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      "Nineteen feet, three inches and a third," announced the measurer.

      "Hooray!" shouted one of Paul's delighted admirers.

      "That's the stuff! Merriwell will have to shake himself, if he means to beat that."

      But Frank had friends who were confident that he would still hold the lead.

      "Wait till the next measurement is taken," they said.

      Frank's manner, as he took his place for the start, seemed to indicate that he believed the task before him a difficult one.

      "He's doubtful," muttered one of Paul's friends.

      "He's losing courage," said another.

      Pressing his lips together, Frank made the run, and the watchers held their breath as he jumped.

      "He's tied Rains!"

      "Not much! He's behind!"

      "Rains holds the lead!"

      "Great Scott! is that Merriwell's best!"

      Bascomb thumped Wat Snell on the back.

      "What'd I tell you!" he laughed in Snell's ear. "This is right where Merriwell loses some of his glory. Rains has beaten him."

      "This time, perhaps," admitted Snell; "but there is another jump to follow, and the best score made is the one that decides the contest. You will find Merriwell is not beaten yet."

      "Why, you talk as if you wanted him to beat!"

      "Not much! I would give almost anything to see him beaten at everything he attempts. Don't think for a minute that I am in love with that fellow!"

      The tape had been run, and now the announcement was heard:

      "Nineteen feet, one inch and one-third."

      Rains had beaten Merriwell by two inches on the second jump.

      But the contest was not yet over, and there was a chance that Frank would finally redeem himself.

      Frank's friends were disappointed. Hodge showed deep chagrin in his face, as he drew Merriwell aside, saying swiftly and guardedly:

      "You're making a mistake, old man, if you are holding off for the last jump. The second jump is the one to lay yourself out on always."

      "Perhaps I did," smiled Frank.

      "What!" gasped Hodge. "And he has beaten you!"

      "It looks that way, doesn't it?"

      "But—but—I—I won't believe it! You can do better—you must do better! Why, old man, you will lose your grip if you don't beat him!"

      "You do not expect impossibilities, do you?"

      "No, but——"

      "Would you go back on me if I lost this match?"

      "You know better, Frank! I would stick by you under any circumstances!"

      "Then I shall not feel so bad about losing it."

      Hodge gasped and clutched the arm of his roommate.

      "For gracious sake, you don't mean to say he had set you a stint you cannot beat? You mustn't lose—you shan't lose! Do brace up, old man! Why, think how those fellows who are envious of you will rejoice if Rains comes out on top! You must win!"

      "Well, I will do my best on the next. There goes Rains for the last jump."

      With the ghost of a triumphant mile on his face, Paul again took his place at the starting point. The smile vanished, and a look of resolution took its place.

      "He is going to try to beat your other jump!" said Bascomb.

      "He can't do it," declared Snell.

      "Wait and see."

      Paul had really resolved to beat his last jump. As he ran, he gathered momentum, gauging the distance carefully, and reaching the mark exactly. The jump was a splendid one, and it was instantly seen that he had actually beaten his former record.

      Quickly and carefully the tape was stretched.

      "Nineteen feet, nine inches and three-fourths!"

      Then there were exclamations of wonderment from all sides, and more than one declared Merriwell was badly beaten. There were not a few among Frank's friends who confessed that he had very little chance, and the faces of those who said nothing showed that they had lost heart to a great extent.

      Hodge continued to talk excitedly to Merriwell, who shook his head, looking very grave.

      Paul Rains was quietly triumphant, for he felt that he was safely the winner of this contest.

      Merriwell and Hodge went up the strip together, the latter still talking and making an occasional gesture. Reaching the starting point, they paused and stood talking.

      "By smoke!" laughed Bascomb; "Merriwell doesn't want to try it at all, and Hodge is having hard work to induce him to do so! Rains has this match in a walkover."

      "That remains to be seen," said one of Frank's friends, doggedly. "You may be right, but don't you fancy for a moment that Merriwell is going to give up without jumping. He isn't that kind of a hairpin, my boy."

      "Well, he might as well give up without another try, for he doesn't stand any show."

      "Oh, wait and see—wait and see," was all that Frank's defender could say.

      Hodge was now seen to leave Merriwell and come back down the runway, and it was noted that the look on his face was far from one of confidence and satisfaction.

      "When Hodge loses confidence in Merriwell, the case is desperate," declared Bascomb.

      "That's so," confessed Wat Snell. "I am beginning to hope."

      "Merriwell is making ready—he's preparing for the run!"

      All eyes were now fixed on Frank, who had taken his position at the starting point. He was seen to dig his toe into the ground to get a brace, and he leaned far forward, with one hand outstretched, then he darted toward the mark.

      With the speed of a fawn, Frank came down the run, reached the mark, shot like a leopard into the air, sailed like a soaring bird, and landed safely far beyond Rains' best mark—so far, indeed, that the crowd was too astonished to make a sound, but stood staring as the tape was laid.

      "Twenty-one feet and two inches!" came the electrifying announcement.

      Then, for all of rules, for all of Professor Rhynas, Frank's friends made the air ring with their wild shouts of applause.

      CHAPTER XX.

       BASCOMB'S MISTAKE.

       Table of Contents

      Paul Rains was struck with dismay and confusion, which threatened to turn to anger.

      He saw the crowd gathering round Frank, and congratulating him. Paul was left quite alone. Not even Bascomb approached him, for the big plebe was too dismayed to say anything or do anything.

      Wat Snell simply muttered:

      "I knew it!"

      His tone expressed his hopeless disgust.

      Frank's hand was wrung till his arm ached, and he was told over and over that he would make a new record for Fardale Academy if he chose to enter the athletic contests in the spring.

      "If he chooses!" shouted one enthusiastic fellow. "He'll have to enter, whether he chooses or not! You don't suppose we will let a fellow like him remain out of it, do you!"

      "I knew you could do it, old man!" murmured Bart Hodge, his dark face flushed with pleasure. "You were bluffing all the while that you pretended to doubt."

      "I wanted to see

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