“If Necker beats that, he’ll beat his own record by several inches.” The measurers were running the tape under the eyes of the judges. In a moment this was done, and a judge announced in a loud voice: “Frank Merriwell’s distance, twenty feet, eleven inches and a half!” There were some Yale men in the stand, and the Yale cheer went up instantly. “Merriwell wins!” was the cry that was repeated over and over. “That can’t be beaten to-day.” The next contestant seemed disheartened by the stunt, for he fell far short of nineteen feet. It happened that Necker was the eighth man on the list, while Morgan was ninth. When Necker’s turn came Merriwell held the record by eight inches. Necker had plenty of friends to cheer him. He looked pantherish in his jumping rig. He was thin, but his muscles were like bands of steel covered by pink velvet. Necker caught Manton’s eye as he walked out to the starting point. He nodded and smiled the least bit. “He’s confident,” said Manton; “and he knows what he can do. I believe he’ll beat Merriwell.” “Never!” retorted Frost. “It won’t be done in this event.” Necker balanced himself, made a start, went flying to the mark, and leaped. “He’s ’way behind!” growled Frost. “He has three tries, if he wishes to take them.” “I know he has. Merriwell didn’t try but once.” “He didn’t have to.” Necker’s first jump was not measured, for he had not made more than eighteen feet. He took his time about returning and starting again. The Eagle Heights men seemed to think he had little chance to defeat Merriwell, although they knew he could do much better than he had at first. The second time he tried it was seen that he meant to do his level best. He flew over the ground in strides which gathered impetus steadily, and he came to the mark in a perfect manner. Through the air he shot, his feet gathered beneath him. When it seemed that he must drop to the ground he kept on, flinging his feet far out, landing on his heels and coming up with an outswinging of his arms. Hobart Manton gave a yell. “He’s done it!” he cried. “I believe he’s beaten Merriwell!” “Keep still!” warned Frost; “they may put us off the field if you make too much of a fuss.” “How does it look to you?” “He’s tied Merriwell, at least, and he has still another trial. If he can tie him, he can beat him.” The stand was buzzing with excitement. Two persons in the stand were very anxious. They were Hodge and Starbright. “What do you think, Dick?” asked Bart. “If I’m not mistaken, he’s beaten Merry a bit.” “It can’t be possible!” “I’m afraid it is.” The measurers ran the tape. They took care. Then they consulted with the judges. One of the judges turned toward the stand. “Mr. Necker will not jump again,” he said. “His record is twenty-one feet and one inch.” The Eagle Heights men howled with satisfaction. Their man had defeated Merriwell by an inch and a half. Bart Hodge looked ill.