HAPTER XX

THE BOY WHO WON---CONCLUSION

"It's Nick Lang, as sure as anything!" shouted a boy who happened to
possess an excellent pair of field-glasses.

"Nick Lang in the lead!" howled another; "well, what do you think of
that? Where, oh, where, oh, where is Hugh Morgan about this time;
and 'Just' Smith in the bargain?"

"But Nick is a Scranton High boy after all, and that's a heap better
than to see an Allandale fellow come in ahead!" cried another near by.

"Look! a second runner has turned the bend; and see how he is coming
up on poor wobbly old Nick hand-over-fist!"

"Hello! what's this mean?" whooped a visitor exultantly. "Surely
I know the second fellow's build. It's certainly our great Whipple!
He's going to cop the prize, boys! Give Whipple an Allandale yell
right now to encourage him!"

Even as a score of boyish throats roared in response to this entreaty
a third runner was discovered rounding the bend. He appeared to be
tearing along at race-horse speed, as though having a reserve stock
of power upon which to call in this closing half-mile of the long race.

"Hugh Morgan!"

The words seemed to run like wildfire through the vast crowd. Everybody
repeated them, some with a growing delight, others with a sense of
impending disaster to the wild hopes they had been so ardently
cherishing; all according to the viewpoint they held. Scranton's
register was rising, while Allandale visitors began to feel something
was on the verge of happening to crush the budding paean of victory
that was ready to bubble from their lips.

Nick evidently knew that he had shot his bolt. He, doubtless, tried
frantically to encourage his legs to move faster, but they refused to
hearken to the call. Whipple was now rapidly closing the short gap
existing between them. At the same time it could be seen that the
Allandale runner veered a trifle, as though to give Nick a fairly wide
berth when passing.

Plenty of fellows noticed this fact, nor did they wonder at it. The
tricky character of Nick Lang was pretty well known, and they believed
he would not hesitate about throwing himself sideways, so as to
collide with Whipple when the other was in the act of passing him;
although such a vindictive act could, of course, not better the
position of the local runner a particle.

When Whipple actually took the lead a great roar arose from thousands
of throats. Doubtless many wild-eyed Allandale enthusiasts already
counte