The two men advanced to the starting-line, each accoutered for the race. They had divested themselves of their coats, and stood in shirt-sleeves, breathing hard already, in anticipation of the race. Their bulky forms appeared to great advantage, and excited considerable amusement. Tom Hayden, who was rather the heavier of the two, had encircled his waist with a leather strap, which confined it almost as closely as a young lady's waist. This was by advice of Frank Jones, a young fellow noted as a runner.
"I don't think I can stand it, Frank," said Hayden, gasping for breath.
"Oh, yes, you can, Mr. Hayden. You'll see how it will help you."
"I can hardly breathe. You've got it too tight."
Frank Jones loosened it a little, and then turned to Morrison.
"Won't you have a girdle, too, Mr. Morrison?" he asked.
"Not much. I don't want to be suffocated before I start. Have you made your will, Hayden?"
"Not yet, I will make it after I have won the prize."
"Are you ready, gentlemen?" asked Frank Jones, who officiated as starter.
"As ready as I ever expect to be," answered Hayden, trying to draw a long breath, and failing.