Tom got off in good shape on the half mile track, two circuits of which were necessary to make the required distance.
“He certainly can go,” observed Holly Cross, who, with Kindlings, and some other kindred spirits, was watching the test.
“Come on! Come on!” yelled Bean Perkins, who was getting his voice in shape for the strain that would be put on it when the games were called. “Oh you, Tom Parsons! Come on!”
And Tom came. Running freely and well, he covered yard after yard, doing the half just a shade better than his other performance.
“Now for the real test,” murmured Kindlings, as our hero swung around the track on the final lap.
There were many eager faces lining the rail, and hands that held stop watches trembled a bit. On and on ran Tom, until he breasted the tape at the finish.
“Time! Time! What’s the time?” shouted the eager students who knew that fifths of seconds counted in a championship meet.
“Four minutes, forty-one and two-fifth seconds,” announced Holly. “Tom, that’s the best yet!”
“We’ll win! We’ll win!” screamed Bean. “Come on, boys!” he called to his crowd of shouters, “let’s practice that new song, ‘We’ll cross the line a winner, or we’ll never cross at all.’ All on the job, now.”
“Tom, old man, you’re all right,” cried Phil, as his chum slipped a sweater over his shoulders. “You’re going to win!”
There was a comparison of records, and it was found that while Tom’s was a little behind some mile run performances, it was better than that of a number of former champions.
“I think he can cut down a second or two when the games are run off,” said Kindlings, discussing the matter with Holly. “There’ll be a band then, and that always helps a lot, and big crowds, to say nothing of Bean and his shouters.”
“And the girls,” added wise Holly. “Tom’s got a girl in Fairview, I understand, and if she’s on hand he’ll run his head off.”
“Then we’ll have to have her on hand, if we’ve got to bribe her,” declared Kindlings.
“Oh, I guess she won’t need any bribing,” went on his chum. “Now let’s see what Sid can do.”
Sid, on whom the hopes of Randall rested to win the broad jump, was on his mettle. He could easily cover twenty feet, without straining himself, and to-day, in what all regarded as among the last of the important practices, he had several times, gone an inch or two over.