At the other end of the hall Erskine’s last hope was leaning over the mark, one slim white arm thrust forward and one reaching impatiently back toward where Tolmann, swaying and gasping, was vainly striving to save the race. Poor looked plucky without a doubt, and when, after what seemed an age, Tolmann struck weakly at his hand and staggered off the track, he was off like a shot, his thin legs twinkling like a salmon-colored streak as he followed the Robinson captain. The latter was almost a quarter of a lap ahead and was running easily, yet keeping a watchful glance upon his opponent. And, as it proved, that watchful glance was not thrown away. The band blared forth a two-step with might and main, supporters of the rival colleges clapped, shouted, and shrieked, and the runners’ shoes _tap-tapped_ on the floor and pounded over the built-up corners. And then, of a sudden, a roar started among the audience and gathered volume and swept deafeningly across the great hall, and Allan, raising himself on tiptoes, gave a shout of joy. For just an instant or two after passing the second turn the Robinson captain had become inattentive to his pursuer, and in that brief moment Poor had literally eaten up space with his flying feet until now twenty yards would have spanned the distance between them. Jones, warned by the applause, leaped ahead, but Poor refused to yield an inch he had gained. More than that, he kept on gaining. The bell clanged the beginning of the last lap of the race and the Robinson runner swept over the line fifteen yards ahead of Poor, his long strides making the latter’s look ridiculously short by comparison. But if his strides were short, they were also rapid, and Poor, his little, weazened face screwed into an agony of effort, chased his opponent down in the next half lap, and at the second turn was barely two yards behind. Jones was plainly worried. As he pounded around the corner his right arm was thrust out in an involuntary effort to keep his opponent from passing him. But Poor was not able to do that on the turn, and for the next stretch their relative positions remained unchanged. As they dashed by the group at the dressing-room door, Allan and Long and Harris and the others shrieked exhortations and encouragement to their runner. Then the next turn was taken, Jones stumbled, saved himself, and led the way down the last stretch, his head back, his mouth wide open, and his speed lessening at every stride. But if he was ready to give up, so, too, was Poor, who had run a quarter of a lap farther than he. And all the way down that stretch the Robinson captain struggled and faltered and the Erskine runner dogged his steps, unable to pass him. And then something happened, and so quickly that it was all over before the sight had time to register the meaning of it on the brain.