f those moments of strain, when even trifles can turn the
overwrought attention. Glaucon knew that the stranger was looking from him
to Lycon, from Lycon back to himself, measuring each with shrewd eye. Then
the gaze settled on the Athenian. The Oriental called to him:--

"Swift, godlike runner, swift;"--they were so close they could catch the
Eastern accent--"the Most High give you His wings!"

Glaucon saw Lycon turn on the shouter with a scowl that was answered by a
composed smile. To the highly strung imagination of the Athenian the wish
became an omen of good. For some unknown cause the incident of the
Oriental lad he rescued and the mysterious gift of the bracelet flashed
back to him. Why should a stranger of the East cast him fair wishes? Would
the riddle ever be revealed?

A trumpet blast. The Oriental, his wish, all else save the tawny track,
flashed from Glaucon's mind. The rope fell. The three shot away as one.

Over the sand they flew, moving by quick leaps, their shining arms
flashing to and fro in fair rhythm. Twice around the stadium led the race,
so no one strained at first. For a while the three clung together, until
near the lower goal the Mantinean heedlessly risked a dash. His foot
slipped on the sands. He recovered; but like arrows his rivals passed him.
At the goal the inevitable happened. Lycon, with the shorter turn, swung
quickest. He went up the homeward track ahead, the Athenian an elbow's
length behind. The stadium seemed dissolving in a tumult. Men rose; threw
garments in the air; stretched out their arms; besought the gods; screamed
to the runners.

"Speed, son of Conon, speed!"

"Glory to Castor; Sparta is prevailing!"

"Strive, Mantinean,--still a chance!"

"Win the turn, dear Athenian, the turn, and leave that Cyclops behind!"

But at the upper turn Lycon still held advantage, and down the other track
went the twain, even as Odysseus ran behind Ajax, "who trod in Ajax'
footsteps ere ever the dust had settled, while on his head fell the breath
of him behind." Again at the lower goal the Mantinean was panting wearily
in the rear. Again Lycon led, again rose the tempest of voices. Six
hundred feet away the presidents were stretching the line, where victory
and the plaudits of Hellas waited Lycon of Lacedaemon.

Then men ceased shouting, and prayed under breath. They saw Glaucon's
shoulders bend lower and his neck strain back, while the sunlight sprang
all over his red-gold hair. Th