CHAPTER XX.
THE BOY WHO WON---CONCLUSION "It's Nick Lang, as sure as anything!" shouted a boy who happened to possess an excellent pair of field-glasses.
"Nick Lang in the lead!" howled another; "well, what do you think of that?
Where, oh, where, oh, where is Hugh Morgan about this time; and 'Just' Smith in the bargain ?" "But Nick is a Scranton High boy after all, and that's a heap better than to see an Allandale fellow come in ahead!" cried another near by.
"Look! a second runner has turned the bend; and see how he is coming up on poor wobbly old Nick hand-over-fist!" "Hello! what's this mean ?" whooped a visitor exultantly.

"Surely I know the second fellow's build.

It's certainly our great Whipple! He's going to cop the prize, boys! Give Whipple an Allandale yell right now to encourage him!" Even as a score of boyish throats roared in response to this entreaty a third runner was discovered rounding the bend.

He appeared to be tearing along at race-horse speed, as though having a reserve stock of power upon which to call in this closing half-mile of the long race.
"Hugh Morgan!" The words seemed to run like wildfire through the vast crowd.

Everybody repeated them, some with a growing delight, others with a sense of impending disaster to the wild hopes they had been so ardently cherishing; all according to the viewpoint they held.