he had begun to wobble
more or less, as though unable to continue on in a straight line.
That was another bad sign, since it causes the runner to cover
unnecessary ground; and also indicates a weakening heart.

Hugh let out another burst of speed. He was closing the gap rapidly;
and, apparently, Whipple also seemed to be gaining on the almost
played-out Nick.

They were now within less than a mile of the finish; the last turn
would soon be reached, with the gun booming out the fact of their
arrival. Hugh girded his loins for a Garrison finish, and gloried in
the conviction that he was in trim to do himself credit.

CHAPTER 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 b