"All ready, boys!" came the voice of the starter.
Dace Perry and two other boys had their wheels at the tape, but Matt King continued to lean against the fence and made no move to come forward.
"Hurry up, King!" shouted the starter. "What's the matter with you?"
"I haven't a wheel any more, Mr. Carter," answered Matt, "and I'm not a candidate. That's what I came out here to tell you."
"Not a candidate?" boomed the major, from up in the stand. "Don't you know the prize that goes to the winner in this event when we meet Prescott is as good as two hundred and fifty dollars? It's not a money prize, for we don't intend to make professionals out of you boys, but——"
"He's lost his nerve, that's what's the matter with him."
The words were so uncalled for, and the taunt in the voice so vicious, that every eye turned at once on the speaker. The captain of the cross-country team, arms folded and hostile gaze leveled at Matt, stood leaning against his machine.
"Quitter!" scoffed a voice in the crowd.
"Dry up, Perry!" called the starter. "You too, Spangler. Neither of you has any call to butt in."
Matt left the fence and advanced slowly across the track toward Perry.