A sack race was the first on the programme, and the contestants, of whom there were eight, allowed themselves to be tied up in bags, which reached to their necks. At the word they started to waddle toward the goal.
There was one very fat man and one thin one who seemed to be doing better than any of the others. They both took little steps inside the bags, and were distancing their competitors.
“Go it, Fatty!” called the stout man’s friends.
“You’ll win, Skinny!” shouted the advocates of the tall, thin one.
The latter began to forge ahead, and, it seemed, would win the race.
“Lie down and roll!” shouted someone to the fat man.
“Dot’s a good ideaness!” answered the fleshy contestant, who spoke with a strong German accent.
He fell upon his knees, and then toppled over on his side on the green grass over which the course was laid. There was a general laugh, most persons thinking the man had fallen, and was out of the race. But not so with the fleshy one. He began rolling over and over, his rotundity and the soft sod preventing him from being hurt. He kept his head away from the ground, and, so rapidly did he revolve that, inside of two minutes he had passed the thin man. The latter in his efforts to come in first took too long steps, his feet got tangled up inside the sack, and he went sprawling on his face.
“I vins!” exclaimed the German, as he rolled over for the last time, and bumped into the goal post.
“You didn’t win fair!” cried the thin man, trying to talk with his mouth filled with grass.