“There’s going to be a race soon?”
“Is there?” replied the cadet spoken to. “Yes, Brag says he’s got a neux he will back for one hundred and twenty yards against Horsford, if he will give the neux five yards’ start.”
“Who is the neux?” inquired the cadet. “I believe it’s Brag’s own neux—young Shepard.”
“Oh, he’s too short to run! Horsford will lick his head off! Here comes Brag?”
I now saw Brag and about twenty old cadets coming from the library, and my name was soon called. I went up to Brag, who said,—
“Shepard, you’ve to run a race for me, and if you don’t win I’ll scrag you! It’s one hundred and twenty yards, and you get five yards’ start.”
I asked leave to go to my room to get a pair of light shoes to run in, and, on coming out, found Horsford with flannel trousers on, and all ready for the race. By this time all the cadets had come out of academy, and as any excitement was welcome, they all assembled on parade and made two lines, between which we were to run. The distance was carefully measured off, and I was placed five yards in front of Horsford.
“Now mind your laurels, Horsford!” said one of his backers; “don’t shave it too close!”
“I can manage this lot, I think,” he replied.
“Shepard, you’ll get a licking if you’re beaten!” said a cadet near.