starting, three of whom
have already distinguished themselves in the hurdle-race. Wyndham, the
school captain, is that tall, handsome fellow with the red stripe in
front of his jersey, who occupies the inside "berth" on the starting-
line. Next to him is Ashley; also wearing the school stripe; and
between Ashley and the other schoolboy, Bloomfield, is Rawson, the
dreaded Londoner, a practised athlete, whose whiskered face contrasts
strangely with the smooth, youthful countenances of his competitors.

"Ashley's to cut out the running for Willoughby this time," says Telson,
"and he'll do it too; he's fresh."

So he is. At the signal to start he rushes off as if the race was a
quarter of a mile instead of a mile, and the Londoner, perplexed by his
tactics, starts hard also, intending to keep him in hand. Bloomfield
and Wyndham, one on each side of the track, began rather more easily,
and during the first lap allow themselves to drop twelve or fifteen
yards behind. The Londoner quickly takes in the situation, but
evidently doesn't quite know whether to keep up to Ashley or lie up like
the others. If he does the latter, the chances are the fresh man may
get ahead beyond catching, and possibly win the race; and if he does the
former--well, has he the wind to hold out when the other two begin to
"put it on"? He thinks he has, so he keeps close up to Ashley.

The cheers, of course, all round the field are tremendous, and nowhere
more exciting than where Telson and Parson are located. As the runners
pass them at the end of the first lap the excitement of these youths
breaks forth into terrific shouts.

"Well run, Ashley; keep it up! He's blowing! Put it on there, Wyndham;
now's your time, Bloomfield!" And before the cries have left their lips
the procession has passed, and the second lap has begun.

Towards the end of the second lap Ashley shows signs of flagging, and
Bloomfield is quickening his pace.

"Huzza!" yells Parson; "Bloomfield's going to take it up now. Jolly
well-planned cut-out, eh, Telson?"

"Rather!" shrieks Telson. "Here they come! Whiskers is ahead. Now,
Willoughby--well run indeed! Lam it on, Bloomfield, you're gaining.
Keep it up, Ashley. Now, Wyndham; now!"

Ashley drops gradually to the rear, and before the final lap is half
over has retired from the race, covered with glory for his useful piece
of work. But anxious eyes are turned to the other three. The Londoner
holds his own,