CHAPTER XIV—A GOOD STARTThe day of the tournament at Santa Barbara arrived and brought with it large crowds of visitors from various parts of the State. There was a great swarm of strangers in the beautiful little town that lies between the blue Santa Yenz Mountains and the dreaming sea.The field for the sports and contests lay outside the town, and there the crowd gathered at an early hour.It had been arranged that such contests as putting the shot, throwing the hammer, jumping, vaulting, wrestling, and so forth, should come before the races.Browning had been induced to enter the hammer-throwing and shot-putting contests, while Barney was anxious to show what he could do at the high jump and the long jump. Diamond had decided to take part in the pole vaulting.The boys’ bicycles had arrived by express the day before, having been forwarded from San Francisco, and Rattleton entered for the two-mile bicycle race, after vainly trying to induce Frank to go into it.“I’ll have quite all I want to do in the hundred yards’ dash and the two-hundred-and-twenty yards’ hurdle,” smiled Frank. “I am not going to break myself all up at the very beginning of our new tour.”“That’s right,” said Hodge, significantly; “and you will find Wallace Random a sharp rival in both of those contests. It won’t surprise me, Frank, if you are unable to defeat him.”“Indeed!” exclaimed Merry, lifting his eyebrows and regarding Bart coolly. “There was a time when you thought no person could defeat me.”Bart flushed and moved uneasily.“You’re a dandy, old fellow,” he said; “but Random has a record. He is the amateur champion of this State.”“And still you are going to be in the hurdle race! That is remarkable. What do you expect to win?”“Well, I can’t do worse than get last position,” returned Bart, somewhat sulkily. “I do not expect to beat Wallace Random.”Frank turned away.Inza Burrage was present to witness the contests, but Frank could not get a chance to speak to her. Effie Random held several conversations with her brother.Ephraim Gallup, who happened to pass near them as they were talking, heard a few words from each.“Beat him if you can,” said Effie, “beat him in both races.”“I will,” confidently declared Random. “You may be sure of that.”“You don’t know him, or you would not speak thus confidently. He always wins at everything he tries. I wish to see him defeated.”“Don’t worry: your wish shall be granted.”Then Ephraim heard no more.“Wal, darn my punkins!” he muttered. “I’d like ter know who they be talkin’ abaout. You don’t s’pose it’s Frank!”He was startled by the possibility, but quickly decided that such a thing could not be.Early on the morning of the previous day, after the Yale Combine had been organized, Frank had hastened to order some suits for the club, which they were to wear while taking part in certain contests. These suits were short, light trousers, scarcely coming to the knees of the wearers, and close fitting dark-blue shirts, each having a large white Y on the breast.By paying well for it, Merry was able to get several suits rushed through, so the boys who were to take part in the sports requiring great exertion each could have a suit.The first contest was putting the shot.There were six contestants, and Browning came fourth on the list.The big fellow looked fine, and said he felt well, although he growled a bit, as usual, because he had to do something besides be a spectator.The Santa Barbara athletic club also had a big lad who was an expert shot-putter and hammer thrower. His name was Benson.Benson was the sixth man on the list, that position having come to him by lot.A slender chap by the name of Cummings, from Salinas, started the ball rolling by making a distance of thirty-three feet and four inches.This was not beaten till Browning came up.“Do your best, old man,” urged Frank. “You can do a good job if you try. You know big Hickok has a record of forty-two and nine.”Bruce grunted.“I don’t suppose you expect me to beat Hickok, do you?” he growled.“Not exactly,” smiled Frank; “but you can come near him.”Browning limbered up, and then took his position. He was regarded with great curiosity, as it had become known that he was from Yale, and something good was expected of him.His first put, however, was a disappointment to everybody, as he fell under Cummings by five inches.“Oh, he’s too lazy for anything!” muttered Diamond. “He can do better than that.”“He will do better,” declared Frank.But, to the astonishment of all, Browning made scarcely thirty-one feet on his second trial.There were cries of amusement and derision from the crowd, and a voice shouted:“Is that one of the wonderful men from Yale? He does not seem to be such hot stuff. Wait till you see Benson toss the shot.”Browning stiffened up, and his face became set. He glanced at Frank, expecting Merriwell would be angry, but was met with a smile and a nod of encouragement.“I’ll do something this time if it’s in me!” Bruce mentally vowed.He did.On the third trial he sent the shot whizzing through the air to fall far beyond the mark made by Cummings.When the tape was run it was found he had made thirty-eight feet and eleven inches.Then Browning was given a round of applause, and Frank congratulated him when he stepped back into the crowd.The man who followed Browning made thirty-two feet, and then Benson came up. Wallace Random said a few words to Santa Barbara’s champion shot putter, and Benson nodded, although there was a worried look on his face.The crowd of spectators were silent and expectant.What would Benson do? Could he beat the man from the East?At Benson’s first trial he made thirty-seven feet and nine inches.This brought some applause, and a man cried:“Wait a minute! He will show you something better than that.”But to the dismay of Benson’s admirers, he fell back to thirty-six on the second trial.He prepared for the third and last effort, and it was seen by the expression of his face that he meant to beat the record if it was in him. With the shot in his hand, he poised himself for the throw, falling back on his right foot. The muscles of his right arm and shoulder stood out in hard bunches, while his left arm was extended, his hand being clinched.A moment he remained thus, and then, with a mighty heave, he sent the shot flying through the air.With a thud, it dropped to the sandy ground and lay still.“He has won! He has won!”The cry went up from Benson’s friends.“Wait a moment till the measurement is made,” said Frank Merriwell, quietly, as the tape was laid.There was a great hush of expectancy, and then the voice of the judge was heard to declare:“Thirty-eight feet and nine inches. Bruce Browning, of Yale College, has won over all by a margin of two inches.”A moment of silence, and then the familiar Yale yell of victory pealed like a war cry from the lips of the college lads.The Yale Combine had started out with flying colors.
CHAPTER XIV—A GOOD STARTThe day of the tournament at Santa Barbara arrived and brought with it large crowds of visitors from various parts of the State. There was a great swarm of strangers in the beautiful little town that lies between the blue Santa Yenz Mountains and the dreaming sea.The field for the sports and contests lay outside the town, and there the crowd gathered at an early hour.It had been arranged that such contests as putting the shot, throwing the hammer, jumping, vaulting, wrestling, and so forth, should come before the races.Browning had been induced to enter the hammer-throwing and shot-putting contests, while Barney was anxious to show what he could do at the high jump and the long jump. Diamond had decided to take part in the pole vaulting.The boys’ bicycles had arrived by express the day before, having been forwarded from San Francisco, and Rattleton entered for the two-mile bicycle race, after vainly trying to induce Frank to go into it.“I’ll have quite all I want to do in the hundred yards’ dash and the two-hundred-and-twenty yards’ hurdle,” smiled Frank. “I am not going to break myself all up at the very beginning of our new tour.”“That’s right,” said Hodge, significantly; “and you will find Wallace Random a sharp rival in both of those contests. It won’t surprise me, Frank, if you are unable to defeat him.”“Indeed!” exclaimed Merry, lifting his eyebrows and regarding Bart coolly. “There was a time when you thought no person could defeat me.”Bart flushed and moved uneasily.“You’re a dandy, old fellow,” he said; “but Random has a record. He is the amateur champion of this State.”“And still you are going to be in the hurdle race! That is remarkable. What do you expect to win?”“Well, I can’t do worse than get last position,” returned Bart, somewhat sulkily. “I do not expect to beat Wallace Random.”Frank turned away.Inza Burrage was present to witness the contests, but Frank could not get a chance to speak to her. Effie Random held several conversations with her brother.Ephraim Gallup, who happened to pass near them as they were talking, heard a few words from each.“Beat him if you can,” said Effie, “beat him in both races.”“I will,” confidently declared Random. “You may be sure of that.”“You don’t know him, or you would not speak thus confidently. He always wins at everything he tries. I wish to see him defeated.”“Don’t worry: your wish shall be granted.”Then Ephraim heard no more.“Wal, darn my punkins!” he muttered. “I’d like ter know who they be talkin’ abaout. You don’t s’pose it’s Frank!”He was startled by the possibility, but quickly decided that such a thing could not be.Early on the morning of the previous day, after the Yale Combine had been organized, Frank had hastened to order some suits for the club, which they were to wear while taking part in certain contests. These suits were short, light trousers, scarcely coming to the knees of the wearers, and close fitting dark-blue shirts, each having a large white Y on the breast.By paying well for it, Merry was able to get several suits rushed through, so the boys who were to take part in the sports requiring great exertion each could have a suit.The first contest was putting the shot.There were six contestants, and Browning came fourth on the list.The big fellow looked fine, and said he felt well, although he growled a bit, as usual, because he had to do something besides be a spectator.The Santa Barbara athletic club also had a big lad who was an expert shot-putter and hammer thrower. His name was Benson.Benson was the sixth man on the list, that position having come to him by lot.A slender chap by the name of Cummings, from Salinas, started the ball rolling by making a distance of thirty-three feet and four inches.This was not beaten till Browning came up.“Do your best, old man,” urged Frank. “You can do a good job if you try. You know big Hickok has a record of forty-two and nine.”Bruce grunted.“I don’t suppose you expect me to beat Hickok, do you?” he growled.“Not exactly,” smiled Frank; “but you can come near him.”Browning limbered up, and then took his position. He was regarded with great curiosity, as it had become known that he was from Yale, and something good was expected of him.His first put, however, was a disappointment to everybody, as he fell under Cummings by five inches.“Oh, he’s too lazy for anything!” muttered Diamond. “He can do better than that.”“He will do better,” declared Frank.But, to the astonishment of all, Browning made scarcely thirty-one feet on his second trial.There were cries of amusement and derision from the crowd, and a voice shouted:“Is that one of the wonderful men from Yale? He does not seem to be such hot stuff. Wait till you see Benson toss the shot.”Browning stiffened up, and his face became set. He glanced at Frank, expecting Merriwell would be angry, but was met with a smile and a nod of encouragement.“I’ll do something this time if it’s in me!” Bruce mentally vowed.He did.On the third trial he sent the shot whizzing through the air to fall far beyond the mark made by Cummings.When the tape was run it was found he had made thirty-eight feet and eleven inches.Then Browning was given a round of applause, and Frank congratulated him when he stepped back into the crowd.The man who followed Browning made thirty-two feet, and then Benson came up. Wallace Random said a few words to Santa Barbara’s champion shot putter, and Benson nodded, although there was a worried look on his face.The crowd of spectators were silent and expectant.What would Benson do? Could he beat the man from the East?At Benson’s first trial he made thirty-seven feet and nine inches.This brought some applause, and a man cried:“Wait a minute! He will show you something better than that.”But to the dismay of Benson’s admirers, he fell back to thirty-six on the second trial.He prepared for the third and last effort, and it was seen by the expression of his face that he meant to beat the record if it was in him. With the shot in his hand, he poised himself for the throw, falling back on his right foot. The muscles of his right arm and shoulder stood out in hard bunches, while his left arm was extended, his hand being clinched.A moment he remained thus, and then, with a mighty heave, he sent the shot flying through the air.With a thud, it dropped to the sandy ground and lay still.“He has won! He has won!”The cry went up from Benson’s friends.“Wait a moment till the measurement is made,” said Frank Merriwell, quietly, as the tape was laid.There was a great hush of expectancy, and then the voice of the judge was heard to declare:“Thirty-eight feet and nine inches. Bruce Browning, of Yale College, has won over all by a margin of two inches.”A moment of silence, and then the familiar Yale yell of victory pealed like a war cry from the lips of the college lads.The Yale Combine had started out with flying colors.
The day of the tournament at Santa Barbara arrived and brought with it large crowds of visitors from various parts of the State. There was a great swarm of strangers in the beautiful little town that lies between the blue Santa Yenz Mountains and the dreaming sea.
The field for the sports and contests lay outside the town, and there the crowd gathered at an early hour.
It had been arranged that such contests as putting the shot, throwing the hammer, jumping, vaulting, wrestling, and so forth, should come before the races.
Browning had been induced to enter the hammer-throwing and shot-putting contests, while Barney was anxious to show what he could do at the high jump and the long jump. Diamond had decided to take part in the pole vaulting.
The boys’ bicycles had arrived by express the day before, having been forwarded from San Francisco, and Rattleton entered for the two-mile bicycle race, after vainly trying to induce Frank to go into it.
“I’ll have quite all I want to do in the hundred yards’ dash and the two-hundred-and-twenty yards’ hurdle,” smiled Frank. “I am not going to break myself all up at the very beginning of our new tour.”
“That’s right,” said Hodge, significantly; “and you will find Wallace Random a sharp rival in both of those contests. It won’t surprise me, Frank, if you are unable to defeat him.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Merry, lifting his eyebrows and regarding Bart coolly. “There was a time when you thought no person could defeat me.”
Bart flushed and moved uneasily.
“You’re a dandy, old fellow,” he said; “but Random has a record. He is the amateur champion of this State.”
“And still you are going to be in the hurdle race! That is remarkable. What do you expect to win?”
“Well, I can’t do worse than get last position,” returned Bart, somewhat sulkily. “I do not expect to beat Wallace Random.”
Frank turned away.
Inza Burrage was present to witness the contests, but Frank could not get a chance to speak to her. Effie Random held several conversations with her brother.
Ephraim Gallup, who happened to pass near them as they were talking, heard a few words from each.
“Beat him if you can,” said Effie, “beat him in both races.”
“I will,” confidently declared Random. “You may be sure of that.”
“You don’t know him, or you would not speak thus confidently. He always wins at everything he tries. I wish to see him defeated.”
“Don’t worry: your wish shall be granted.”
Then Ephraim heard no more.
“Wal, darn my punkins!” he muttered. “I’d like ter know who they be talkin’ abaout. You don’t s’pose it’s Frank!”
He was startled by the possibility, but quickly decided that such a thing could not be.
Early on the morning of the previous day, after the Yale Combine had been organized, Frank had hastened to order some suits for the club, which they were to wear while taking part in certain contests. These suits were short, light trousers, scarcely coming to the knees of the wearers, and close fitting dark-blue shirts, each having a large white Y on the breast.
By paying well for it, Merry was able to get several suits rushed through, so the boys who were to take part in the sports requiring great exertion each could have a suit.
The first contest was putting the shot.
There were six contestants, and Browning came fourth on the list.
The big fellow looked fine, and said he felt well, although he growled a bit, as usual, because he had to do something besides be a spectator.
The Santa Barbara athletic club also had a big lad who was an expert shot-putter and hammer thrower. His name was Benson.
Benson was the sixth man on the list, that position having come to him by lot.
A slender chap by the name of Cummings, from Salinas, started the ball rolling by making a distance of thirty-three feet and four inches.
This was not beaten till Browning came up.
“Do your best, old man,” urged Frank. “You can do a good job if you try. You know big Hickok has a record of forty-two and nine.”
Bruce grunted.
“I don’t suppose you expect me to beat Hickok, do you?” he growled.
“Not exactly,” smiled Frank; “but you can come near him.”
Browning limbered up, and then took his position. He was regarded with great curiosity, as it had become known that he was from Yale, and something good was expected of him.
His first put, however, was a disappointment to everybody, as he fell under Cummings by five inches.
“Oh, he’s too lazy for anything!” muttered Diamond. “He can do better than that.”
“He will do better,” declared Frank.
But, to the astonishment of all, Browning made scarcely thirty-one feet on his second trial.
There were cries of amusement and derision from the crowd, and a voice shouted:
“Is that one of the wonderful men from Yale? He does not seem to be such hot stuff. Wait till you see Benson toss the shot.”
Browning stiffened up, and his face became set. He glanced at Frank, expecting Merriwell would be angry, but was met with a smile and a nod of encouragement.
“I’ll do something this time if it’s in me!” Bruce mentally vowed.
He did.
On the third trial he sent the shot whizzing through the air to fall far beyond the mark made by Cummings.
When the tape was run it was found he had made thirty-eight feet and eleven inches.
Then Browning was given a round of applause, and Frank congratulated him when he stepped back into the crowd.
The man who followed Browning made thirty-two feet, and then Benson came up. Wallace Random said a few words to Santa Barbara’s champion shot putter, and Benson nodded, although there was a worried look on his face.
The crowd of spectators were silent and expectant.
What would Benson do? Could he beat the man from the East?
At Benson’s first trial he made thirty-seven feet and nine inches.
This brought some applause, and a man cried:
“Wait a minute! He will show you something better than that.”
But to the dismay of Benson’s admirers, he fell back to thirty-six on the second trial.
He prepared for the third and last effort, and it was seen by the expression of his face that he meant to beat the record if it was in him. With the shot in his hand, he poised himself for the throw, falling back on his right foot. The muscles of his right arm and shoulder stood out in hard bunches, while his left arm was extended, his hand being clinched.
A moment he remained thus, and then, with a mighty heave, he sent the shot flying through the air.
With a thud, it dropped to the sandy ground and lay still.
“He has won! He has won!”
The cry went up from Benson’s friends.
“Wait a moment till the measurement is made,” said Frank Merriwell, quietly, as the tape was laid.
There was a great hush of expectancy, and then the voice of the judge was heard to declare:
“Thirty-eight feet and nine inches. Bruce Browning, of Yale College, has won over all by a margin of two inches.”
A moment of silence, and then the familiar Yale yell of victory pealed like a war cry from the lips of the college lads.
The Yale Combine had started out with flying colors.