etween each being fairly equally maintained.
Semple, however, dropped out, not caring to overstrain himself as he had
some heavy racing next day at another gathering, where a much higher
money prize was the allurement.

Round the others went, the excitement growing among the crowd, who kept
shouting encouraging remarks to the racers as they passed.

"Keep it up, Robin!" cried Andrew Marshall. "Keep it up, my lad. Ye're
daein' fine."

"Come away, Rundell, the race is yer ain," shouted an enthusiastic
supporter of Peter.

"Nae wonner!" answered Matthew Maitland, heatedly. "They've gi'en him
the race in a present. Look at the handikep!"

"An' what aboot it?" enquired the other, not knowing what to answer.

"Plenty aboot it," replied Matthew. "If it hadna' been he was Peter
Rundell, he wadna' ha'e gotten sic a start. Black Jock means him to get
the race, an' it's no' fair. I wadna' ha'e the damn'd thing in that way,
an' if he does win it he'll hae nae honor in it."

"But Rab's runnin' weel," Matthew continued, as he followed the runners
with eager eyes, and stuck the head of his pipe in his mouth in his
excitement, burning his lips in the process. "Dammit, I've burned my
mooth," he ejaculated, spluttering, spitting and wiping his mouth. "But
the laddie can rin. He's a fair dandie o' a rinner."

"He couldna' rin to catch the cauld," broke in Rundell's admirer, glad
to get in a word. "Look at him. Dammit, ye could wheel a barrow oot
through his legs. He jist rummles alang like a chained tame
earthquake."

"What's that?" asked Matthew, somewhat nettled at this manner of
describing Robert's slightly bent legs. "He canna rin, ye say! Weel, if
he couldna' rin better than Peter Rundell, he should never try it. Look
at Rundell!" he went on scathingly, "doubled up like a fancy canary, and
a hump on his back like a greyhound licking a pot. Rinnin'! He's mair
like an exhibition o' a rin-a-way toy rainbow. He's aboot as souple as a
stookie Christ on a Christmas tree!" And Matthew glared at the other, as
if he would devour him at a gulp.

"Look at him noo," he cried, as Robert began to overtake the young miner
who had started equal with Rundell. "He's passed young Paterson noo, an'
ye'll soon see him get on level terms wi' Rundell. Go on, Rob!" he
yelled in delight, as Robert shot past. "Go on, my lad, you're daein'
fine!"

Excitement was rousing the crowd to a great pitch, and yells and shouts
of encouragement went up, an