.

Fred did not introduce Yates; he was too much broken up to think of such
a thing.

"That's what I'd like to know," he said, helplessly. "You know we were
told Merriwell was not on hand to run."

"But he showed up in time to dress, and I was coolly informed that I
wasn't in it. I object to such treatment, and I want to know if it was a
job on me."

"If it was a job, I'll give you my word I know nothing about it," said
Fred, in a weak and humble manner.

At this moment, as they looked down, Frank Merriwell was seen to gaze
straight toward them, and something like a scornful, triumphant smile
flitted across his face.

"I'd like to strangle him!" grated Flemming.

The runners were preparing for the start. Pistol in hand, the starter
stood ready to give the signal. His voice was heard bidding them make
ready.

A moment later, the pistol cracked, and the runners leaped away.

"Oh, if he'll come in the tail-ender!" panted Fred Flemming.

The band was playing its liveliest air, and the runners sped around the
track like fawns. Graceful fellows they were, with the possible
exception of little Judd. Judd started off bravely, however, seeming to
scoot into the lead like a squirrel, his short legs fairly twinkling.

The U. P. crowd let out a great cheer to encourage the little fellow.

Beatty, of Harvard, was likewise a quick starter, and he was right at
Judd's heels, while Mansford and Merriwell got away side by side.
Jetting, the Dartmouth representative, was slow about starting, but
still he was a runner.

It had been expected that other colleges would take part in this race,
but, for certain reasons, there were but five starters.

Around the track ran the lithe-limbed youngsters, with Judd holding the
lead for two laps. Then he was passed by Beatty, who spurted to get to
the front, and this gave Harvard an opportunity to "hoo-rah."

From the very outset it seemed that Merriwell and Mansford were in for a
neck-and-neck match. They clung together in a singular manner.

For a time the five runners were well bunched, but there came a
stringing out at last. Little Judd began to lag, and Jetting, who had
pushed past Merriwell and Mansford, went by the U. P. man and began to
crowd Beatty.

The New Hampshire boys cheered him on, and the sound of the yell he
loved to hear got into his head and worked his undoing. Otherwise
Jetting must have been a dangerous man for the leaders at the finish. As
it was, he pumped