popular, and the grandstand gave him
an ovation as he took his position under the wire. It seemed as though
the handkerchief of every girl present was in the air. The two
figureheads, friends of Richards, came next, and last of all Chester.

A feeble attempt at applause marked his passage in front of the
grandstand; but he never looked up, and for any indication he gave to
the contrary, he might have been the only person on the grounds. His
track suit was hidden by a long black door curtain, in lieu of a
bath-robe, and a pretty girl on the front row remarked audibly, "He's
all ready for the funeral."

"Sure thing," answered her companion. "He knows his obsequies are
about to take place."

"Peels well," a man by the rail critically commented.
"But--rats!--Richards has pocketed this event ever since he's been
here; you can't make the pace for him with anything slower than an
auto."

The runners were in line at last, crouching low, tense, finger-tips
upon the ground, the starting-pistol above their heads.

"Starters ready?" floated in a sing-song voice from the judges' stand.
"Timers r-r-read-y-y?" A sharp crack from the pistol, and they were
off.

Then a queer thing happened. Instead of dawdling along behind, as
every one expected, Chester, without an instant's hesitation, pushed
to the front and set the pace.

And what a pace! It was literally a race from the word go. Chester
took the inside and faced the music, Richards and the others close in
behind. Sympathy in the grandstand was beginning to turn; everybody
appreciates pluck. The spectators, however, knew him to be a novice,
and many supposed that he had lost his head; so when he passed the
grandstand on the first lap, any amount of contradictory advice was
shouted noisily.

"Let them set the pace!" "You're killing yourself!" "Oh, you bally
Lord!--go it, kid!" "Don't let 'em nose you out, Chester, old scout!"
"Save your air, old top, you'll need it!" and much more of a like kind
was hurled at him, which reached his ears through the veil of singing
wind, like the roar of distant breakers upon the seashore.

He kept his own counsel. He had followed that pace every day during
the last two weeks of his training, and he knew precisely what he
could do. Besides the air was quiet, and the disadvantage of being
pace-maker was not so great as people thought.

In this formation they came round the half-mile oval the second time,
each man working with the nice re