Since that day in school, when the fire occurred in the basement, nothing had been seen or heard of Bill Klemm and his two cronies, Asa Barnes and Watkins Kline. Asa’s father, the local butcher, had been searching all over the country for his son; but thus far nothing had been heard from him. It was believed that, thinking they must have caused the destruction of the school by fire, the frightened trio of boys were hiding far away, not daring to return home. And among the crowds that gathered on this Saturday, their names were often mentioned, as all sorts of queer theories were advanced to account for their disappearance.
But then, as they were most unpopular boys, no one cared very much about it. And really the games that were being carried out were ten times more worth talking about than the fortunes of such a town bully as Bill Klemm, or his followers, who were trying to walk in the same trail he followed.
It had been determined that since this was only a trial race, with the result really a foregone conclusion, the boys would not have to go over the entire circuit as laid out for the great meet. Instead of ten miles, they would cover just half that distance.
With the crack of the starter’s pistol the long line jumped away. Several ambitious beginners immediately sprinted, and took the lead.
“Look at Ginger Harper, would you?” cried a spectator; “why, he’s a wonder, for a fact. He can run around the rest of that bunch, and not half try. There he goes, grabbin’ off the yards like fun. It’s going to be a procession, with Ginger first!”
“Is it?” remarked Jack Eastwick, with a grin of pity for the ignorance of the shouter, who was a particular friend of the Harper boy, he knew; “maybe so, maybe not.”
Those who knew better saw that the good runners did not start at headlong pace. They held back in a bunch, and were saving their wind. In a run that covers five or ten miles it is the height of folly to make any effort at great speed at the start. By degrees experienced and knowing runners get into their stride, and in this fashion are able to finish strongly. That home stretch to them means everything, and when the crack of the pistol announces that it has been entered, they seem to exhibit all the freshness of those just starting.
So the last of the runners disappeared from sight, and the crowd went back to watch a few more minor events while waiting for the return of the five-mile contestants.
“Pretty near time they began to show up; isn’t it?” asked Jack Comfort, who was well pleased with the showing he had made that day, and fully assured that he would be the one selected to compete for Columbia with the weight-throwing and shot-putting squad.
A shout was heard just then.