screams and rage-yells of
women and men.

"Dirty work, dirty work," Billy muttered over and over; and, though he
saw much that occurred, assisted by the friendly Irishman he was coolly
and safely working Saxon back out of the melee.

At last the break came. The losing team, accompanied by its host of
volunteers, was dragged in a rush over the ground and disappeared under
the avalanche of battling forms of the onlookers.

Leaving Saxon under the protection of the Irishman in an outer eddy
of calm, Billy plunged back into the mix-up. Several minutes later he
emerged with the missing couple--Bert bleeding from a blow on the ear,
but hilarious, and Mary rumpled and hysterical.

"This ain't sport," she kept repeating. "It's a shame, a dirty shame."

"We got to get outa this," Billy said. "The fun's only commenced."

"Aw, wait," Bert begged. "It's worth eight dollars. It's cheap at any
price. I ain't seen so many black eyes and bloody noses in a month of
Sundays."

"Well, go on back an' enjoy yourself," Billy commended. "I'll take the
girls up there on the side hill where we can look on. But I won't give
much for your good looks if some of them Micks lands on you."

The trouble was over in an amazingly short time, for from the judges'
stand beside the track the announcer was bellowing the start of the
boys' foot-race; and Bert, disappointed, joined Billy and the two girls
on the hillside looking down upon the track.

There were boys' races and girls' races, races of young women and old
women, of fat men and fat women, sack races and three-legged races,
and the contestants strove around the small track through a Bedlam of
cheering supporters. The tug-of-war was already forgotten, and good
nature reigned again.

Five young men toed the mark, crouching with fingertips to the
ground and waiting the starter's revolver-shot. Three were in their
stocking-feet, and the remaining two wore spiked running-shoes.

"Young men's race," Bert read from the program. "An' only one
prize--twenty-five dollars. See the red-head with the spikes--the one
next to the outside. San Francisco's set on him winning. He's their
crack, an' there's a lot of bets up."

"Who's goin' to win?" Mary deferred to Billy's superior athletic
knowledge.

"How can I tell!" he answered. "I never saw any of 'em before. But they
all look good to me. May the best one win, that's all."

The revolver was fired, and the five runners were off and away. Three