves, with a
twinkle in his eyes, and Bob was forced to
stuff a handkerchief in his mouth to keep
from exploding.
Again came the knock, and a more com-
manding summons.
“Reeves—er—I know you are up—er—
open—er—the door at once.”
At a nod from the house-master, Bunny
went to the door and admitted Wallace and
Crawford, who bounced into the room gaily.
Mr. Graves was invisible to them in the huge
Morris chair with its back to the entrance.
“ Oh—er—Reeves,” Wallace continued, still
imitating Mr. Graves. “ I—er—perceive you
are having—er—what shall I say, a—er—
feast ?”
“I’ll bet you thought it was old Gravy,
all right,” Crawford cut in, “or you’d never
have let us in.”
Wallace, recognizing Halliday, whom he
had known in the football days, dropped his
imitation of the house-master and crossed the
room to greet him.
261THE LAST LAP
“How are you?” he said, cordially. “I
suppose you fellows are surprised to see us,”
he went on, “but I noticed Struthers bringing
in a lot of bundles, and I thought I’d like to
find out what was going on. Also, I can tell
you chaps that old Gravy—”
He stopped abruptly in the midst of his
sentence, while an expression of utter be-
wilderment and chagrin overspread his face
as he glanced down at the occupant of the
big chair.
“What’s the matter?” asked Crawford,
coming forward. “You look as if you’d seen
old Gravy—” And then he gave an un-
intelligible exclamation of surprise and stood
rooted to the spot.
For a moment there was silence while Mr.
Graves slowly turned his head and looked
from one to the other of the unexpected
visitors.
“Er—Wallace—and Crawford, I believe,”
he began, in his usual hesitating manner, and
then, addressing the former directly: “You
were about to—er—give us some valuable
information of—er—old Gravy?”
Bob sniggered audibly, and Ted had all he
could do to keep a straight face.
“ We—we, didn’t know you were here, sir!”
Wallace stuttered, and without another word
262MR. GRAVES ACCEPTS
he bolted for the door, closely followed by
Crawford.
For some minutes the room was filled with
noises of suppressed mirth, and then Mr.
Graves jumped to his feet.
“ We must get to bed, boys,” he said, under
his breath. “ I didn’t know the time was
going so fast, and—er—thank you for think-
ing of me. Reeves, as to-morrow is Sunday,
suppose you and Struthers bring Halliday
to my study in the afternoon. I won’t have
any—er—dill pickles, but there are a number
of athletic photographs I’m sure you'll be
interested in. Good-night; get to bed quiet-
ly. I’ve enjoyed myself immensely, and—er
—I don’t think ‘old Gravy’ is as bad as cold
gravy, though—er—there isn’t much choice.”
And with that he left them.
Mr. Graves’s going was a signal for another
outburst of merriment over the Wallace and
Crawford incident.
“ I never saw anything so funny as Wal-
lace’s face,” Bunny exclaimed, under his
breath.
“ But say, Mr. Graves is a dandy, isn’t he ?”
said Ted. “Do you suppose he’ll do any-
thing to them?”
“No,” answered Bob; “he won’t punish
them, but I’ll bet he makes them remember
18	263THE LAST LAP
it for some time to come. He’ll have all
sorts of fun out of them.”
“ Which do you suppose is worse, cold
gravy or old gravy?” asked Bunny, after the
lights were out.
“It’s a toss-up,” said Ted.XXIV
HARKNESS STICKS AT IT
WITH the end of the hockey and basket-
ball seasons came the breaking-up of
winter weather; and the sight of a dozen or
so boys in running-suits jogging around the
track on warm days reminded the school that
spring was coming, and with it the dual
meet with Academy, the chief track event of
the year. The baseball men, too, were to be
seen knocking up flies and limbering arms in
preparation for their coming games. Tennis
nets were overhauled, golf sticks taken out of
comers to have their heads polished, and there
was a general stirring about in preparation
for the approaching season. There were very
few boys at Clinton who were not engaged in
one or other of the outdoor sports, and, after
the long winter, they were ready enough to
take advantage of the lengthening days and
balmy airs.
It was, in fact, a part of Doctor MacHen-
ry’s plan to have all the boys at Clinton
265THE LAST LAP
actively engaged in some form of athlet-
ics.
“ It gets them out-of-doors,” he used to say;
“but there is more to it than that,” he would
go on, nodding his head wisely. “ It gives
them something to think about besides them-
selves.”
Bob Struthers was seemingly the busiest
boy in school, and a stranger, seeing him
hurrying about after recitation hours per-
suading fellows to come out and try for
the team or encouraging those who were al-
ready hard at it, might have thought he car-
ried the weight of responsibility for the whole
school on his young shoulders. Bob was very
much in earnest. He had known early in the
year that the task ahead of him was a difficult
one, and there were days of black discourage-
ment, followed by others of hope and en-
thusiasm; but on the whole he was rather
mournful over the prospect, and drew steadily
on Bunny’s store of cheerfulness. Bunny al-
ways tried to emphasize the bright side of
things for Bob, and, although his own opinion
of the outlook was far from confident, he said
nothing about it and did his best to keep
up his room-mate’s spirits.
One thing in particular bothered Bob and
Bunny, and that was the way Hank Basset
266HARKNESS STICKS AT IT
behaved. Old Billy Bryan shook his head
whenever the boy’s name was mentioned, but
he refused to say a word of what he thought,
at least so long as Bob was around; and even
to Bunny, with whom he was much more open
in his talk, the old trainer would never com-
mit himself.
And yet there was nothing that any one
could find fault with in Basset’s actions.
From the day he said he would come out and
run he was absolutely faithful in his training.
He went through the regular and rather
monotonous preparatory work in the gym-
nasium; jogged about the track exactly as
often as Billy told him; pulled at the chest-
weights, and did what he was ordered with-
out a word of dissatisfaction. He tried to
improve his style under Billy’s direction, and,
although it took time and patience, he did
improve steadily, and, by the time warm
weather came, he had lengthened his stride
and ran in fair form.
That he was in earnest no one could doubt,
and Walters and Thornton were very proud
of their protege, though it must be said for
them that they never so much as hinted either
to Hank or to any one outside the secret what
their share had been in bringing him to Clin-
ton. They stuck to their bargain conscien-
267THE LAST LAP
tiously, and, if now and then they smiled in a
superior way to Bob and Bunny when Basset’s
name was mentioned, they at least kept the
matter strictly to themselves.
One thing, however, was perfectly evident.
Basset didn’t take any pleasure in his run-
ning. It was all work, and although it was
done faithfully, day in and day out, he had
no joy in it. He reported to Billy when he
was dressed in his running - suit, and then
went off and did what he was told as well as
he could, after which he ran to the gymnasium,
hurried out of his suit, and disappeared to
study. He still grinned when anybody spoke
to him, and was entirely pleasant; but it was
plain that he didn’t care whether Clinton beat
Academy or whether it was the other way
about. Basset was only interested in his
books, and meant to get all he could out of his
studies.
And no one could find fault with him for
this, least of all those who knew the circum-
stances of his being there; and even Bob,
who thought more of the success of the track
team than anything else, had no word of
blame for Hank Basset.
Nor should it be inferred that Basset was
not running well. On the contrary, with his
improved form he was unquestionably the
268HARKNESS STICKS AT IT
fastest distance runner in the school, so that
he filled in the place made vacant by Curtis
perfectly, at least so far as any one could tell
then. Bob and Billy Bryan differed con-
siderably as to which distance he could run
best, the old trainer insisting on the half-mile,
while Bob contended that he was better at
the quarter; but, of course, Billy decided
this matter finally, even if Bob did hold to his
opinion.
There were days when Hank would come
out on the track and beat Bob a quarter with
comparative ease; then there were others
when he would be ten yards in the rear at
the finish, without any good reason for it, so
far as any one could see. So, although there
could be no fault found with what the boy
did, his performances were anything but satis-
factory. Still, Bob maintained he would be
all right when the time came.
“Don’t ask me what I think of him,” Billy
said, crossly, in answer to a question of
Bunny’s. “ He doesn’t like to do it. There’s
something forcing him to come out and train,
though what it is I don’t see. But I’m not
depending on him, though you needn’t tell
any one I said so.”
“ But who else is there ?” demanded Bunny.
“There isn’t any one else,’' returned Billy,
269THE LAST LAP
“and I may be wrong about the lad. He’ll
be entered in the half and the relay, but it’s
what he’ll do that I’m not depending on.”
“He’s fast,” said Bunny, more or less to
himself.
“ You’re right there!” exclaimed Billy, with
sudden energy. “ He is fast, mighty fast, till
—well, till there’s need for it! That’s what’s
the trouble, he’s fast enough to discourage
other boys, and yet he hasn’t the heart in the
thing himself.”
“Who has he been discouraging?” asked
Bunny.
“Young Harkness,” replied the trainer.
“The boy is thinking of quitting. Says he
hasn’t a show with Basset, and, though I’ve
told him to come out just the same, I don’t
believe he will much longer. You see, Reeves,
I can’t tell him what I’ve been telling you
about Basset, because it wouldn’t be fair, and,
what’s more, I may be wrong.”
“I’ll have a talk with Harkness,” said
Bunny, seeing the drift of Billy’s remarks.
“Do,” responded Billy. “But don’t make
any false promises, and don’t run down
Basset. Tell him it’s for the school. I have,
but then—I’m only Billy, and I’m expected
to talk that way. It isn’t that I just want
him to come out, you understand. Just com-
270HARKNESS STICKS AT IT
ing out and running about the track won’t
do any good, if the boy hasn’t any ambition.
I don’t want that sort on the track; but
make him think he’s got a show—for I tell
you, Reeves, he’ll surprise some of these boys
if he keeps at it—because he'll finish! He’s
got the staying power that comes in mighty
handy at the end of a race.”
“I’ll see him right away,” said Bunny, and
went off at once to find Harkness.
On his way he met Bob, and asked him if
he knew where Harkness was.
“What do you want him for?” questioned
Bob.
“I want to tell him not to stop coming
out and trying for the team,” answered Bun-
ny.
“I hope you can persuade him,” said Bob.
“ I’ve talked to him; but, of course, he knows
he hasn’t a show against Basset, and naturally
he’d rather do something else where he has
more of a chance.”
“It seems rather hard luck,” Bunny re-
marked, thoughtfully, “that a fellow who
has been training hard year after year, like
Harkness, should be beaten out of his place
on the team by a fellow who has just been
brought to school to run.”
“Yes,” agreed Bob, “it doesn’t seem fair
271THE LAST LAP
to Harkness somehow, but what can I do?
There isn’t any doubt that Basset is bet-
ter.”
“There isn’t anything you can do, Bob,”
returned Bunny; “ but it’s just another point
about this business of getting fellows into
school on account of their athletics. As to
what Harkness will do, you may be fooled.
You know what Billy thinks about it.”
“ I’ve talked to Billy over and over again,
but he’s set on Basset’s running the half,”
Bob complained. “Of course, I’m not pre-
tending to know more than Billy about it;
but, all the same, I still think Basset is better
in the quarter. You’ll see on the day of the
meet.”
“ I wish Walters hadn’t been so eager to
get Basset here,” said Bunny. “I’ve never
felt right about it—”
“Don’t let’s talk about it,” Bob inter-
rupted. “We won’t help matters any, and
I’m willing to admit that what you say is true.
I hope you can get Harkness to come out.
I’ll try to persuade him not to give up the
next time I see him.”
Bunny found Harkness in the grandstand
watching the baseball practice, and took a
seat beside him.
“Well, young man, why aren’t you out
272
jHARKNESS STICKS AT IT
on the track?” Bunny began, assuming a
scolding tone that ended in a laugh.
“Why aren’t you?” asked Harkness.
“Because,” replied Bunny, candidly, “I
wanted to see you.”
“Oh, I know what you’re going to say,”
Harkness answered, quickly. “You’ve been
talking to Billy Bryan.”
“You’ve guessed right the very first time,”
said Bunny. “I have been talking to him,
and he seems to think you’re going to quit
training for the team.”
“I’m thinking of taking up golf,” replied
Harkness.
“Now don’t be foolish,” said Bunny. “I
want to talk seriously.”
“Oh, I’m serious enough,” Harkness went
on; “but I don’t seem to be any good on the
track, so what’s the use of my keeping at it ?
I’ve been trying for three years now, and I
thought that this year, after the other fellows
had graduated, I’d have a show, but this fel-
low Basset comes along and I’m not in it.
I’m not kicking, Bunny, but what’s the use?”
“I understand,” returned Bunny, “and I
don’t pretend I wouldn’t feel the same way.
But you must think of the school.”
“Oh, I’ve been thinking of the school for
a good while,” returned Harkness. “I’ve
273THE LAST LAP
tried, haven’t I? I’ve done what Billy told
me to for years—and what good has it done ?
The school won’t lose anything if I stop. I
tell you, Bunny, I’m sore on myself, and
that’s the truth. I’m no good on the track,
and what’s the use of pretending I am?”
“But I don’t see how you can be so sure?”
replied Bunny. “ Billy wouldn’t ask you to
come out if he didn’t think it was worth while. ’ ’
“It doesn’t make any difference to Billy,”
Harkness returned. “ He thinks it’s good for
my health.”
“No, he doesn’t,” replied Bunny, earnest-
ly; “he thinks you’ll develop sooner or later
into a good middle-distance man.”
“ Yes, that’s what he’s been saying for three
years,” said Harkness, with a laugh. “But,
Bunny, it isn’t in me, and that’s all there is
to it. If I thought it was worth while I’d
stick at it, but I’ve tried hard and—well,
there are three or four fellows in school who
can beat me easily.”
“How do you know?” demanded Bunny.
“How do I know?” repeated Harkness, in
surprise. “How do I know? Because they
make better time.”
“But that isn’t a race,” returned Bunny.
“They can beat me in a race, all right,”
said Harkness.
274HARKNESS STICKS AT IT
“Yes,” replied Bunny, “if you quit when
you’re coming up the stretch, they can beat
you. No doubt of that.”
“I don’t quit!” protested Harkness, in-
dignantly. “I may not be able to run fast;
but I don’t quit, anyhow.”
“You’re quitting now,” insisted Bunny.
“ Just when you’re in the stretch, where you
need all your nerve to keep at it, you’re
quitting. ’ ’
“I don’t understand what you’re driving
at,” said Harkness.
“ I’ll tell you,” returned Bunny. “ I’m not
talking about a race on the track, and I’m
really not sure it is a race exactly, though it
seems like one.”
“I don’t know what you mean?” repeated
Harkness.
“I’m talking about your trying for the
team,” Bunny went on. “That’s a sort of
a race. You started three years ago when
you first came out, and you’ve kept it up till
now, and, instead of finishing, you’re losing
your nerve on the last lap. That’s what
I mean. Most everything is a kind of a race
in a way. Lessons are just the same. There
isn’t a fellow who doesn’t start in at school
saying to himself that he’s going to do well
this year, anyway. Well, some boys quit
275THE LAST LAP
right off. They haven’t nerve enough to stick
out more than a month. Then there are
others that stay at it till just when they
ought to be getting ready for exams, and then
they quit; but it’s sticking at the thing till
it’s done that makes the difference. It’s fin-
ishing that last lap strong that makes a
fellow a winner. And now you’re losing your
nerve when you ought to be finishing on your
toes. That’s what I mean!”
It was quite a long time before Harkness
spoke again.
“Bunny,” he said, hesitatingly, “you don’t
understand how discouraging it is never to
seem to get ahead any. ’ ’
“That’s the thing you want to forget
about,” Bunny returned. “You want to
stop thinking about now and set your mind
on finishing the race you started. It takes
nerve, all right, and I guess being discouraged
is a good deal like being sort of winded and
tired in your legs when you’re coming up the
stretch at the end of a half or a quarter. And
that’s where your nerve comes in. It’s easy
enough to go on when you’re sure of winning.”
“ It’s all very well for you to talk this way,
Bunny,” said Harkness, plaintively; “but
you never were discouraged. Everything you
do is fine!”
276HARKNESS STICKS AT IT
“Ho, don’t you believe that, my son,” an-
swered Bunny, cheerfully. “If you think
that putting the shot isn’t discouraging, I
wish you’d take a try at it! I’ve been doing
it ever since I can remember, and it’s the slow-
est job I ever tackled. There isn’t any excite-
ment, let me tell you, in getting out every
day and shoving that weight time after time
and having Billy tell you your form is getting
poorer every minute, that you hesitate after
you take your hop, that you don’t turn
quickly enough, and that your arm is too slow
at the end. Oh, don’t you believe I haven’t
been discouraged; there’s many a time I
wished I’d gone in for anything else but the
weights! But I mean to stick at it till I
beat Ted Halliday, anyhow. I never have
beaten him, but I’m not going to stop trying,
and I’m saying this year, same as I did last,
that I will beat him, and—well, I will!”
They watched the baseball practice in si-
lence for a moment or two, and then Harkness
got to his feet.
“I’m going over to the track,” he said,
with a resolute shake of his head.
“Good boy!” cried Bunny; “but hold on a
second; I’m going, too.”XXV
ON THE TRACK
ONE afternoon about the middle of May
the Clinton athletic field was alive with
boys in running-suits hard at work at their
different tasks.
In one comer of the lawn inclosed by the
quarter-mile track the pole - vaulters were
struggling to acquire form. Near them, on
the back-stretch, a half-dozen hurdlers were
practising their stride; while, close to the
straightaway, the broad and high jumpers
were busy as bees. In the center of the field
Bunny Reeves and several others were put-
ting the shot, and an occasional crack of the
pistol drew the attention of the onlookers in
the grandstand to the sprinters.
Before three o’clock Billy Bryan spent his
time with the lower-form boys, “ getting them
started right,” as he put it; but after that
he devoted himself exclusively to those who
were to represent Clinton in the dual meet
with Academy.
278
*\ON THE TRACK
The team had been chosen. Two men only
were entered for each event, and in most
cases the selection was easy enough. Where
there was any doubt, Billy, at quite unex-
pected times, would have a contest to deter-
mine the best men.
When three o’clock came on this particular
afternoon, Billy sent the younger boys off to
the dressing-room, and then went over to
where Bunny was putting the shot.
“How are you coming on?” he asked.
“I’ve been neglecting you lately.”
“ I don’t seem to do any better than usual,’'
returned Bunny, in a rather discouraged tone
“ I can put it just so far and no farther, n<?
matter how hard I try.”
Bunny went to work under the eye of the
old trainer, and soon the familiar criticisms
were forthcoming.
“ You’re too slow on the turn, and you
don’t get elevation enough. Put it up in the
air, can’t you? You have power enough;
but you won’t get distance if you don’t get
the shot in the air.”
Bunny tried and tried again till Billy told
him to stop.
“You’re improving,” was the final com-
ment, which was a good deal for Billy to
say.
19	279THE LAST LAP
“ But it doesn’t go any farther than it did
last year,” Bunny muttered, dolefully.
“Never mind that!” returned Billy. “It’s
form you want. Now come over to the
track with me. I want you to start these
sprinters while I take their time.”
Bunny was always on hand early, for Billy
usually depended upon him to help in various
ways. Moreover, Bunny was very useful on
the day of the meet, because, as a con-
testant, he was allowed inside the track,
while Billy was obliged to stay in the dressing-
room.
“ It’s all right for trainers to be kept off
the track during a meet,” Billy remarked.
“They haven’t any business there, and most
of them have a lot of professional tricks that
may be good in their place, but school-
boys don’t want to have anything to do with
them. A track meet is different from any
other kind of athletics, because a boy is all
alone. Even his team-mates try their best
to beat him, so now and then a youngster
needs a word of encouragement or a bit of
advice.”
For this reason, whenever he had an op-
portunity, Bunny walked about the field with
the old trainer to learn as much as he could
about each one of the events.
280ON THE TRACK
As they started together toward the track,
Bunny asked how Harkness was doing.
Billy shook his head.
“ He’s faster than he was, but he’s coming
mighty slowly,” was the answer. “He fin-
ishes all right, but he doesn’t begin soon
enough. It will take something to wake him
up to doing all he is capable of. He’ll come
all of a sudden. I’ve seen it before. He
tries, but—well, we’ll see.”
Just then Bob Struthers and Basset arrived.
“ What shall we do to-day?” Bob asked.
“You go a quarter against the watch,”
answered Billy. “I’ll time you when I’ve
finished with the sprinters. And Basset,”
he went on, “ you go a mile as fast as you can.
Keep well within yourself till the last hundred,
and then finish as hard as you’re able. Let
me see, to-day is Thursday—you two can lay
off to-morrow, but be on the track Saturday
at three-thirty sharp.”
“ I know what that means,” said Bob, with
a smile. “You’re going to pick the relay
team.”
“Never mind what I’m going to do,” Billy
replied, gruffly, “ you be here when I tell you.”
“Shall I set Basset a pace for the first
quarter?” Bob asked, as Hank started off.
“No,” said Billy, “I want you to take
281THE LAST LAP
Martin and Carstairs with you after they
have had a few starts. Basset needs work to
develop his finish. He lacks staying power,
does Basset, and if I make him do miles he’ll
think the half is easy. That’s the way it is
to some extent with Carstairs and Martin.
They’re beginning to let up at the finish of
their hundred.”
“ What makes you think Basset is better at
the half than the quarter?” asked Bunny,
remembering the difference of opinion be-
tween the captain and the trainer.
“ He’s built for it,” replied Billy, positively.
“ He’s long and rangy, and he has a natural,
easy stride and plenty of speed. But he hasn’t
the heart—that’s what’s the matter with him.
It’s not in his running, in the first place, and
he won’t punish himself. In a quarter, it’s
a fight from start to finish. There isn’t any
time to think. You’re off and you finish at
nearly the same pace these days; but with
the half, although you need to start fast, too,
you settle down for a time and can get your
second wind, so to speak. But don’t let’s talk
about Basset. I don’t make him out, and
that’s a fact.”
“Look at him going now,” said Bunny,
pointing across the track. “He looks as if
he would finish strong to-day.”
282
\ON THE TRACK
Billy nodded. “He’ll finish strong to-day;
but what will he do when there’s another man
pushing him ? That’s what I’d like to know. ’’
Then Billy turned to the sprinters.
“We’ll have a few starts, boys, and then
you can go out the full distance. Come now,
on your marks.”
Legs Martin and Tommy Carstairs were
the two sprinters Clinton depended upon, and
Billy was unsparing in his criticisms.
“ It’s no use trying to run a hundred if
you’re slow at the start,” growled Billy to
Tommy Carstairs. “You’re a yard behind
before you get going. You don’t jump with
the pistol. Your brains don’t work fast
enough, and let me tell you, boys, brains
count. Try again now. On your marks!”
“Martin,” shouted Billy, a few moments
later, “you get started fast enough, but it
takes you too long to get into your stride.
You should be running smoothly inside of
five yards, and you’ll never do it if you throw
yourself out of your marks. Try to straighten
up more quickly and get into your stride
sooner. How many times have I told you
that ?”
“But, Billy,” Martin protested, earnestly,
“if I think of getting into my stride, then I
forget to start, and—”
2S3THE LAST LAP
“And you can’t think of two things at
once!” Billy interrupted, impatiently. “Of
course you can’t if you make up your mind
to it, but if you expect to make eleven sec-
onds you must. At any rate, don’t let me
hear any boy say he can’t. Now, Reeves,
send them along two at a time, as you did
last week.” And Billy started down the
track to the finish, watch in hand.
Later that same afternoon Bunny met
Harkness on their way to the gymnasium.
“Billy’s going to pick the relay team on
Saturday,” Harkness announced.
“Yes, I know,” replied Bunny. “Hope
you make it, old man.”
“I’m going to try,” Harkness answered,
and then, with an earnestness that surprised
Bunny: “I’d give anything in the world to
make the relay team. Not on my own ac-
count, but for all these years I’ve been trying
to do something for the school. You don’t
know how I feel, and—and I guess I can’t
tell you.”
“You haven’t given up, anyhow,” Bunny
returned, not knowing what else to say,
for he didn’t believe the other had a
chance.
“ No, and I’m not going to give up,” Hark-
ness vowed. “I’ve been thinking over what
284t
ON THE TRACK
you said about the last lap, and I’m not
going to stop till I finish ahead.”
The announcement of the trial heat to de-
cide who should represent Clinton in the
relay race caused a good deal of excitement,
and on Saturday nearly every boy in the
school was on hand. All of them were much
interested, but it seemed to be the general
opinion that it wasn’t really worth while to
go to this trouble to pick the team. It was
a foregone conclusion that Basset would take
Hal Curtis’s place, and the other three men
from last year’s team would naturally have
preference over new fellows with no experi-
ence. But there was some question as to
whether Basset would make good in an im-
portant competition, and there were a few
who expressed a doubt of his doing all that
had been claimed for him. Walters and
Thornton had been rather active in voicing
Basset’s praise, and predicted freely that he
would win, even from Bob Struthers.
Then, of course, there was always the fun
of a race between Martin and Carstairs, who
were so evenly matched that it had never
been definitely settled who was the better.
They were sprinters—at least, they were the
best sprinters Clinton had that year, and,
although Martin was better at a hundred
285THE LAST LAP
yards, it was nip and tuck at a quarter. Some-
times one would win and sometimes the other,
so every one knew that there would be a
contest between these two, no matter what
else might develop.
Of Harkness there was hardly anything
said. It seemed to be taken for granted that
he would not make the team.
There was a good deal of friendly banter
among the five boys as they took their places
on the track. All of them were ready for
anything, apparently, but Basset in particular
was extremely frisky.
“You want to look out for me to-day,” he
said to Bob. “I’m going to beat you.”
“ You’ll have to run for it,” answered Bob,
determinedly.
“I’m after you, Tommy,” Legs Martin
observed.
“Yes, after me is just what you’ll be,” re-
torted Carstairs, with a dogged shake of his
head.
Harkness took his place without a word.
No one in the field guessed how important
this race was to him. If he should win a
place, it would be the accomplishment of an
ambition that he had cherished for years.
He meant to win if he could, and yet there
were three fellows who had beaten him year
286
/ON THE TRACK
after year. Could he beat Basset? It did
not seem likely, but he intended to try with
all the strength he possessed.
“ Set a good pace now, Bob,” Billy said, as
they were about to start. “ I don’t want any
loafing. On your marks!”
With the report of the pistol the five boys
jumped from their places and at once began
a furious sprint for the pole. Bob Struthers,
who had started on the outside, tore up the
track hoping to head the field at the first turn,
but Martin, closely followed by Tommy Car-
stairs, both of whom were fast for the first
hundred, held the inside doggedly. Basset,
also, kept on even terms with Martin, al-
though he was outside of him, so that the
three were abreast for the first quarter of the
distance.
Carstairs was a yard from the leaders, fol-
lowed by Harkness, who was three or four
yards behind him. Struthers had set a fast
pace, and there was no doubt in the minds of
the onlookers that if they could keep it up
Clinton need not fear for the cup.
But it was soon evident that Martin could
not hold his place, and shortly Basset and Bob
passed him, which gave the pole to Hank,
who was running as if he meant to keep his
word and beat the captain of the track team.
287THE LAST LAP
On the five boys sped, while the fellows in
the grandstand rose to their feet and began
shouting in their excitement.
“Basset’s going to win!” cried Walters, at
the top of his lungs.
“You bet he will!” cried Thornton; and,
indeed, there were many who agreed that this
looked probable.
Just before they reached the turn into the
straightaway Bob made a determined effort
to pass Basset, and did lead him slightly, but
not enough to cut in front and take the pole,
so they came into the stretch practically on
even terms, and began the last hundred yards
to the finish.
Five yards behind the leaders, Martin, Car-
stairs, and Harkness followed in the order
named, all close together now, for Harkness
had closed up the gap between himself and
Carstairs and was running strongly.
So far it had been a punishing race, and
this last stretch was to tell the tale of en-
durance and pluck.
Seventy-five yards from the finish it was
evident that both of the boys in front were
tired, for the other fellows behind were rapid-
ly coming up to them.
At fifty yards Bob Struthers pulled ahead
decisively, with a splendid burst of speed,
288ON THE TRACK
and this seemed to take all the heart out of
Basset. Evidently he didn’t care to fight
any longer, and dropped back until Martin
passed him, with Carstairs and Harkness close
behind. They were scarcely ten yards from
the finish, and it was then that Basset, realiz-
ing that the other three were beating him,
lurched forward beside Tommy just as Hark-
ness was about to pass him, and thus, in the
last few yards of the race, effectually blocked
Harkness off from finishing ahead of him.
It had been a fine race, gamely fought by
at least four of the boys, but there was a lack
of enthusiasm at the finish.
Basset, however, was grinning as usual, and
shrugged his shoulders when some one asked
him why he slowed up.
“I don’t see any use of killing myself,” he
replied, easily. “ I made the team all right—
if it had been an Academy fellow, why—that
would have been different. ’’ And without an-
other word he trotted off to the dressing-
room.
No one apparently had noticed what had
happened to Harkness at the end of the race,
and Bunny met him walking disconsolately
by himself.
“ Better luck next time,” said Bunny, cheer-
fully, as he got into step with him. “You
289THE LAST LAP
ran a good race, all right, and you certainly
are faster than ever before.”
“Oh, Bunny,” exclaimed Harkness, with a
little break in his voice, “ if we only could
run it over again!”
“Could you do better?” asked Bunny.
“ It was fast, you know, though Billy wouldn’t
give out the time.”
“Of course I could do better,” Harkness
returned, almost passionately. “ I learned
just what has been the matter with me. The
trouble is that I don’t get started soon
enough. I’ll know next time, but—it’s too
late now.”
\XXVI
MORE HARD LUCK
AS the day of the meet approached, the
^ boys began speculating upon the out-
come, and pencils and paper were busy figur-
ing up points for and against Clinton. Cer-
tain events were conceded to Academy to
start with; but if a first was given to the
enemy, a second was sure to be scored for the
home team as a matter of principle. And it
was these seconds that Bob and Bunny
counted on to swell the final score. They
were hopeful, but far from sanguine, though
they said little of this even to each other.
Work on the track had been cut down to
a minimum, and, except for a few starts every
day, there was little done, although Billy had
the boys out in the sun, and kept talking to
them about the things they must keep in
mind on the day of the meet.
There was considerable discussion over the
relay race to determine just how the runners
should be placed. It was a mile race, each
291THE LAST LAP
contestant running one - quarter of the dis-
tance, or once around the Clinton track. It
was decided, by Billy really, that Tommy
Carstairs should be the first man off, Legs
Martin second, Basset third, and Bob Struthers
to finish, he being the most dependable and
experienced at the distance. Then, of course,
there was the question of how much work the
relay team should do in the meet proper;
and, as Carstairs and Martin were the only
sprinters worthy of the name that Clinton
had, it was a foregone conclusion that they
would have to run in the hundred and two-
twenty. But, as the sprints were early in the
meet and the relay the last event, these two
would certainly get a good rest before the final
effort. Basset was entered in the half-mile,
and Bob wanted him in the quarter also, in
the hope of getting two places; but Billy put
a stop to this, and said that one race before
the relay was all any one could expect of an
absolutely green man. So that settled the
matter as far as the relay was concerned.
“We ought to win the majority of points
in the field events,” said Bob to Bunny as
they were busy in their rooms the night be-
fore the games. “You’re better than ever
you were in the shot, and I’m putting you
down for five points.”
292MORE HARD LUCK
“I wouldn’t count too much on it,” said
Bunny.
“ But Billy says you’ve improved a lot since
last year,” Bob protested.
“ That’s so,” agreed Bunny; “ but you want
to remember that Ted Halliday has improved,
too.”
“ Oh, I don’t believe he has,” said Bob.
“I do,” returned Bunny. “I don’t have
to be told that he’s worked at that beastly
shot just as hard as I have. Ted’s that
kind.”
“Bunny, you must beat him!” declared
Bob, almost savagely. “ I’ve been counting
on those extra points, and if you don’t, I’ll—”
“ I’ll do the best I can,” Bunny interrupted;
“ but I just tell you not to count on it. You
can always be sure that Ted Halliday takes
some beating.”
“You’re not very encouraging, Bunny,”
said Bob, rather dolefully.
“Oh, don’t cry over it,” replied Bunny,
with a laugh. “I sha’n’t give Ted the best
of it if I can help it, you can be sure of that;
but I don’t like going into a thing having
you feel that it’s a certainty. In a case like
this it’s far from a certainty.”
“Of course, nothing is certain,” admitted
Bob.
293THE LAST LAP
“Except that Clinton will win the four-
forty,” said Bunny, seriously.
“I don’t see why that’s so certain, either,”
returned Bob, at once. “ The Academy man
is doing fifty-three, they tell me.”
“Well, you can do fifty,” said Bunny,
calmly.
“What! Fifty!” exclaimed Bob. “Who
do you think I am, Hillman or Taylor?”
“ I don’t believe either of them would be
in it with my room-mate,” replied Bunny,
soberly.
“Oh, you’re never serious,” replied Bob;
“you don’t seem to realize that to-morrow
is the day of the meet, and that we’ve got to
work like slaves or we’ll be beaten.”
“I realize it all right,” replied Bunny.
“ But, to tell the truth, I don’t think it does
any good to stew over the thing this way.
We can’t tell what we’ll win or what we won’t
win, and it only upsets a fellow trying to puz-
zle it out. The less we think about it the
better, at this stage of the game.”
“Maybe you’re right,” agreed Bob, “but I
can’t help it. You remember how it was dur-
ing the football season with you.”
“ But I expect you to be more sensible than
I was,” replied Bunny. “ By-the-way, is your
mother coming to-morrow?”
294MORE HARD LUCK
“Yes, and so is dad,” answered Bob; “that
is one reason I want the team to make a good
showing. ’ ’
“Of course,” said Bunny. “But I guess
if we do the best we can no one will find fault
with us.”
“That doesn’t sound like winning out in
the last lap,” said Bob. “You always talk
about the end of the race being the hard
part of it, and now you say, ‘ Oh, it ’11 be all
right if we do our best.’ We’ve got to win,
Bunny.”
“I didn’t say we had to worry ourselves
to death until we were in the race,” protested
Bunny. “It don’t do any good to go over
and over a race in your mind before it hap-
pens. That isn’t good training, and when I
say doing our best I mean a little better than
we have ever done before. But let’s drop the
subject and go to bed. You know what I
mean, and, really, I want you to get some
sleep.”
“ One thing I do feel pretty certain about,”
said Bob as they prepared for bed, “and
that’s the relay. I do think we’ll win that.”
“Forget it!” returned Bunny, and turned
his back upon his room-mate, pretending to
snore.
Bright and early the next morning there
20	295THE LAST LAP
were signs that the day was to be a busy one
in the little town. Decorations were being
placed in the shop windows, and the hotel
where the Academy team was to stop was
hung from roof to cellar with their colors.
Billy Bryan was early astir with a number of
men putting the track into first-class condi-
tion, and by the time breakfast was over the
meet had been won and lost a score of times
in the arguments that went on in a hundred
different places about the school.
But Clinton was far from confident, and
the final argument resolved itself into a
declaration that, “We’ll win the relay, any-
how!”
It was early in the day when the first visitors
arrived, and soon the town began to fill up
rapidly. Ted and his team arrived on time,
but were kept quiet at the hotel. Mr. and
Mrs. Struthers came, and Bunny went to meet
them alone, because Bob, having asked the
other members of the team not to go about
till after the games, wanted to set a good
example himself.
Bunny brought Bob’s parents up to the
rooms, and there was a good deal of talk
over the prospects.
But the visitors refrained from asking ques-
tions, and at a hint from Bunny tried to keep
296MORE HARD LUCK
the conversation off of track matters as much
as they could.
There were a number of other visitors in
the town that day, and Bunny excused him-
self to look up Hargrave, the football coach,
who had written that he would be down.
Bunny found him with Tom Cary, the old
center, out on the campus, sitting under the
trees talking over old times as hard as they
could.
“Well, how will it go?” asked Tom, when
the greetings were over.
Bunny shook his head.
“We’ll need all the luck to win the meet,”
he answered.
“What’s the matter? Haven’t you any
men?” asked Hargrave.
“We have a lot of fellows that are almost
good,” returned Bunny, “but they’re too
young. Some day they will come on all
right, but this year we’re rather shy of men
who have been through it, and that counts
a lot in a track meet.”
“It is always that way,” said Hargrave.
“ It is just the same at college. And I guess
it’s as well. It would get monotonous if
Clinton won every time.”
“No danger of that sort of monotony,”
laughed Bunny. “You can always count on
297THE LAST LAP
a good contest with Academy, no matter
what the game is.”
“That’s right,” said Cary. “It was so in
my day. ’ ’
“And mine,” agreed Hargrave. “They
were always sure to be better than we ex-
pected. There have been a lot of good men
come out of Academy. And, my, how we
used to hate them!”
“Didn’t we!” exclaimed Cary. “There
was a fellow named Bentwood. You remem-
ber him, Hargrave ? Played half on Academy
my last year. We all thought he was the
worst mucker that ever put on a football suit.
They were going to mob him once. Not
really, you know, but they thought he was
the limit. Well, what do you think ? ‘ Bent-
wood & Cary’ is our law firm nowadays.
We’re partners, and he’s one of the finest
fellows you ever met. We knew each other
first in the law-school, and many a laugh
we’ve had over Clinton and Academy foot-
ball.”
“I’ve heard of Bentwood,” exclaimed
Bunny. “They tell stories of how he used
to bite on the field, and all sorts of things.”
“ Not a word of truth in it,” declared Cary.
* ‘ I remember one chap saying I was the fellow
Bentwood had bitten, and when I denied it
298MORE HARD LUCK
he said I must have forgotten. Insisted upon
it. But I know it isn’t so, and you couldn’t
find a more decent fellow than Bentwood.”
“ I never was able to make out how such
stories started,” Hargrave remarked; “but
there’s no doubt how the two schools always
felt toward each other.”
“ Of course you’ll win the relay,” Cary said
to Bunny.
“I’m not promising anything,” replied
Bunny. “But I expect we’ll do pretty well
in that. At any rate, the fellows who know
seem to think there isn’t any chance of our
losing that race.”
“What does Billy Bryan say?” asked Har-
grave.
“He doesn’t say,” returned Bunny. “Of
course, you know Billy is always pretty silent
before a meet. But this year I don’t believe
he’s very confident.”
“Humph!” grunted Hargrave. “Then I
guess it’s a doubtful proposition.”
“It oughtn’t to be,” said Bunny, “if they
all do as well as they can.”
“ If!” growled Hargrave. “ There shouldn’t
be any ‘ ifs ’ in a case like this. Of course they-
’ll do the best they can! Come on, Tom,” he
went on, getting to his feet, “'let’s go and find
Billy and make him talk.”
299THE LAST LAP
“I’d like to see you do that,” Cary ex-
claimed. “ Billy is the most silent old party
I ever knew.”
“He can talk if he wants to,” Hargrave
insisted.
They said good-by, and Bunny was walk-
ing slowly back when Peters came panting
up to him.
“Bunny,” he exclaimed, “Struthers wants
you right away!”
“What’s the matter?” asked Bunny.
“ I don’t know,” said Peters. “ They called
me, out of the window, and told me to find
you right off.”
Bunny hurried to Barton Hall as fast as
he could go. He tried to think of what might
have happened to cause him to be sent for
in such a hurry, but no reasonable explana-
tion could he give for it.
As he neared Barton Hall he saw a doctor’s
carriage driving away, and, with his heart in
his throat, he bounded up the stairs, two at a
time, and burst into the room.
“Bunny,” exclaimed Bob, coming toward
him, “Legs Martin has the measles!”
“Oh, is that all!” cried Bunny.
“Is that all!” echoed Bob. “Why, it will
break up the relay team, and it’s good-by to
the cup.”
300MORE HARD LUCK
“That’s so,” agreed Bunny; “but I was'
scared. At first I thought there was some-
thing the matter with you. I’d better hunt
up Billy—or does he know about it?”
“Not yet,” answered Bob. “The doctor
has just been here, and poor Legs has got to
go into quarantine. He begged the doctor
not to tell 'any one. Said he could run as
well as ever he could, but the doctor wouldn’t
let him, and says he has a high fever, though
Legs insists he’s feeling bully.”
“ I think he’s rather stupid not to have
had his measles when he was a kid,” growled
Bunny. “I suppose Harkness is the only
available man for his place.”
“The only one,” said Bob, with a sigh;
“ and I tell you, Bunny, I don’t like to think
of losing that relay race the year I am captain. ”
“It isn’t lost yet,” said Bunny. “They
have to win that last lap, you know.”
Bob shook his head disconsolately.
“ It strikes me we’ve had pretty hard luck
this season. First there was Hal Curtis, and
now Legs Martin is out of it. Well, we’ll
have to do the best we can with Harkness.
Maybe he’ll hold his own, though I’m not
certain. Anyway, we’ll take him out of the
quarter and let him save himself for the
relay. Don’t you think that is wise?”
301THE LAST LAP
“ It seems so to me, but Billy will have to
decide it,” returned Bunny.
“Let’s go and see him and get it settled,”
said Bob.
“You stay where you are,” said Bunny.
“I’ll go and see Billy. You keep off your
feet as much as you can. You’ve a lot to do
before the night, and you’ll need all the
strength you have.”
“All right, that’s sense,” agreed Bob, and
went back to the couch in anything but a
happy frame of mind.XXVII
THE DUAL MEET
THE dual track meet between Clinton and
Academy brought out more spectators
than even the annual football game, although
perhaps the weather had something to do
with this. Whatever it was, there seemed to
be a general desire on every one’s part to
welcome this excuse to get into the open air
for an hour or two, and to renew old ac-
quaintances.
A great many graduates were always on
hand, and the schools moved over from one
place to the other in a body with the greater
part of the faculty in attendance. On this
occasion the officers of the Academy and the
students in their dress uniforms were all
there, and old Doctor MacHenry and his
staff had their hands full entertaining the
visiting faculty. Whatever feeling of antag-
onism there might have been between the
boys, there was none between the teaching
forces, or among the graduates, for that mat-
303THE LAST LAP
ter, and these cordial relations were one of
the features of the meet. The students
thought it was good fun to see the heads of
their respective institutions sitting together
and cheering their boys on to victory, and,
although they did not make quite as much
noise as the youngsters surrounding them,
there were times when they seemed to forget
that they were serious professors, and cheered
with as much enthusiasm as any of their
pupils.
The conditions for the meet that day were
all any one could ask. The weather was
warm, and, although there was a slight wind,
it blew down the stretch, which rather tended
to help the runners. The track was in almost
perfect condition for fast time, and every-
thing had been done to insure a successful
contest.
There were a good many anxious boys on
both teams, and when the clerk of the course
called “All out for the hundred yards dash!”
there was a flutter of excitement everywhere.
The pole-vaulters and shot-putters were noti-
fied at the same time, so that Bunny and
Ted Halliday found themselves once more
prepared to beat each other if they could,
but glad to be together again, for all that.
“ I hear you have had hard luck with one
304THE DUAL MEET
of your sprinters,” said Ted, referring to
Martin having the measles.
“Yes, it is hard luck,” replied Bunny.
“We’ll miss him in more ways than one, al-
though I think Carstairs is the better sprinter. ’ ’
“We have two good men, Bunny,” Ted re-
marked, confidently, as they watched the
preparations for the start of the hundred.
“We’re counting on two places in this and
the two-twenty.”
“We’ll know about the hundred in a
minute,” Bunny replied, and as he spoke the
pistol cracked, and eleven seconds later the
race was over. Academy won two places,
Carstairs coming in third, which didn’t count.
Academy cheered, as well they might. It
was an auspicious beginning for them, and
Bunny turned toward the circle where the
shot was to be put rather disheartened at the
prospect, but more determined, if anything,
to win the five points in his own event.
At his first try Bunny wanted to send the
shot out as far as he could. Billy had told
him to do this, saying, “It discourages the
other fellow in the beginning,” so Bunny put
all his strength into his initial effort.
“Thirty-nine feet and an inch!” the judge
announced, after it had been measured, and
Ted looked at Bunny in surprise.
305THE LAST LAP
“That’s a foot better than you did last
year,” he said, as he took his place in the
ring.
“I’ll do better than that before I’m done,”
Bunny replied, with a smile. “ Put it out,
old man, if you want to win this year.”
Ted’s first try was behind Bunny’s, and it
was not until his third turn that Bunny’s
first put was beaten by either of them. Then
Ted made thirty-nine six inches, and Bunny
knew that, in this instance, at any rate, he
hadn’t discouraged his opponent at all.
Meanwhile the track events had been going
on, and just then the half-mile was starting.
The judges of the shot-put were seemingly as
willing to watch the race as the competitors,
so they waited while the white-clad figures
on the track circled it twice.
Bunny was particularly interested in this
race, because it was the first time that Basset
would compete, and what he would do in this
should have a bearing on the relay race.
And Basset proved that he was fast in the
first half of the race, for as they turned into
the last quarter he was leading by five yards
and running easily.
“ I guess you’ve got this cinched,” said Ted,
in Bunny’s ear.
“I hope so,” answered Bunny, but even as
306THE DUAL MEET
he said it, Basset faltered and the Academy
runner behind him came up even. For a
hundred yards they ran side by side, and
then Basset seemed to recover strength, and
won, amid frantic cheers from Clinton.
“That seemed to be pretty easy,” Bunny
commented, with a sigh of relief, as they
turned back to the shot-putting.
“You were rather anxious about it,” re-
marked Ted, “and, to tell the truth, we ex-
pected to win that race. We always thought
that chap of ours was pretty fast, and he has
nerve to give away.”
“He’ll have another chance in the relay,
won’t he?” asked Bunny.
“Does your man run in that?” questioned
Ted.
“Yes,” answered Bunny, “and Bob thinks
he’s better in a quarter than he is in the
half.”
“He’ll have a better man to beat then,”
said Ted. “We mean to win that relay to-
day, and we’re saving the best man we have
to run third.”
It was Bunny’s turn again at the shot, and
now he was behind Ted, but try as he would
he did not better his previous effort.
Again Ted tried, and this time it measured
forty feet.
307THE LAST LAP
“ That’s a school record,” exclaimed Bunny.
“Gee!” he said to himself, “I must put it
farther than I ever did before!”
But there was no change until they came
to their last three tries, and Bunny, as he
took his first one, resolved to win right there.
He kept telling himself all the things Billy
had been coaching him: to turn quickly and
to follow with his body, to get elevation, and
to push out his arm as fast as possible. He
stood for a moment poised in the ring, and
then, with a deep breath, he went at it.
“That’s a good one!” exclaimed Ted, as he
bent over the tape. “So, forty feet, six.
You’re ahead of me, Bunny, but watch out
for this put.”
And Ted went at it, determined to do his
best, but failed to equal Bunny’s mark.
Again Bunny tried, and so did Ted, but the
best put still remained forty feet, six inches.
On his last try Bunny put all his muscle into
it, and came within an inch of his previous
mark, but he could not better it. And then
Ted went back to make his last try.
Ted was deliberate; he always was about
everything he did. He took his place in the
circle, fixed his feet carefully, wiped a speck
of dust off the shot, and balanced himself
once or twice on one foot till he felt perfectly
308THE DUAL MEET
easy. Bunny wished he would hurry. His
last trial was over, and now he had to wait
to see if he would be beaten — and it was
nervous work waiting.
At last Ted sent the shot out into the air,
and it looked to Bunny as if it would never
come to the ground. He knew it was a good
put, and he could hardly stand still while the
judges measured; but at last the announce-
ment came.
“ Forty feet, five and a half inches. ’ ’ Bunny
had won by half an inch.
Ted shook his hand.
“ I thought you had it in for me this year,
Bunny,” he said.
“ It was the best put I ever made, even in
practice,” answered Bunny, “and, Ted, we
need all the points we can get, so cheer up!
We both broke the school record, you know.”
“Yes,” agreed Ted, “that’s so, too; but
I’m thinking of what the other fellows will
be saying to me. I told them not to be too
certain of my winning. I said you’d be
practising day and night to beat me; but
they seemed to think I couldn’t lose, and
they’ve been figuring those five points as if
they had been won already.”
“ So have our fellows,” said Bunny. “ Well,
you can afford it better than we can.”
309THE LAST LAP
Things had not been going well with Clin-
ton. Bob Struthers had won the quarter
easily, with a yard or two to spare; Carstairs
had managed to land a second in the two-
twenty, and Curley Johnson had won the high
hurdles; but the Academy had both places
in the mile, and two in the low hurdles, which
put them considerably ahead.
After the shot was finished, Bunny, remem-
bering that Billy Bryan, who could not be
on the track himself, rather expected him to
help the other boys as much as he could,
went over to the pole-vaulters and found a
rather discouraging state of affairs. The
best Clinton boy couldn’t get up in the air,
he complained. He didn’t know what was
the matter, but he kept failing at heights that
he could take easily in practice.
Bunny understood. The boy was nervous
and couldn’t do his best, and the great effort
he was making spoiled his form. So he told
him to take his time, and rubbed his legs, and
the next try went better. He stayed there for
a while encouraging the Clinton boys and tell-
ing them to forget that it was a contest, and
to keep their form in spite of everything.
Then he joked with them until he had gotten
them into a fairly cheerful frame of mind.
After this he went to the high jumpers,
310THE DUAL MEET
and, although he saw little chance of their
winning, he did his best to give them a little
more confidence in themselves.
And so the afternoon went, with points
piling up in favor of Academy, and Bunny
felt pretty certain in his heart that Clinton
would be beaten. He was sorry for Bob,
but he hoped that winning the relay might
help to take the edge off his room-mate’s
disappointment. None of the Clinton boys
had failed to do as well in the meet as
they had done in practice, and that was a
good deal. Academy was stronger — that
was all there was to it — and if Clinton
could win the relay it wouldn’t be so very
bad, after all. When the broad jumpers
had finished, and there was nothing more he
could do, Bunny went to the gymnasium to
see how things were going there.
In the dressing-room he found the relay
runners stretched out on cots, waiting anx-
iously for the word that would call them
out for the final event. Tommy Carstairs,
with his characteristic, long, solemn face, lay
with his eyes shut and took no notice of the
bustle about him. Harkness, plainly nervous,
tried to smile with confidence he was far from
feeling, and seemed grateful when Bunny pat-
ted him on the shoulder and told him not
21	311THE LAST LAP
to worry. Bunny had a feeling that Hark-
ness would do all that was expected of him.
Hank Basset still grinned, though it looked
a little forced to Bunny.
“I’d feel better if Billy would only let me
out of this to see what’s going on,” he said,
in a complaining tone. “ Being shut up here
this way gets on a fellow’s nerve, and he keeps
thinking of things. Gee! I wouldn’t lose
this race for anything; but it doesn’t seem
fair that I should have to run against Moulton.
He’s the fastest man on the Academy team.”
“We aren’t sure he is the fastest man,” pro-
tested Bunny, “and, besides, you’ve made as
good time as Bob yourself.”
“ Well, it doesn’t seem fair, anyway,” Basset
went on. “I’m expected to beat Moulton a
lot, so that Harkness can have a good start.”
“Has the order been changed?” Bunny
asked, surprised at this news. “I thought
you were to run third and Bob last.”
“That’s been fixed over since Martin was
out,” Basset explained. “Harkness is to run
last and Bob second. I don’t think it’s
fair, and you don’t know what it would mean
to me to be beaten in my part of the race.”
“I’d be thinking of what it meant to the
school,” replied Bunny, as he turned away.
He was rather disgusted with Basset just then.
312THE DUAL MEET
“How are you feeling?” he asked, as he sat
down on the edge of Bob Struthers’s cot.
“All right; how are the others?” Bob re-
plied.
“ Basset is kicking a bit, but he just lacks
experience, I guess. He says there has been
a change in the order of your running.”
“Yes, it’s Carstairs, myself, Basset, and
then Harkness,” Bob replied. “You see, we
wanted to give Harkness a good start if we
could, because he always finishes strong. At
first I was going to run third; but Billy said
we’d better give Basset a lead, too, and I think
he’s right. I’m worried about Harkness; but
it’s the best we can do. How are things
going outside?”
“Pretty well,” Bunny replied. “Jenkins
loses his form in the pole-vault. He gets over
the bar, and then hits it on the way down.
I’m hoping he’ll win yet, and he’s sure of
second. Academy took both places in the
broad.”
“ How about the high jump ?” asked Bob.
“Second,” answered Bunny.
“Well, we can’t win this meet, that’s cer-
tain,” said Bob, “but I must say the boys are all
doing as well as could be expected. Academy
has even a stronger team than I thought they
would have. I’m sure we would have won
313THE LAST LAP
the relay if we hadn’t had such hard luck with
Legs Martin. As it is, I don’t know what
we’ll do, and I’m not very hopeful.”
That was the end of their speculation, for
at that moment the clerk of the course poked
his head through the door of their dressing-
room.XXVIII
ALL OUT FOR THE RELAY
FIRST call for the relay race!”
It had come at last, this summons
for Clinton’s desperate struggle to hold the
cup.
Billy Bryan bustled about, seemingly not
at all dismayed.
“Come, boys,” he called, cheerfully, “move
about a little now and limber up. Reeves,
you’re not doing anything, suppose you give
Carstairs a little rub on his legs just to
warm them up.” And Billy went from one
to the other, looking at shoe-strings with
especial care to see that no loose ends were
left to trip over.
It seemed only a moment later that they
were called out on the track, and Billy gave
them a final word of advice.
“Reeves will be with you,” he said, “and,
remember, it is up to you boys now.
Just do your best and it will be all right.
Keep off your feet till your turn comes, and
315THE LAST LAP
don’t start till your man touches you. Car-
stairs, you climb out and set the pace from
the start. I know you’d always rather run
behind some one else, but this time you want
to get in the lead from the beginning and do
your best. Struthers, I needn’t say what’s
expected of you. Basset, you ought to make
the fastest time on either team, and we’re
expecting you to give Harkness a good lead,
and—he’ll know what to do with it. Now go
ahead.”
The old trainer stopped Bunny for a mo-
ment.
“Keep them off their feet,” he whispered,
“and give Harkness a little rub-down while
Basset is going his first two-twenty.”
“What do you think of our chances?”
Bunny asked, hoping that at the last minute
Billy might commit himself.
“We’re just as fast as our weakest man,”
said the old trainer, with a negative shake
of his head. “To tell the truth, Reeves, I
don’t know. I wouldn’t be surprised at any-
thing, for there are two men on the team to-
day who are likely to fool us, one one way
and one the other. They’re all fast enough;
it’s just a matter of what they’ll do in a con-
test—and that no one on earth can predict.”
Bunny hurried out with a pile of blankets
316ALL OUT FOR THE RELAY
over his arm, and soon caught up with the
four bath-robed boys walking slowly tow-
ard the starting - line. The Academy team
was there, and the silence among the spec-
tators showed how intense was the interest
in this race.
Clinton, knowing that they were beaten in
the meet, hoped for victory in the relay to
make up for it in a measure, at least. But
there were persistent rumors that Academy
was more than ever determined to take the
cup this year, and that one of their best
men—Moulton, in fact—had been kept out
of the other races to make sure of winning
the relay. What could Clinton do with a
crippled team ? There had never been
much confidence, even with Martin, and now
that Harkness, slow, plodding Harkness, was
to take his place the outlook was extremely
gloomy.
Nevertheless, Clinton rose as a solid body
and cheered their representatives with all their
strength.
Near the start Bunny spread out the blank-
ets, and three of the boys were seated
with their knees drawn up to their chins,
while Carstairs took his place on the track.
Bunny, as tense and excited as the four who
were to run, tried to be calm in order to
317THE LAST LAP
soothe the nerves of the others, but it was
hard work.
The Academy men were not far off, and
one of them called over to know which one
was Basset.
“You’ll see him soon enough,” Bunny re-
plied.
“Is that the fellow who will run against
me?” whispered Basset, his face drawn and
pale.
“I guess so,” replied Bunny. “But you
needn’t be afraid of him.”
“He looks so big and strong,” murmured
Basset, hopelessly.
“So do you,” said Bunny.
“ Get on your marks!” came the order from
the man with the pistol, and every eye about
the track was fastened on the two boys stand-
ing on the starting-line.
“Get set!”
An almost breathless silence came over the
field as Carstairs and his antagonist crouched
tense, waiting for the final signal.
It seemed a long time before the pistol
sounded, but at last it came, and with the
report two figures bounded forward and, as
if all the people in the grandstand had been
holding their breath, a murmur of relief rose
up from the crowd, and some one shouted:
318ALL OUT FOR THE RELAY
“They’re off!”
From that moment till the end of the race
the din and racket about the track were deaf-
ening. Everybody shouted to his favorite
runner, pleaded with him when he was
behind, encouraged him when he was in
front, anything to make a noise and in a
measure relieve the pent-up feelings that had
been held in check so long.
Bunny and the other boys watched with
breathless interest. The race might be won
or lost right there, and it was with no
little anxiety that they saw Carstairs swing
into his stride and start bravely on the first
quarter.
Following Billy’s instructions, Tommy set
the pace himself, getting into the lead about
half a yard and holding it steadily for the first
hundred.
“He can’t keep that up!” exclaimed Bob,
while Bunny rubbed his legs.
“ It is pretty fast, agreed Bunny, and then,
seeing both the other boys on their feet, he
remembered he was more than a spectator.
“ Here, Basset, you and Harkness sit down!”
he cried, vigorously. “You mustn’t be on
your feet that way. Come on, Bob,” he
added, as the others obeyed.
At a hundred and fifty yards Carstairs slack-
319THE LAST LAP
ened slightly, but the Academy man made no
attempt to pass him, keeping steadily along
about a yard behind till the two-twenty mark
was reached. Here he forged ahead and came
up beside the Clinton boy with the evident
intention of passing him, but Tommy held
his place.
“He’s running a good race, all right,” said
Bob, ready on the mark, “if he just holds it
now. ’ ’
“Don’t get excited, old man,” said Bunny.
“ I’m all right,” returned Bob, “only I wish
he’d hurry.”
By this time the two runners had turned
into the stretch, and were facing the finish
line. The grandstand was shouting itself
hoarse, but down on the track no one seemed
to hear, every eye was fastened on the white-
clad figures tearing down toward them.
Fifty yards from the finish Tommy faltered.
He was evidently in trouble, but the Academy
fellow was weak, too; each had thrown up
his head and seemed to be struggling. The
even, graceful stride that marks the strong
runner was gone.
They were moving comparatively slowly,
but they came on, side by side, each fighting
for all he was worth for the honor of his school.
“Come on, Tommy!” shouted Bunny, at
320ALL OUT FOR THE RELAY
the top of his lungs. “Come on, old man,
you’re all right! Come on!”
But Carstairs, though fighting gamely,
dropped back inch by inch till a yard "sepa-
rated him from his opponent as he finished.
The second Academy man was off while
Bunny, standing as near to Bob as the rules
permitted, cautioned his room-mate to wait
till Tommy came up to him. It was only for
the fraction of a second, but it was hard to
wait while the other man sprinted down the
black cinder-path.
“Now show them how to run a quarter!”
Bunny shouted, as Bob, getting the signal
at last, started on his journey around the
track.
Tommy Carstairs threw himself beside his
team-mates almost sobbing.
“I did try, fellows!” he broke out. “I
did try!”
“We know you did, don’t you worry,”
said Bunny, consolingly. “ It was the fastest
quarter you ever did in your life, I’ll bet.
You just watch old Bob beat his fellow by
ten yards.” And all eyes turned to the
struggle that was going on.
Bunny Reeves was not the only boy at
Clinton who thought their captain ought to
win his heat by a large margin, and Bob had
321THE LAST LAP
a rousing cheer, and he passed the grand-
stand at full speed after his flying opponent.
But those who expected him to catch the
Academy man at once were greatly mis-
taken. The visiting team knew, from past
experience, what Bob Struthers could do,
and had put a fast man against him. That
fact became apparent almost at once; for,
though Bob was seen to be doing his best,
he had made no appreciable gain at the end
of the first two-twenty. A sudden hush came
over the Clinton supporters. Was Struthers
going to be beaten, after all? It certainly
looked like it, for, although the Academy
man had not increased his lead, he still held
the yard he had started with, and seemed to
be running as strongly as ever as they turned
into the last hundred.
Meanwhile Bunny was trying to put some
heart into Basset. That young man, as a re-
sult of the strain, had lost his grin, and shook
as he got to his feet to take his place.
“I can’t do it, Reeves,” he almost sobbed.
“If I’d had an even start I could have—
but—”
The Academy boy on the mark with Basset
looked at him and laughed.
“Why, you aren’t going to run, are you?”
he said. “ I don’t want to beat an ice-wagon.”
322ALL OUT FOR THE RELAY
“Don’t you pay any attention to him; he’s
just trying to kid you,” said Bunny to Basset,
as reassuringly as he could, “and, look here,
Hank, brace up! Don’t think it’s a race; just
play you’re coming home from a fire.”
For a moment the ghost of a grin came into
the boy’s face.
“You don’t know what it means to me,
Reeves,” he answered, “and here I’ve got the
fastest man to run against and I’m starting
behind.”
“I don’t think you will,” shouted Bunny,
as he glanced up the track and saw the two
runners coming up into the stretch. “ Look
at Bob come! Look at him! Hurry, old
man, that’s the way to finish!” And Stru-
thers, as if he had heard, seemed to gather
new strength, and with a bound came ahead of
his antagonist, crossing the line a good two
yards in front of the Academy boy. Bob
Struthers’s nerve had once more been proved,
and in the last fifty yards of the heat he had
run his man off his feet.
“Go it, Hank! You’ve got your start
now!” shouted Bunny, as he caught the pant-
ing Bob in his arms and patted him. “Good
old Bob,” he went on, “that was a finish!”
“ Basset ought to gain two or three more,”
Bob gasped; his confidence in that young
Я23THE LAST LAP
man had never been shaken. “ How are you
feeling ?” he asked Harkness, after a moment’s
hard breathing.
“I’m all right,” was the answer; but the
boy’s face showed the strain he was under.
Bob went over to him and put a hand on
his shoulder.
“We are sure you’ll do your best whatever
happens,” he said, reassuringly, “and I know
how hard it is to wait.
“Yes, it is hard,” Harkness agreed. “I’ll
be glad when it’s my turn.”
Bunny, who had been watching Basset
start, was jumping up and down with ex-
citement.
“He’s going to beat this fellow a mile!”
he shouted, and it certainly looked so, for
Hank seemed to gain more and more as he
flew along for the first hundred yards.
The people in the grandstand, raised to a
high pitch of excitement by Bob Struthers’s
splendid finish, were standing on their seats
waving their colors wildly, and the “Rah!
Rah! Rah! Clinton!” roared above the vari-
ous shouts of individuals.
Basset’s previous race in the half-mile had
inspired those who knew little of him, and
there was no doubt in any one’s mind that
he would gain enough to start Harkness well
324ALL OUT FOR THE RELAY
in front. And even the most pessimistic
acknowledged that Harkness would do his
best.
But Academy was not to be denied. They
had supreme faith in Moulton, who was at
that moment running for the honor of their
school. It was known among them that he
was faster than outsiders thought. He had
been kept out of the track meet in order that
he should have full strength to win the
relay for Academy. And it was not long be-
fore their hopes were realized. Gradually,
as the race progressed, “Academy! Academy!
Rah! Rah! Rah!” was heard above the cheer
for Clinton.
What Billy Bryan had feared all along was
being enacted on the track before them.
For the first half of the race Basset not
only held his own, but actually distanced his
man. Certainly there were seven yards be-
tween them at the two-twenty, but there, as
if something held him back, Basset slackened
his pace, and the Academy man, running
splendidly, closed up the gap. At the hun-
dred he was a yard ahead. At the fifty,
three yards, and Bob Struthers, standing near
the starting-line, changed from assurance to
deep despair.
“What’s the matter with him, Bunny?”
325THE LAST LAP
he said, with a sinking heart. “ He’s giving
up! He isn’t trying! Why doesn’t he run?
He’s just throwing it away! Come on, Bas-
set! Come on!”
But Bunny was talking to Harkness, who
stood on the starting-line waiting for Basset
to touch his hand and let him off.
“Don’t worry, old man,” he said. “What-
ever happens we’ll know you did your best.”
Harkness only nodded. He couldn’t speak
then, his throat was too full, as he realized
that on him alone depended the holding of
the cup. And he recognized that even the
boys who “knew that he would do his best”
didn’t have much faith in his winning.
As Moulton gained on Basset the Academy
man beside Harkness laughed confidently.
“I guess this is where we get the cup,” he
cried, exultingly. “Clinton isn’t in it to-
day!”
Harkness flushed angrily.
“You’ll have to win the last lap first,”
he retorted, between trembling lips; but the
other had started and had gone five yards
before Basset came limping in.XXIX
THE LAST LAP
IT was not without encouragement that
Harkness took up the task of running that
last quarter. His school-mates in the grand-
stand were loyal to him and to Clinton.
They didn’t think he could possibly win; nay,
they were certain he would lose; not one
fellow in all that big crowd thought he had
the ghost of a chance; but for all that they
cheered him heartily. It seemed as though,
quite suddenly, each one of them realized, at
the same time, how much he liked the slow,
plodding Harkness; how he had always liked
him. It was true he had never done anything
except keep pegging away, year after year,
without any reward; but he hadn’t given up!
That was a trait they all admired; and now,
as a result of chance, the whole glory and
honor of the school had been placed on his
shoulders. Well, the least they could do was
to give him a cheer.
“Go it, Harkness, old man!” they shouted
22	327THE LAST LAP
down to him. At any rate, they could de-
pend upon him to put every ounce of strength
he possessed into his effort, and that was
something. Of course, with five yards handi-
cap, he couldn’t win; even Bob Struthers
would have had to work to do that, if the
Academy man was any good at all. And he
was good! He had proved that by taking
second in the four-forty early in the after-
noon.
As for that Basset fellow, they were ashamed
of him. How could he have lost that much
with a three yards’ start ? He could run fast
enough; why, then, should he have quit so
suddenly? The Clinton boys in the grand-
stand couldn’t understand it at all, and they
were very much disheartened. They had
been beaten in the meet, and now, at last,
after all these years, they were giving Academy
the relay trophy. Yes, that was the worst
of it, just giving it to them. All the same,
they cheered Harkness; they knew he would
try.
Beside the track Bob Struthers threw him-
self down on the blankets and hid his face in
his hands. He was heartbroken at the way
things had turned out, and he would have
liked to go away by himself and not see any-
body. For all the years to come he would
328THE LAST LAP
be known as the captain of the team that
had lost the cup to Academy, and he felt very
bitter.
Bunny watched the start without the
slightest hope of seeing Harkness finish
ahead, and yet, at the moment, he had a most
sincere admiration for him. It seemed to
Bunny as if Harkness was all alone in the
center of that great crowd with no one to
help him, and with no one who had any faith
in his ability to win, and still he had started
off without a word of complaint to do his
utmost to perform what every one seemed
to think was an impossible task.
“He has nerve, all right!” Bunny mur-
mured to himself, and this made him remem-
ber Basset. That fellow didn’t have any
nerve at all, and it was humiliating to think
that a Clinton boy had made such an exhibi-
tion of himself. Basset had come in com-
paratively fresh, showing that he had just
given up. It was disgraceful. Yet, some-
how, Bunny felt that he had always known
this would be the result of the irregular way
the town boy had been brought to the school,
and that they all rather deserved what had
happened. But, most of all, Bunny was sorry
for Bob. He hated to have his room-mate
unhappy and disappointed, and he would
329THE LAST LAP
have liked to be able to say something cheer-
ing; but'What was there to say?
On the track, as he waited for Basset to
touch his hand, Harkness’s only feeling was
one of perplexity. He couldn’t understand
what was the matter, and when the Academy
boy started it was all he could do to stand
in his tracks, so impatient was he to be off.
But more than anything he was angry, furi-
ously angry, because that chap had said,
“Clinton wasn’t in it!” He didn’t reason
about it at all, he simply was in a rage because
any one should say that Clinton wasn’t in it.
If Basset would only come and let him off, so
that he could be after that Academy boy with
all his strength and determination!
When at last he received the signal to start
he was scarcely conscious of what was going
on about him, but he sprang forward with a
rush, knowing that he must run the fastest
quarter he had ever run in his life, and mean-
ing to do it.
A cheer or two came to him faintly. He
heard some one cry, “Go it, Harkness!” and
then the old cheer, “Rah! Rah! Rah! Clin-
ton!” seemed to go through him, and he grit-
ted his teeth together, resolving that Clinton
should not be ashamed of him, and that any-
thing was worth while for the school.
330THE LAST LAP
At about the end of the first fifty yards
Harkness’s brain cleared wonderfully, and he
never felt so strong as he did then. All the
things that Billy Bryan had taught him about
running seemed to stand out in his mind to
the exclusion of everything else, and he be-
gan to be careful of his form as he had never
been before.
“Don’t shorten your stride, and run faster
at the beginning of the race,” he said to him-
self, quoting the old trainer’s words, and he
leaped forward as if he could go on forever.
He felt very sure of himself in that first
half of the quarter.
“Remember that when you think you are
going as fast as you can, then is the time to
put on more speed.”
Again he was quoting Billy’s instructions
to himself, and he tried to make his legs move
faster, and felt that he was doing it.
As he passed the two-twenty post a feeling
of alarm suddenly seized him. The race was
half over, and where was the Academy man ?
Harkness looked ahead for the first time.
He had gained something, he believed, but
there was still a wide stretch between them,
and the alarm grew into a fear that perhaps
it was too late. With something of a panic
in his heart, he struggled to increase his
331THE LAST LAP
speed. The man before him was running
steadily and evenly, but not very fast, Hark-
ness thought, and he couldn’t understand
why he didn’t overhaul him more quickly,
and again he called upon himself to go faster,
faster, till these words began to sing in his
brain.
He gave a little cry as if of pain when he
suddenly saw the hundred-yard post fly by
him, and still that Academy man was in front
going on as before, without any sign of slack-
ening his pace and headed for the white tape
stretched across the track in the distance.
“Faster! Faster!” rang the words in the
boys’ mind.
“Keep your form!” came the warning
again, as if Billy had been right there beside
him.
“But I must go faster! faster!” he an-
swered the warning.
“ Keep your form!” And, with these words
sounding in his head, he sped on.
At the fifty-yard mark he began to feel his
legs tiring and, for the first time, realized that
his breath was coming in short, hard gasps.
Now and then he would lose himself utterly
for a brief instant, conscious only of an in-
tolerable desire to stop and sit down and of a
dim figure in a white shirt moving up and
332THE LAST LAP
down before him. He was nearer to it now,
he knew that, but how much nearer he
couldn’t tell. Really, he couldn’t fix his at-
tention upon anything; but the words “ Keep
your form!” seemed to be repeated at each
step he made, and prevented him from yield-
ing to an almost irresistible impulse to swing
his arms some other way, to throw up his
head so that he could get more air into his
stifled lungs, to shorten his stride in order to
ease his tired legs.
Suddenly he lost sight of the white figure
entirely. It was no longer in front of him,
and really he didn’t care where it was if only
he could rest himself by swinging his arms
or shortening his stride. If he could only do
it just once. “Keep your form!” came the
warning, and he resisted again. But it
couldn’t last. He must give up. No one
on earth could get to that white line in front
of him feeling as he did then. He must
stop.
“Rah! Rah! Rah! Clinton!”
The words came to him out of the dim blur
of his thoughts and brought him to himself
again.
“For the school!”
It almost seemed as if he had cried the
words aloud, and he struggled on, his lungs
333THE LAST LAP
aching, his legs faltering under him, his head
reeling.
“Come on, Harkness! You’ve got him!”
It was Bunny shouting, and the boy knew
he was nearly there. A second later the
white line broke in front of him, a roar as
of a thousand cannon was in his ears, and
then, for an instant, everything went black
before him, and he staggered forward. Some
one’s arms were about him, and he looked up
into the face of Bunny Reeves, who was hold-
ing him.
“Oh, Bunny!” he sobbed. “How much
did he beat me?”
“Why, old man, you beat him a yard!”
cried Bunny; but his voice broke, and there
were tears in his eyes.
For a moment Harkness rested, shut his
eyes and let himself go, so glad was he to
ease his aching legs and chest that he could
think of nothing else. Then, like the brave
boy he was, he stood up and started for the
dressing-rooms. He was all right again.
But he didn’t get far. From the stands of
both schools the boys flocked down on the
field, and the Clinton fellows had but one
object in view, to shake Harkness by the
hand. And it is likely that they would have
carried him off the field on their shoulders
334THE LAST LAP
had not the old trainer come running out of
the dressing-rooms.
“Here, let him alone!” Billy cried, as he
pushed roughly into the crowd. “Haven’t
you any sense ? Do you think a boy that has
run a race like that wants to be hauled
around by a lot of you? Get off from him!”
He took Harkness by the hand and pressed
it. “ It was a fine race, my lad,” he said. “ A
fine race, and you kept your form beautiful!”
“It was hard work,” said Harkness, with
a shake of his head at the remembrance of
those last moments.
“Aye!” said Billy. “It’s hard work that
wins races.”
Bunny was so glad at the way things had
ended that he forgot all about the fact that
he was still in his track suit, till some one
reminded him that he’d better be dressing
so that he could go to the campus for the
celebration.
“ That’s so!’’ exclaimed Bunny. “ Glad you
told me. Rah! Rah! Rah! Clinton! I’m
so happy I don’t know what I’m doing.
Wasn’t that a peach of a race Harkness ran!”
And off he went to the dressing-rooms.
Most of the boys had gone when Bunny
arrived, and Harkness and Bob Struthers
were coming out of the gymnasium.
335THE LAST LAP
“Good old Harkness!” cried Bunny. “л
fooled us all right, but you can’t do it agaii
“It was the finest, pluckiest race I e\
saw!” said Bob, enthusiastically. “And, t.
Bunny, did you hear the time? It’s -
school record.”
“To tell the truth, fellows,” Harkness
fessed, “if that Academy chap hadn’t s? u.
Clinton wasn’t in it I don’t know what I
would have done, but that made me sore, I
can tell you. Just the same, I was pretty
nearly all in at the finish, and if I hadn’t
heard you call, Bunny—”
“Get out,” Bunny cut in, “you could have
gone another hundred easily. If it hadn’t
been for Basset—by-the-way, what has hap-
pened to him?”
“ I don’t know, and I don’t care!” said Bob
Struthers, savagely. “Hurry up and dress,
Bunny. I’m going to take Harkness up to
see mother and dad.”
“All right, I’ll be along in a jiffy,” was the
answer.
Bunny was busily getting into his clothes, •
humming a tune and feeling very happy over
the day’s events. That finish of Harkness’s
had put the disappointment of their having
lost the meet out of his head for the time
being, and he could only keep thinking, over
336THE LAST LAP
* *
over, of that last lap of the relay with its
1 ." pus ending. He was dressed at last, and
out to leave when a noise like a sob stopped
}	1 It came from a dark comer at the
r 4 of the room, and Bunny could dimly see
huddled on a chair,
went over to it and recognized Basset,
I .Л forward, with his face in his hands, sob-
bing as if his heart would break.
“Come, old man,” said Bunny, his quick
sympathy aroused at the sight of the un-
happy boy, “it isn’t as bad as all that, you
know. Come, brace up.”
Basset lifted a tear-stained face to Bunny’s.
“You don’t know what it means to me,”
he sobbed. “ I would have given anything,
anything, to win that race. Why, I could
have come back to Clinton next year if I’d
only won—and now—now I don’t know what
I’ll do.”
“ I don’t understand what you’re driving
at,” said Bunny.
Basset made an effort to control himself.
“You know Walters,” he went on. “Well,
he said that if I came out and ran and won
my heat in the relay, he’d see that I had the
money to come to school next year. You
fellows with lots of money don’t know what
it is not to have a chance. If I had a father
337THE LAST LAP
to send me to school, I wouldn’t mind if I
did miss a little by running, but when you’re
poor it’s different. You want to take ad-
vantage of every minute.”
“So that’s the reason you came out to
run?” said Bunny.
“Yes,” answered Basset. “You see, Wal-
ters was after me, and I just told him I
couldn’t afford it. That mother must be
making a sacrifice to send me here, and that
I didn’t feel it was fair for me to waste any
time in athletics. Well, when he heard that
he said if I’d run and win he’d see that I
had money to come next year. And, Bunny,
I’d have done anything for that.”
“Then why did you stop in the middle
of your race?” asked Bunny, who couldn’t
understand how, with this extra inducement,
the boy could have gone so utterly to pieces.
“I don’t know how it was,” said Basset.
“ I know that when I started I was all right
and going along fine, and then, all of a sud-
den, it came to me how much the race would
decide, and my heart sort of dropped down
inside of me and I gasped, like you do when
you jump into cold water, and then I just
couldn’t run. I tried, Reeves—you don’t
know how I tried! But I couldn’t go fast.
There was too much depending on it. I felt
338THE LAST LAP
weak as a baby, and I kept thinking how
awful it would be if I was beaten—and I was
—and I can’t come back to Clinton next
year.” He sobbed again and hid his face in
his hands.
Bunny looked down at him and understood
for the first time why Basset had puzzled
them all during the season. He hadn’t any
real interest in the school; he had only been
trying to get something for himself, and Bunny
realized quite suddenly just what that meant.
“Why, you aren’t a Clinton boy at all,
Basset,” he exclaimed. “It would be just
the same to you no matter where you went
to school.”
Hank didn’t answer, he was too upset to
speak, and again Bunny could not help feel-
ing sorry for him.
“Cheer up, Hank,” he said, laying a hand
on the other’s shoulder. “ I think we can
fix it up so you can come back.”
“What do you mean by that?” asked
Basset, eagerly. “ You don’t know how much
I want to come back, so don’t fool me,Reeves.”
“I’m not fooling,” said Bunny. “I’ll see
that you get the money next year.”
“Honest, Reeves?” asked Basset, as if he
could not believe it.
“Yes, honest,” said Bunny, seriously.
339THE LAST LAP
“And I suppose you’ll want me to run,”
Basset went on, with a shade of regret in his
voice.
“No,” returned Bunny, so promptly that
the other started. “ No, I would rather you
didn’t run.”
“But I’ll do it if you want me to,” Basset
insisted.
“I don’t want you to,” Bunny declared,
emphatically. “To tell you the truth, Hank,
I don’t think you’re the sort of a fellow to
represent Clinton, and, if it wasn’t for the
reason that Walters wasn’t square with you,
I’d think you were getting just what you
deserved. But as it is, I’ll see you through
school next year on the understanding that
you don’t run. Now cheer up and forget
your troubles.”
Bunny looked back and waved a hand to
Basset, who followed him with expressions
of gratitude, and was glad to see the old grin
gradually replacing the tears.
On his way to Barton Hall he couldn’t help
thinking of the boy he had just left. Really,
Walters and Thornton were the ones to blame
for the entire affair. They had brought
Basset to Clinton, and then bribed him to
come out and run, which was all wrong, no
matter how you might look at it.
340THE LAST LAP
“And all the trouble and anxiety because
of a fire ’way back last fall. It is funny how
things turn out,” he said to himself.
“Hello, old Sobersides,” cried Ted Halli-
day, putting an arm across Bunny’s shoulder
and getting into step with him. “What are
you thinking so hard about ? You don’t look
like a fellow who has just beaten one of his
best friends putting the shot,” he added,
with a laugh.
“ I wasn’t thinking of that,” replied Bunny;
“but, now that you mention it, I will with
pleasure.”
“That chap Harkness of yours is a peach!”
said Ted, with genuine admiration. “We
thought we had the relay won when Basset
fell down. That was the finest finish I ever
saw. ’ ’
“ Yes, it was fine,” agreed Bunny, “and we
were just as much surprised as you were.
We thought it was all over with Clinton; but
Ted, old man, we were forgetting that it’s the
last lap that counts.”
THE ENDPS
3521
N57
L38
1911
HISTORICAL
CHILDREN'S
LITERATURE
3 МШШ
KNIFE.
The last lap.
University of Washington Library