the start,
you know."

Sid shot a doubting and suspicious glance at him, shook his head and
puffed on.

Now that he had got his second wind, Roy found it exhilarating, this
trotting up and down the slopes in the cold November afternoon. There
was a fine glow in his face, the gusts of cold wind that met him now and
then felt good as they ruffled his hair and the half-frozen turf offered
firm hold to his spikes. He would have liked to speed ahead and try
conclusions with the Middle Class boy who was in the lead, for he was
not in the least tired and felt now as though he could run for weeks.
But they had covered only a scant mile and three-quarters, according to
Chub, and that meant plenty of hard work ahead. Down a hillside
sprinkled with rocks and low bushes they went, forded a sandy stream,
scrambled over a tumble-down wall and entered the woods. Here Jack, with
a sprint, took the lead and made fast going. For the first hundred yards
it was difficult work, but after that they found themselves on a
grass-grown road which wound and twisted about over stumps and fallen
logs. Many a youth took a cropper hereabouts, and among them was Sid.
When Roy saw him last he was sitting on a rotted tree which had proved
his Waterloo sadly watching the procession go by. And a procession it
was by this time, for the runners were strung out in single file for a
quarter of a mile.

Roy and Chub were running fourth and fifth as they left the woods and
found themselves on the edge of a wheat field with the church tower of
Carroll a half a mile away. Jack dropped back and Chub took his place at
the head of the line. It seemed to Roy that Chub let up on the pace a
little, but it may have been only that it was easier going here along
the edge of the field. At all events, Roy was glad of it, for the work
was beginning to tell on him. And he was still gladder when Chub, at the
corner of the field, leaped the wall and went trotting down a lane and
from there into a country road. In another minute or two they were
jogging along the village street and Roy could see Mr. Cobb, paper and
pencil in hand, on the steps of the old brown hotel near at hand. Quite
a little group had formed about him and the runners swept along to a
chorus of criticisms, laughter and applause. As they passed Mr. Cobb,
they cried their names and were answered;

"Eaton!"

"Eaton!" And the instructor checked the name on the list he held.

"Pryor!"

"Pryor!"

"Townse