Don went to the starting line and Wayne, drawing his coat more closely about his running costume, perched himself on an unused hurdle at the side of the track and looked on. Don took a small revolver from his pocket and stationed himself behind the two hurdlers.
“Both you fellows must try and get over the hurdles lower. Remember that it doesn’t matter if you strike them; it won’t hurt you. Connor, you start well and make your first hurdle all right, but after that you get ragged. Keep your pace up to the end; you ought to finish just as fast as you begin. Middleton, you haven’t got your pace right yet. Your first two steps are always too short, and the result is that your third leaves you too far from the hurdle. You must correct that. I’ll give you both two tries over the full flight. This time take it easy and be careful. On your mark! Set!”
Bang! went the little pistol and the two hurdlers dashed forward toward the first of the three-feet-six-inch obstacles. Don ran alongside on the cinders, watching their performance and shouting instructions.
“Higher next time, Connor, by a half inch.” “Lengthen your stride, Middleton.” “Take your time, both of you.” “That’s better, Connor; good work. Don’t stop; keep on to the finish!”
The three hurdlers came slowly back, listening in patient and respectful attention to Don’s criticisms, and again dug their spikes into the cinders at the mark, crouching low and practicing little starts. Don called to Wayne.
“I’m going over them once, Wayne, to show these chaps what I’ve been talking about. Will you start me?”
Wayne hurried up and took the pistol.
“You fellows,” continued Don, turning to the two tyros, “had better run along and watch me over the hurdles. You’ll see what I mean by jumping low, and you, Middleton, had better watch my stride. All ready, Wayne.”
The latter cocked the pistol. “On your mark! Set!”