finish but a few yards away.
Then fortune, thus far quite impartial, turned her face to Chub. Jack
stumbled on the wooden rim of the track and, while he saved himself from
falling, gave Chub his chance, and in another second the latter youth
was through the gate and lying with tossing arms on the lawn. Jack
finished a scant yard behind him and keeled over in his turn.

Horace Burlen set down the times on the list he held and others sprang
to the aid of the exhausted runners. Then all eyes turned again toward
the corner of the field, for someone was struggling over the fence
there. Down he jumped and came trotting across, apparently much fresher
than Chub and Jack. It was Townsend, of the Middle Class. When he was
half way across the field a fourth runner appeared, made several
attempts to surmount the bars, leaned against them a moment, and found
his breath and then came over.

"It's Pryor," said Horace. "That's two for the Middlers, and one each
for the First and Second Seniors."

"What was Chub Eaton's time?" asked Forrest as Townsend finished.

"Four and three-eighths minutes better than the record made four years
ago by Gooch," answered Horace.

"Well, I'm glad Roy Porter didn't win," said Harry vindictively. Chub
rolled over on his elbows.

"He went down and out--two miles back," said Chub. He looked across at
Jack, who was sitting up and breathing like a steam-engine. "Sorry I
beat you, Jack. I wouldn't have if you hadn't stumbled."

Jack nodded with a smile.

"Glad you won, old man," he said. "It was a tough old run, and you can
bet I'm glad it's over. Phew! but I'm tuckered."

"Same here. That last mile was the dickens. There's someone else
coming--two, three of them! One of 'em's fallen off the fence. Gee! I
thought I'd never get over that thing!" He got up, followed by Jack, and
passed through the gate. "Hello, Townsend! How was the road?"

"Rutty as anything and mighty hard running. I got a stitch in my side
about a mile back and had to let up for a while. Passed Pryor moseying
along down near the corner. Who's that coming?"

"Porter, by Jove!" cried Chub.

"Porter nothing!" said Horace. "That's Warren. And the next two are
Glidden and Chase. That makes First and Second Seniors and Middlers
tied for first so far. Chase is a Junior, isn't he?"

"Yes," answered Townsend.

Chase, a youngster of thirteen, made a plucky race across the field and
beat Glidden of the Second Senior Class by three ya