men, so it's pretty well between us two, isn't it, Telson?"

"Rather, and I think I back you to do it, Parson, old man," rejoins the
generous Telson.

"Oh, I don't know," says Parson, dubiously; "you're a better man on the
finish, I fancy."

"All depends on how I take off. Gully's such a boshy starter, you know;
always puts me out. Why can't they let Parrett do it?"

And off they rattle, forgetting all about Cusack and his gallant father,
and evidently convinced in their own minds that the flags and the
carriages and the rosettes and all the festivities are solely in honour
of the final heat of the junior hundred yards, in which they two are to
take part.

Captain Cusack, with a smile on his face, watches them trot off, and
asks his son, "Who are those two nice young fellows?"

"Oh, a couple of kids--not in our house," replies Master Cusack, by no
means cordially. "Jolly cheek of them talking to you like that,
though!"

"Not at all," says the captain. "I'd like to see their race, Harry."

But Harry has no notion of throwing his father away upon the "junior
hundred yards," and as they are now in "The Big," in the midst of the
festive assembly there congregated, he is easily able to shirk the
question.

An important event is evidently just over. The company has crowded into
the enclosure, and boys, ladies, gentlemen, masters are all mixed up in
one great throng through which it is almost impossible for even so
dexterous a tug as young Cusack to pilot his worthy relative.

The band is playing in the pavilion, distant cheers are audible in the
direction of the tents, a shrill uproar is going on in the corner where
the junior hundred yards is about to begin, and all around them is such
a buzz of talking and laughing that Captain Cusack is fairly bewildered.

He would like to be allowed to pay his respects to the Doctor and Mrs
Patrick, and to his boy's master, and would very much like to witness
the exploits of those two redoubtable chums Telson and Parson; but he is
not his own master, and has to do what he is told. Young Cusack is
shouting every minute to acquaintances in the crowd that he has got his
father here. But every one is so wedged up that the introductions
chiefly consist of a friendly nodding and waving of the hand at the
crowd indefinitely from the gallant father, who would not for the world
be anything but gracious to his son's friends, but who cannot for the
life of him tell which of the