oys," said George Herman, a
mutual acquaintance, coming up to meet them.

"Why, what's up George?"

"There is to be a fat man's race of two hundred yards, for a prize of
five dollars."

"Who are going to enter?"

"Tom Hayden, the landlord of the Milltown House, and Jim
Morrison, the tailor. One weighs two hundred and fifty, the other
two hundred and forty-three."

"Good!" laughed Ben. "That will be fun. Where do they start from?"

"There! Don't you see that chalk-mark? And there come the men."

There was a level track laid out, extending two hundred yards, which
was used for such occasions, and this was one of the attractive
features of Lovell's Grounds.

The two men advanced to the starting-line, each accoutered for the
race. They had divested themselves of their coats, and stood in
shirt-sleeves, breathing hard already, in anticipation of the race.
Their bulky forms appeared to great advantage, and excited
considerable amusement. Tom Hayden, who was rather the heavier
of the two, had encircled his waist with a leather strap, which
confined it almost as closely as a young lady's waist. This was by
advice of Frank Jones, a young fellow noted as a runner.

"I don't think I can stand it, Frank," said Hayden, gasping for breath.

"Oh, yes, you can, Mr. Hayden. You'll see how it will help you."

"I can hardly breathe. You've got it too tight."

Frank Jones loosened it a little, and then turned to Morrison.

"Won't you have a girdle, too, Mr. Morrison?" he asked.

"Not much. I don't want to be suffocated before I start. Have you
made your will, Hayden?"

"Not yet, I will make it after I have won the prize."

"Are you ready, gentlemen?" asked Frank Jones, who officiated as
starter.

"As ready as I ever expect to be," answered Hayden, trying to draw a
long breath, and failing.

"Then, start at the word three. One! Two! Three!"

Amid shouts of applause, the two fat men started. It cannot be said
they started like arrows from the bow, but they certainly exerted
themselves uncommonly. Their faces grew red with the efforts they
made, and their colossal legs hurried over the ground as fast as could
reasonably be expected.

"I could beat them easily," said James Watson.

"Of course you could. Just wait till you've got as much to carry.
Look! there's Morrison down!"

It was true. Somehow one of Morrison's legs entangled with the
other, and he tumbled and rolled over and over.

"Go i