The Willoughby Captains | Page 4

pass them at the end of the first lap the excitement of these youths
breaks forth into terrific shouts.
"Well run, Ashley; keep it up! He's blowing! Put it on there, Wyndham;
now's your time, Bloomfield!" And before the cries have left their lips
the procession has passed, and the second lap has begun.
Towards the end of the second lap Ashley shows signs of flagging, and
Bloomfield is quickening his pace.
"Huzza!" yells Parson; "Bloomfield's going to take it up now. Jolly
well-planned cut-out, eh, Telson?"
"Rather!" shrieks Telson. "Here they come! Whiskers is ahead. Now,
Willoughby--well run indeed! Lam it on, Bloomfield, you're gaining.
Keep it up, Ashley. Now, Wyndham; now!"
Ashley drops gradually to the rear, and before the final lap is half over
has retired from the race, covered with glory for his useful piece of
work. But anxious eyes are turned to the other three. The Londoner
holds his own, and Bloomfield's rush up seems to have come to nothing.
About a quarter of a mile from home an ominous silence drops upon
the crowd, and for a few moments Willoughby is too disheartened to
cheer. Then at last there rises a single wild cheer somewhere. What is it?
The positions are still the same, and-- No! Both Wyndham and
Bloomfield are gaining; and as the discovery is made there goes up
such a shout that the rooks in the elms start away from their nests in a

panic.
Never was seen such a gallant spurt in that old meadow. Foot by foot
the two Willoughby boys pull up and lessen the hateful distance which
divides them from the leader. He of course sees his danger, and
answers spurt for spurt. For a few yards he neither gains nor loses, then,
joyful sight, he loses!
"Look at them now!" cries Telson, as they approach--"look at them
both. They're both going to win! Ah, well run, Willoughby--splendidly
run; you're going like mad--keep it up! Huzzah! level. Keep it up!
Wyndham's ahead; so's Bloomfield. Both ahead! Well run both. Keep it
up now. Hurrah!"
Amid such shouts the race ends. Wyndham first, Bloomfield a yard
behind, and the Londoner, dead beat, a yard behind Bloomfield.
What wonder if the old school goes mad as it swarms over the cords
and dashes towards the winner? Telson actually forgets Parson, Cusack
deserts even his own father in the jubilation of the moment, each
striving to get within cheering distance of the heroes of the day as they
are carried shoulder-high round the ground amid the shouts and
applause of the whole multitude.
So ended, in a victory unparalleled in its glorious annals, the May Day
races of 19-- at Willoughby; and there was not a fellow in the school,
whether athlete or not, whose bosom did not glow with pride at the
result. That the school would not disgrace herself everyone had been
perfectly certain, for was not Willoughby one of the crack athletic
schools of the country, boasting of an endless succession of fine
runners, and rowers, and cricketers? But to score thus off a picked
London athlete, beating him in two events, and in one of them doubly
beating him, was a triumph only a very few had dared to anticipate, and
even they were considerably astonished to find their prophecy come
true.
Perhaps the person least excited by the entire day's events was the hero
of the day himself. Wyndham, the old captain, as he now was--for this

was his last appearance at the old school--was not the sort of fellow to
get his head turned by anything if he could help it. He hated scenes of
any sort, and therefore took a specially long time over his bath, which
his fag had prepared for him with the most lavish care. Boys waylaid
his door and the schoolhouse gate for a full hour ready to cheer him
when he came out; but he knew better than to gratify them and finally
they went off and lionised Bloomfield instead, who bore his laurels
with rather less indifference.
The old captain, however, could not wholly elude the honours destined
for him. Dinner in the big hall that afternoon was crowded to
overflowing. And when at its close the doctor stood up and, in
accordance with immemorial custom, proposed the health of the old
captain, who, he said, was not only head classic, but facile princeps in
all the manly sports for which Willoughby was famed, you would have
thought the old roof was coming down with the applause. Poor
Wyndham would fain have shirked his duty, had he been allowed to do
it. But Willoughby would as soon have given up a week of the summer
holiday as have gone without the captain's speech.
As he rose to his feet