Keep it up now.

Hurrah!" Amid such shouts the race ends.

Wyndham first, Bloomfield a yard behind, and the Londoner, dead beat, a yard behind Bloomfield.
What wonder if the old school goes mad as it swarms over the cords and dashes towards the winner?
Telson actually forgets Parson, Cusack deserts even his own father in the jubilation of the moment, each striving to get within cheering distance of the heroes of the day as they are carried shoulder-high round the ground amid the shouts and applause of the whole multitude.
So ended, in a victory unparalleled in its glorious annals, the May Day races of 19-- at Willoughby; and there was not a fellow in the school, whether athlete or not, whose bosom did not glow with pride at the result.

That the school would not disgrace herself everyone had been perfectly certain, for was not Willoughby one of the crack athletic schools of the country, boasting of an endless succession of fine runners, and rowers, and cricketers?
But to score thus off a picked London athlete, beating him in two events, and in one of them doubly beating him, was a triumph only a very few had dared to anticipate, and even they were considerably astonished to find their prophecy come true.
Perhaps the person least excited by the entire day's events was the hero of the day himself.

Wyndham, the old captain, as he now was--for this was his last appearance at the old school--was not the sort of fellow to get his head turned by anything if he could help it.