“Well, it looked to me as if you were going pretty fast,” answered Fudge cautiously. “But those trousers, and not having any spikes, and the track being so wet—Gee, but you did get splashed, didn’t you?”
“I should say so,” replied Perry, observing his trousers disgustedly. “The water even went into my face! Say, let’s try it again, Fudge, and you stand here at the finish.”
“All right, but how’ll I start you?”
“Wave a handkerchief or something?”
“I’ve got it. I’ll clap a couple of sticks together.” So Fudge set out to find his sticks while Perry, rather winded, seated himself on the stand. Fudge finally came back with the required articles and Perry declared himself rested and ready for another trial. “I’ll clap the sticks together first for you to get set and then for the start. Like this.” Fudge illustrated. “Suppose you can hear it?”
“Sure.” Perry proceeded back to the beginning of the straightaway and Fudge stationed himself at the finish, scuffling a line across the track for his better guidance. Then, while the sprinter was getting his crouch, he experimented with slapping the sticks and snapping the watch at the same instant, a rather difficult proceeding.
“All ready!” shouted Perry, poised on finger-tips and knee.
“All right!” called Fudge in response. He examined his watch, fixed a finger over the stem, took a deep breath and clapped the sticks. Perry set. Another clap and a simultaneous jab at the watch, and Perry was racing down the track. Fudge’s eyes took one fleeting look at the runner and then fixed themselves strainedly on the line he had drawn across the cinders. Nearer and nearer came the scrunch of the flying sneakers, there was a sudden blur of gray in Fudge’s vision and he snapped the watch. Perry turned and trotted anxiously back.
“Well?” he asked.