David and Gleason were perched on the uppermost row of the stand where they could see the entire length of the hundred. David was all excitement. "Do they all run together?" he asked Gleason.
"Oh, no, they run it in heats or trials. It wouldn't be fair to run them all at the same time for they couldn't all get an even start. This track will only accommodate six at one time. First, second and third in each heat qualify for the finals, so you see each runner has to go over the distance twice."
"I see."
"They're getting ready," announced Gleason. "See them getting down on their toes. They're off!"
A white puff of smoke came from the pistol in Patsy's hand, and the sound of the explosion came sharply to their ears. Away at the top of the stretch they saw the runners spring forward.
Down the track they swept for thirty yards, none having any advantage. Then the runner on the pole and Frank began to forge to the front. On they came, nip and tuck, until just near the finish the fellow on the pole made a great effort and broke the tape four or five feet ahead of Frank. The third man was a step behind Frank.
"Oh, what a pity he couldn't keep up," said David mournfully.
"What's the matter with you? He did exactly right," said Gleason.
"How is that—he was beaten, wasn't he?"
"Yes, my son," replied the Codfish, "he was beaten for first place, but he qualified for the final, and that's all you need. What was the use of his running himself out? You see what an effort the other fellow had to win, didn't you? I told Frank myself to run easy in this first heat even if he only came in third place. Third would have been just as good as where he finished."