w I am older, it dawns on me that this
was a most wholesome regulation; for had we small chaps been allowed to
run riot all the morning, we should have been completely done up, and
fit for nothing when the races really began. We did not do much work, I
am afraid, at our desks that morning, and the masters were not
particularly strict, for a wonder. The one thing we had to do was to
keep our seats and restrain our ardour, and that was no easy task.

Eleven came at last, and off we rushed to the mysteries of the toilet.
What would athletic sports be like without flannel shirts and trousers,
or ribbons and canvas shoes? At any rate, we believed in the importance
of these accessories, and were not long in arraying ourselves
accordingly. I could not help noticing, however, as we sallied forth
into the field, that fine feathers do not always make fine birds. There
was Tom Sampson, for instance, the biggest duffer that ever thought he
could run a step, got up in the top of the fashion, in bran-new togs,
and a silk belt, and the most gorgeous of scarlet sashes across his
shoulders; while Hooker, who was as certain as Greenwich time to win the
quarter-mile, had on nothing but his old (and not very white) cricket
clothes, and no sash at all. And there was another thing I noticed
about these old hands: they behaved in the laziest of manners. They
sprawled on the grass or sat on the benches, appearing disinclined for
the slightest exertion; while others, less experienced, took preliminary
canters along the tracks, or showed off over the hurdles. Fine fellows,
no doubt, they thought themselves; but they had reason to be sorry for
this waste of energy before the day was out.

Programmes! With what excitement I seized mine and glanced down it!
There it was! "Number 12. Three-legged Race, 100 yards, for boys under
15. 1, Trotter and Walker (pink); 2, White and Benson (green); 3, Adams
and Slipshaw (blue)." Reader, have you ever seen your name in print for
the first time? Then you may imagine my sensations!

Things now begin to look like business. The doctor has turned up, and a
party of ladies. The visitors' enclosure is fast filling up, and there
is a fair show of carriages behind. Those big fellows in the tall hats
are old Parkhurstians, come to see the young generation go through its
paces, and that little knot of men talking together in the middle of the
ground consists of the starter, judge, and umpire. Not a few