Frank stood up. "Here," he said simply.
"Get into your clothes," Black shouted. "Why are you sitting there like a dummy? Here, some of you fellows help him. Patsy, rub his leg muscles a bit—Jack, help Patsy. Move lively!"
Frank tore off his clothes, and in half a minute his leg muscles were being slapped and kneaded by the two rubbers as if their life depended on doing a quick and thorough job.
"It's like this," said Black, coming over to the rubbing table. "Everything went about as scheduled until Harrington fell down in his quarter. That leaves us short an event we counted on."
"Did we get the shot?"
"No, confound it, that Rhodes scholar from Dakota beat our man out on the last try."
"So the Englishmen have now two more than we calculated?"
"Exactly, and there isn't a ghost of a chance of their losing the two-mile run unless their men choke."
"And the broad-jump?" inquired Frank, weakly.
"You've got to win that!" Black said it as if it was by no means an unusual request.