informed that I wasn't in it. I object to such treatment, and I want to know if it was a job on me."
"If it was a job, I'll give you my word I know nothing about it," said Fred, in a weak and humble manner.
At this moment, as they looked down, Frank Merriwell was seen to gaze straight toward them, and something like a scornful, triumphant smile flitted across his face.
"I'd like to strangle him!" grated Flemming.
The runners were preparing for the start. Pistol in hand, the starter stood ready to give the signal. His voice was heard bidding them make ready.
A moment later, the pistol cracked, and the runners leaped away.
"Oh, if he'll come in the tail-ender!" panted Fred Flemming.
The band was playing its liveliest air, and the runners sped around the track like fawns. Graceful fellows they were, with the possible exception of little Judd. Judd started off bravely, however, seeming to scoot into the lead like a squirrel, his short legs fairly twinkling.
The U. P. crowd let out a great cheer to encourage the little fellow.