“Maybe you will do something yourself, Bobby,” said I.
“I shouldn’t mind trying, but I guess they’re not going to let me enter. I didn’t show up very well in the mile; you can’t go in and set the pace and have anything left for the end. I came in fifth, though.” Bobby really looked pleased with himself.
“All out for the two-mile run!” called the clerk of the course, and we went down to the start. John Blake was looking blue.
“It’s a long way out to Ohio,” he said ruefully. “And the roads are dusty, too.”
“Fuller’s going to run, isn’t he?” I asked.
“Yes, and I don’t know whether that makes it better for us or worse.”
“Answer to your names!” called the clerk.
There were seven entries there: Carl and Bannet of our school, Beckner, Green and another Maynard runner, and Fuller and one other Chamberlain fellow.
“On your marks!” called the starter.
“Hold on, please,” said our coach. “We have another man coming. Where’s Hart?”