The cadets had arranged for a series of athletic contests, to come off at the beginning of the following week.  There was to be broad and high jumping, and running, as well as throwing the hammer.  All of the students were interested, and for some time these contests formed the total subject of conversation.

The cadets to enter for the various events, eight in number, were those already introduced in these pages and a dozen or fifteen in addition, all lively, wide-awake youths, each of whom looked as if he would do his best to win.

In a manner not to be easily explained, the camp divided itself into two factions, one led by Dick and Major Larry, and the other led by Lew Flapp and Pender.  To the former belonged the Rovers and their numerous chums, and to the latter Rockley, Ben Hurdy, and boys of a similar turn.  Each crowd had one or more followers entered for every event and, as before, numerous wagers were made as to which person and which crowd would win.

Dick had entered for the high jump, Tom for the hammer throwing, and Sam for a half mile race for cadets of his own class.  The boys practiced a good deal, although not always where the others could see what they were doing.

The day for the contests was a perfect one and as news of the events had traveled to Oakville and other places, quite a respectable crowd of outsiders came to the camp to witness the affair.

“I hope you Rover boys win,” said Alice Staton, who had come with her twin sister and her mother in a buggy.

“Thank you,” returned Dick politely.  “We shall certainly do our best.  But you must remember that we have some first-class athletes at this academy.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it.  All academies have them,” put in Helen Staton.

The first event to come off was the hammer throwing, to take place in the middle of the parade ground.  There were four entries for this, Tom, as already mentioned, Jackson, Powell, and a big boy named Larson.

Larson, who belonged to the Flapp crowd, was looked on as the probable winner, for he handled the hammer exceedingly well.  But Jackson could also throw, as the others well knew.  Nothing was known about the skill of Tom or Powell in this direction.

The contest began with a throw by Powell.  It was not very good and Jackson outdistanced him by three feet.

“That’s the style, Jackson!” cried Lew Flapp.  “Show ’em what you can do.”

“This is the day our crowd comes out on top,” put in Pender.

“Crowing rather early, seems to me,” came from Fred Garrison dryly.

It was now Tom’s turn and he threw the hammer with all the force at his command.  It fell just beyond the point reached by Jackson.

“Good for you, Tom!” cried Sam.  “That’s the way to do it.”

“Humph!  Just wait till Larson takes his turn,” came from a Flapp follower.

Larson stepped to the mark with the air of one who knows just what he is doing.  Up went the hammer with a long swing—­to land in the very spot where Tom had thrown it.