The Kingstonians have given up, and the Trojans have their cheers all ready.

And now the despairing Jumbo feels that his last minute has come.  But just for the fraction of a second he sees that the cautious Ware is slightly changing his hold.

With a sudden, a terrific effort, he throws all his soul into his muscles—­closes his arms like a vise on Ware’s arms.  The Nelson is broken, or weakened into uselessness.  He draws his head into his shoulders as a turtle’s head is drawn into its shell, whirls like lightning on the top of his head to his other shoulder, and on over, carrying the horrified Ware with him, plouncing the Trojan flat on his back, and plumping down on top of him.

And the excited referee went over on his back also, and kicked his heels foolishly in the air as he cried: 

“Down!”

Jumbo had won the match.

This brought the score of contests back to a tie, and the result of these Olympic games now rested entirely on the victors of the Tug of War.

XXVI

Curiously enough, the Trojans and the Kingstonians had each won a series of firsts, seconds, and thirds that totaled up the same.  So the Tug of War, which had been intended only for an exhibition, became in a sense the deciding event of the whole contest.

The captain of the Kingston four was the large Sawed-Off, who was also the anchor of his team.  He came out upon the floor, wearing around his waist a belt that was almost as graceful as a horse-collar, and quite as heavy, made, as it was, of padded leather.  It was suspended from his shoulders like a life-belt, and carried a deep groove around the middle of it.

The Troy captain had a similar contrivance about him, and he looked somewhat contemptuously upon the Kingstonians, who had not the beefy, brawny look of his own big four.

The eight took their places on the long board, each man with his feet against a cleat.  The rope was marked in its exact center with a white cord, and held there by a lever, which the umpire pressed down with his foot.

The Troy tuggers took a stout hold on the rope and faced the Kingstonians gloweringly.  The Kingston men, however, faced to the rear and straddled the rope—­all except Sawed-Off, who had wrapped it round his belt, and taken a hitch in it for security.  He faced the Trojans, and hoped that science would defeat beef once more in the history of athletics.

When all were ready the umpire shouted “Go!” and at the same instant released the lever and the cable.

The Trojans threw all their muscle into one terrific jerk; but each of Sawed-Off’s men, gripping the cable in front of him at arm’s-length, fell forward, face down.

By the impact of their full weight, and by relying not merely upon their arms, but on the whole pull of back and legs, the Kingstonians gave the rope a yank that would have annoyed an oak-tree, and certainly left the Trojans no chance.