de of disappointment came to the faces of the spectators, for that
was far below the Fardale record.

Rains, however, winked quietly to Bascomb, as if to say that the first
jump was a teaser, just to see what Merriwell would do.

Frank now took his position, ran swiftly and lightly down the turf, and
made the jump. He seemed to be doing his best, or nearly that, yet he
did not reach but a little beyond Rains' mark.

"Seventeen feet, six inches and a quarter," announced one of the
measurers.

"I wonder if that is anywhere near his limit?" thought Paul, as he
slowly walked back to the starting point. "I think I will have to give
him a stint this time."

As he faced the mark, he gathered his energies in every part of his
body, felt his muscles strain, knew his nerves were at their highest
tension.

"He's going to lay himself out this time," said one of the spectators
to another. "Seventeen feet will not be mentioned again."

Down the strip shot Rains. He reached the mark, and went flying
through the air like a bird, bringing a cry to the lips of those
watching, for they saw he had gone far ahead of the first jump.

"That was a beauty!" exclaimed Bascomb, speaking to Wat Snell, who
stood watching.

"It was a good jump," said Snell; "but Merriwell will beat it."

"What makes you think so?"

"Because that fellow always beats at everything. I had rather have his
luck than a license to steal! I've quit trying to down him, for I
found I was bound to get the worst of it if I kept it up."

"Oh, his time will come."

"Perhaps so; but it isn't coming in a hurry."

"Nineteen feet, three inches and a third," announced the measurer.

"Hooray!" shouted one of Paul's delighted admirers.

"That's the stuff! Merriwell will have to shake himself, if he means
to beat that."

But Frank had friends who were confident that he would still hold the
lead.

"Wait till the next measurement is taken," they said.

Frank's manner, as he took his place for the start, seemed to indicate
that he believed the task before him a difficult one.

"He's doubtful," muttered one of Paul's friends.

"He's losing courage," said another.

Pressing his lips together, Frank made the run, and the watchers held
their breath as he jumped.

"He's tied Rains!"

"Not much! He's behind!"

"Rains holds the lead!"

"Great Scott! is that Merriwell's best!"

Bascomb thumped Wat Snell on the back.

"What'd I tell you!" he laughed in S