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THE PURPLE PENNANT

He tried to figure out how that could be, but was far too excited. When he had wrapped his robe around him he went back to the dressing-room for a rub, crossing the track just ahead of the half-milers who were coming around the turn. He stopped and watched them pass. Todd was running in third place, hugging the rim closely, and Lasker was on his heels. Train was one of a bunch of four who trailed a couple of yards back. Springdale had entered five men to Clearfield's three. Perry missed the finish of the half-mile, but Beaton brought the news into the dressing-room presently. Only Lasker had been placed, winning second. Linn of Springdale had finished first by nearly thirty yards in two minutes, eight and two-fifths seconds. Todd had been in the lead for the whole of the third lap but hadn't been able to keep it. He and Train had been a half-lap behind at the end.

"What's the score now, Arthur?" asked someone.

Beaton shook his head wryly. "Springdale's about twenty-one, I think, to our fifteen. We've got to begin and do something pretty soon. Guy's got first in the high-jump cinched, though. They're almost through."

"How's the shot-put getting on?" Perry asked.

"Not finished yet," replied Beaton. "I guess

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