"Give it to Covington, Bo; I won't be here when you come back."
"Get on your marks!" The starter gave his order.
Speed set his spikes into the dirt, brought his weight forward upon his hands. He whispered something to Skinner. That gentleman straightened up, whereupon Willie cried for a second time:
"On your marks!" and again Skinner crouched.
"Get set!"
The crowd filled its lungs and waited. Helen Blake buried her nails in her rosy cold palms. Chapin and his friends were swayed by their heart-beats, while even Fresno was balanced upon his toes, his plump face eager. The click of Willie's gun sounded sharp as he cocked it.
Into the ear close by his cheek Speed again whispered an agonized—
"Don't forget to fall down!"
This time the cook of the Centipede leaped backward with an angry snarl, while the crowd took breath.
"Make him quit talking to me!" cried Skinner.