“Why don’t you go across, then?”
“I’m afraid that marshal will ask me embarrassing questions; he’s been glaring at me suspiciously for the last ten minutes. They’re fixing the low hurdles over there; hope Don will win. He looked worried a while ago, I thought.”
“I reckon he’s all right,” answered Wayne. “He was put out about Gaffney.”
“What’s the matter with Gaff?”
“Ankles lame or sore or something. Don was afraid he wouldn’t be able to jump much. But I guess he’s doing well enough.”
“They’re on the mark; three of them! Don and Perkins, and a St. Eustace chap.”
“Varian, I reckon. Don said he’d get second or third at least.”
“There they go!” The report of the pistol floated across the field to where the boys were sitting. “Don’s taken the lead already! Go it, old fellow!”
And Don, though he couldn’t possibly hear Paddy’s command, nevertheless “went it” so well that at the sixth hurdle he was ten yards to the good, with Perkins close behind him. The white forms flashed up and down in the sunlight for a moment longer; then the race was over, and Hillton had begun the day bravely by capturing a first and a second, scoring eight points to St. Eustace’s one.