And then he finished the turn and the rim ran straight beside him. And then the _pat_, _pat_ behind him crept nearer and nearer. Presently, when the stretch was half run, Allan was conscious, without looking--for he dared not take his eyes from the track ahead--of something grayish-white at his elbow. The time had come to do the impossible, to spur his weary limbs into renewed effort, to force his panting lungs to greater exertion, and to keep that grayish blur where it was. To have thrown himself--nay, to have simply let himself drop onto the grass beside the track and troubled no more about anything, would have been at that moment the greatest pleasure of a lifetime. But along the track voices were roaring and shrieking, and, although the words were sounds only, the meaning of them he knew. They wanted him to win, and the desire found a new echo in his heart. He wanted to win, and--why, yes, he _would_ win! And now the white line was in plain sight, although he didn’t see it, and the roar of voices was rising and growing. For a moment it seemed to him that he was motionless, and that the dark ranks on either side were moving slowly past him. And at the moment a glimpse of whitish-gray at his right dispelled the illusion, and with a sob for breath, he forced himself on. Once in that remaining twenty yards he staggered, and the watchers held their breaths for fear, but he recovered himself and plunged, reeling, on--and on--and on. Was there no end to it? he wondered, in agony. The haunting blur beside him was gone now, and---- “Hold up! Easy, man, easy!” cried a voice that he seemed to know, and then dozens of arms were clutching him, and he let himself go. And as his eyes closed a whitish form passed before them and dropped from sight. Tammen, plucky to the last, was being lifted from the track, where, defeated and exhausted, he had fallen. And Allan, with closed eyes and tortured lungs, felt himself being carried to the tent, while in his ears was a roar of sound that told of victory and a race well run. CHAPTER XXVI “VALE” Allan and Pete sat on the steps of McLean Hall. The yard was a fairyland of glowing lanterns and moving colors. Near at hand, in a bough-screened stand, the band was playing. Above their heads the old elms of Erskine rustled their leaves and whispered among themselves, comparing, perhaps, this class-day with the many that had gone before. On the gravel paths matrons and maids, in light gowns, accompanied by robed seniors or dress-suited undergraduates, passed and repassed. The scene was as fair a one as ever Allan had witnessed, while even Pete was forced to grudging admiration. “You’ll come out in August, then,” Pete was saying. “Yes,” answered Allan, “and don’t you be afraid I won’t turn up, for this is the biggest excursion I ever took. So far I’ve never been farther away from home than this, and Colorado seems like the other side of the world.” Pete smiled in the half-light.