“I will. Now, then! [On your mark!... Set!... Go!]”
[“‘On your mark!... Set!... Go!’”]
Off leaped Perry again, not quite so nicely this time, and down the wet path he sped, splashing through the puddles, head back, legs twinkling. And, as though trying to make pace for him, Fudge raced along on the turf in a valiant endeavor to judge the finish. Perry’s Sunday trousers made a gray streak across the line, Fudge pressed convulsively on the stem of the watch and the trial was over!
“Wh-what was it?” inquired Perry breathlessly as he walked back. Fudge was staring puzzledly at the dial.
“I made it twelve seconds,” he responded dubiously.
“Twelve! And you said I’d ought to do it under eleven!” Perry viewed him discouragedly.
“Well, maybe I didn’t snap it just when I should have,” said the timer. “It’s hard to see unless you’re right at the line.”
“You must have! I’ll bet anything I did it better than twelve. Don’t you think I did?”