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Frank Merriwell's Chums, a novel by Burt L. Standish |
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Chapter 19. Jumping |
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_ CHAPTER XIX. JUMPING There was a determined look on Paul's face, as he walked to one end of the long strip of turf that ran down one side of the gymnasium. "He is built for jumping," said one of the spectators. "There is a fine pair of legs, if I ever saw a fine pair." "That's right," agreed another; "and he is full of snap and ginger. He will give Merriwell a hard go." "But Merriwell is no slow coach at anything," broke in a third. "I never saw a fellow who seemed able to make such a record at all sorts of sports. Who would have thought that he could face Bascomb? Look! Rains is going to start! See him crouch for the run! He is like a young panther! Now he's off!" Down the line of turf darted Paul, reached the white line, rose gracefully into the air with a pretty spring, and sailed forward in a handsome jump that brought a round of applause from the spectators. The measurers immediately ran the tape. "Seventeen feet and four inches," was the announcement. A shade of disappointment came to the faces of the spectators, for that was far below the Fardale record. Rains, however, winked quietly to Bascomb, as if to say that the first jump was a teaser, just to see what Merriwell would do. Frank now took his position, ran swiftly and lightly down the turf, and made the jump. He seemed to be doing his best, or nearly that, yet he did not reach but a little beyond Rains' mark. "Seventeen feet, six inches and a quarter," announced one of the measurers. "I wonder if that is anywhere near his limit?" thought Paul, as he slowly walked back to the starting point. "I think I will have to give him a stint this time." As he faced the mark, he gathered his energies in every part of his body, felt his muscles strain, knew his nerves were at their highest tension. "He's going to lay himself out this time," said one of the spectators to another. "Seventeen feet will not be mentioned again." Down the strip shot Rains. He reached the mark, and went flying through the air like a bird, bringing a cry to the lips of those watching, for they saw he had gone far ahead of the first jump. "That was a beauty!" exclaimed Bascomb, speaking to Wat Snell, who stood watching. "It was a good jump," said Snell; "but Merriwell will beat it." "What makes you think so?" "Because that fellow always beats at everything. I had rather have his luck than a license to steal! I've quit trying to down him, for I found I was bound to get the worst of it if I kept it up." "Oh, his time will come." "Perhaps so; but it isn't coming in a hurry." "Nineteen feet, three inches and a third," announced the measurer. "Hooray!" shouted one of Paul's delighted admirers. "That's the stuff! Merriwell will have to shake himself, if he means to beat that." But Frank had friends who were confident that he would still hold the lead. "Wait till the next measurement is taken," they said. Frank's manner, as he took his place for the start, seemed to indicate that he believed the task before him a difficult one. "He's doubtful," muttered one of Paul's friends. "He's losing courage," said another. Pressing his lips together, Frank made the run, and the watchers held their breath as he jumped. "He's tied Rains!" "Not much! He's behind!" "Rains holds the lead!" "Great Scott! is that Merriwell's best!" Bascomb thumped Wat Snell on the back. "What'd I tell you!" he laughed in Snell's ear. "This is right where Merriwell loses some of his glory. Rains has beaten him." "This time, perhaps," admitted Snell; "but there is another jump to follow, and the best score made is the one that decides the contest. You will find Merriwell is not beaten yet." "Why, you talk as if you wanted him to beat!" "Not much! I would give almost anything to see him beaten at everything he attempts. Don't think for a minute that I am in love with that fellow!" The tape had been run, and now the announcement was heard: "Nineteen feet, one inch and one-third." Rains had beaten Merriwell by two inches on the second jump. But the contest was not yet over, and there was a chance that Frank would finally redeem himself. Frank's friends were disappointed. Hodge showed deep chagrin in his face, as he drew Merriwell aside, saying swiftly and guardedly: "You're making a mistake, old man, if you are holding off for the last jump. The second jump is the one to lay yourself out on always." "Perhaps I did," smiled Frank. "What!" gasped Hodge. "And he has beaten you!" "It looks that way, doesn't it?" "But--but--I--I won't believe it! You can do better--you must do better! Why, old man, you will lose your grip if you don't beat him!" "You do not expect impossibilities, do you?" "No, but----" "Would you go back on me if I lost this match?" "You know better, Frank! I would stick by you under any circumstances!" "Then I shall not feel so bad about losing it." Hodge gasped and clutched the arm of his roommate. "For gracious sake, you don't mean to say he had set you a stint you cannot beat? You mustn't lose--you shan't lose! Do brace up, old man! Why, think how those fellows who are envious of you will rejoice if Rains comes out on top! You must win!" "Well, I will do my best on the next. There goes Rains for the last jump." With the ghost of a triumphant mile on his face, Paul again took his place at the starting point. The smile vanished, and a look of resolution took its place. "He is going to try to beat your other jump!" said Bascomb. "He can't do it," declared Snell. "Wait and see." Paul had really resolved to beat his last jump. As he ran, he gathered momentum, gauging the distance carefully, and reaching the mark exactly. The jump was a splendid one, and it was instantly seen that he had actually beaten his former record. Quickly and carefully the tape was stretched. "Nineteen feet, nine inches and three-fourths!" Then there were exclamations of wonderment from all sides, and more than one declared Merriwell was badly beaten. There were not a few among Frank's friends who confessed that he had very little chance, and the faces of those who said nothing showed that they had lost heart to a great extent. Hodge continued to talk excitedly to Merriwell, who shook his head, looking very grave. Paul Rains was quietly triumphant, for he felt that he was safely the winner of this contest. Merriwell and Hodge went up the strip together, the latter still talking and making an occasional gesture. Reaching the starting point, they paused and stood talking. "By smoke!" laughed Bascomb; "Merriwell doesn't want to try it at all, and Hodge is having hard work to induce him to do so! Rains has this match in a walkover." "That remains to be seen," said one of Frank's friends, doggedly. "You may be right, but don't you fancy for a moment that Merriwell is going to give up without jumping. He isn't that kind of a hairpin, my boy." "Well, he might as well give up without another try, for he doesn't stand any show." "Oh, wait and see--wait and see," was all that Frank's defender could say. Hodge was now seen to leave Merriwell and come back down the runway, and it was noted that the look on his face was far from one of confidence and satisfaction. "When Hodge loses confidence in Merriwell, the case is desperate," declared Bascomb. "That's so," confessed Wat Snell. "I am beginning to hope." "Merriwell is making ready--he's preparing for the run!" All eyes were now fixed on Frank, who had taken his position at the starting point. He was seen to dig his toe into the ground to get a brace, and he leaned far forward, with one hand outstretched, then he darted toward the mark. With the speed of a fawn, Frank came down the run, reached the mark, shot like a leopard into the air, sailed like a soaring bird, and landed safely far beyond Rains' best mark--so far, indeed, that the crowd was too astonished to make a sound, but stood staring as the tape was laid. "Twenty-one feet and two inches!" came the electrifying announcement. Then, for all of rules, for all of Professor Rhynas, Frank's friends made the air ring with their wild shouts of applause. _ |
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