For the Honor of Randall Part 40

"We're going to lose, I think," said Jerry Jackson mournfully.

"That's right--lose," echoed his twin.

"Say, you fellows make me tired!" exploded Kindlings. "We're _not_ going to lose!"

"That's the way to talk, but how do you figure it out?" asked Holly.

"Who'll subst.i.tute for Shambler and Frank?"

"Sid Henderson will have to make the jump, and Tom Parsons, we'll depend on you for the mile run!" answered Dan quickly.

"Who, me? I can never beat the Exter man in the jump," a.s.serted Sid.

"Say, don't you talk back to me!" retorted Kindlings, and there was a new note in his voice. "I tell you you're going to do it! Where's Parsons?"

"Here," answered Tom meekly.

"You get into practice quick for that mile run," ordered Dan. "You've got to do it. Sid, get into your togs at once. Holly, come on out and hold the watch on Tom. I'll see Moses and make it all right about lectures. We're in a hole and we've got to pull ourselves out."

At once it seemed as if new spirit had settled down over Randall. There had been gloom, following the withdrawal of Shambler and Frank, but with the manly way in which Kindlings met the situation the skies seemed to clear.

It was the only way out of the dilemma. But everyone knew that, at best, it was but a slim chance. Neither Tom nor Sid were brilliant performers, though that is not saying they were to be despised, by any means. Their talents simply lay in other directions than track athletics. Yet they were not far behind Frank and Shambler in the two events. They needed hard training, however, and the question was, could they get in form in the short time left?

"They've got to!" declared Kindlings grimly. "It's going to be train--train--train! from now to the minute of the games. It means a lot of practice--hard practice. Oh, if we only had a week more! Why didn't this come a little sooner?"

"Is there any chance of getting a postponement?" asked Phil. "I think under the circ.u.mstances we're ent.i.tled to it."

"Ent.i.tled to it, yes, maybe," a.s.sented Dan, "but we won't crawl by asking for it. We'll take our medicine, and take it like men, and, what's more, we'll turn the trick, too!"

The squad of athletes was ordered out soon after the momentous meeting.

Dr. Churchill met the situation squarely. He gave the boys all the leeway needed in the matter of attending lectures, and wrote a personal letter to the heads of Exter, Boxer Hall and Fairview, expressing regret at the turn of affairs.

And then Randall grimly set to work on her uphill climb.

That it was to be an uphill climb was soon made very evident. Whether it was because of nervousness, or real inability to make good, or because they were so suddenly called on without adequate preparation, was not made evident, but certain it was that neither Tom nor Sid gave brilliant performances in the trials that followed. Tom's time was far behind that of Shambler in the mile run, and, though it was only a matter of seconds, everyone knew that seconds would count.

Sid, too, seemed to have lost his natural ability to cover ground in the big jump, though he was by far the best man available after Frank's disbarment.

"This won't do," declared Holly, and though his heart was sinking, he kept up a bold front. "Get at it, boys," he urged the two on whom so much depended. "You can make good yet! All you need is to think so."

"It's easy enough to say," complained Tom, who was tired from many trials.

"Say, if you don't win, I'll roll you in the mud so your best girl won't speak to you for a month," threatened Kindlings. "And, as for you, Sid, I'll have you run out of Randall on a rail. So make good--both of you!"

"Um!" grunted Tom, disconsolately, and Sid looked at him with despair in his eyes. They were both in a bad way.

There was but one more day before the games. It dawned--or rather, to quote Holly Cross, "it clouded up beautifully" from the start. There was a chill, in the air, too.

"Tumble out!" cried Kindlings, as he banged on the door of the room where the inseparables were sleeping. "Tom--Sid, we need you for some morning practice."

"Oh, go on away," begged Tom.

"Let me dream on," requested Sid, drowsily.

"Tumble out!" shouted the inexorable Kindlings. "This is your last chance. It's a nice cool morning for a run or a jump, and you'll be all the better for it. Come on."

So, perforce, the subst.i.tutes who were to fill in for Frank and Shambler "tumbled out," literally, for they were half asleep. But a shower bath, a brisk rub, and the cheerful talk of Holly and Kindlings put new life into them, and soon they were at vigorous practice. They did better than on the previous day.

"If we only had another week, or even three days, I wouldn't be a bit worried," declared Holly at the conclusion of the trials. "They're both doing fine, Kindlings."

"I don't s'pose we can get an extension?"

"I wouldn't have the nerve to ask for it."

"Then we'll have to stand or fall as we are."

"That's it--hang together or hang separately as Patrick Henry, or some of the ancients, said," quoted Holly.

The excitement over the unexpected charges had somewhat died away, and Randall was more like herself. The withdrawal of Shambler had created a little flurry, but not much. No one seemed to know where he had gone, and no word came as to what to do with his effects.

As for Frank, he was saddened, but not downcast. He announced his intention of taking up his case with the Amateur Athletic Union as soon as the games were completed.

"I'm sure they'll uphold my contention," he declared. "I'm an amateur, and I can prove it!"

"But it will be too late for any use," spoke Tom mournfully.

Words of sympathy had come from the girls, and Tom and his chums were duly grateful for them. It developed that neither Boxer Hall nor Fairview were in favor of forcing the issue against Randall, but that Exter, with perhaps exaggerated notions as to what const.i.tuted "amateur"

sport, had taken the initiative. Still Randall's lads did not complain.

It was the night before the big games. Gathered in the room of the inseparables were our old friends, Holly, Kindlings, Dutch, and a few other kindred spirits.

"Well, it's all over but the shouting," said Dutch, in mournful tones.

"To-morrow will tell the tale."

"Get out, you old croaker!" cried Kindlings.

"We're going to win! I'm sure of it!"

"If we had another week, I believe we would," a.s.serted Holly. "Tom and Sid could pull up by then. I'm almost tempted to telephone, even at this late day, and ask for a postponement. We're ent.i.tled to it, under the circ.u.mstances."

"Oh, forget it," advised Phil. "Be a sport! Play the game!"

"Just the same I wish something would happen to put things off until next Sat.u.r.day," insisted Holly.

"It's too late now," declared Kindlings. "We've got to take part to-morrow unless----"

He stopped suddenly, and held up his hand.

"What's the matter?" asked Tom, curiously.