...
I thought I had distanced everybody ... but it chilled me to hear the
soft swish, swish of another runner ... glancing rapidly behind, I saw a
swarthy lad, a fellow with a mop of wiry, black hair, whom we called
"The Hick" (for he had never been anywhere but on a farm)--going stride
for stride, right in my steps, just avoiding my heels....
Run as I might, I couldn't shake him off....
Every time I swept by, the crowd would set up a shout ... but now they
were encouraging "The hick" more than me. This made me furious, hurt my
egotism. My lungs were burning with effort ... I threw out into a longer
stride. I glanced back again. Still the chap was lumbering along ... but
easily, so easily ... almost without an effort....
"Good God, am I going to be beaten?" I sensed a terrific sprinting-power
in the following, chunky body of my antagonist.
There were only two more laps ... the rest of the field were a lap and a
half behind, fighting for third place amongst themselves ... jeered at
by the instinctive cruelty of the onlookers....
My ears perceived a cessation of the following swish, the tread.
Simultaneously I heard a great shout go up. I dared not look back,
however, to see what was happening--I threw myself forward at that
shout, fearing the worst, and ran myself blind....
* * * * *
"Take it easy, you have it!"
"Shut up! he's after the record.
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