Templeton evinced a more decided interest in the final round. It had looked on as a matter of duty on the trial heats; but it got a trifle excited over the final. The winner of the fourth round, the youth who had been robbed of his light blue tie, commanded the most general favour. Swinstead on the other hand secretly fancied Dick, and one or two others were divided between Heathcote and the winner of the third round.
“Keep your elbows in, and don’t look round so much,” whispered Swinstead to Dick, as the four champions toed the line.
Dick nodded gratefully for the advice.
“Now then. Are you ready?
“Go!” cried the starter.
The hero of the blue tie led off amid great jubilation among the sportsmen. But Swinstead, who trotted beside the race, still preferred Dick, and liked the way he kept up to the leader’s heels in the first hundred yards. Heathcote, in his turn, kept well up to Dick, and had nothing to fear from the other man.
“Pretty race,” said some one.
“Good action number two,” replied another.
“Swinstead fancies him, and he knows what’s what.”
“I should have said number three, myself.”