The day of the meet finally came; the sun shone from a cloudless pure sky; the cool sea breeze swept over the athletic grounds, invigorating the hundreds of sailor athletes with its salty crispness. This was an event new in the annals of the navy, and had aroused intense interest, so when the lads arrived with their party of contestants from the “Connecticut,” they found an audience had collected from the surrounding country. The grand stands, erected by the carpenters of the ships of the fleet, were packed to overflowing, while the field, which had been turned into an arena for the many contests, was gay with the uniformed sailormen who had come to cheer their champions. On a bulletin-board at the entrance to the grounds the lists of those to compete in the several events was posted. So much pressure had been brought to bear upon Phil that he had finally been prevailed upon to enter the short runs. The executive officer and even the captain had upbraided him so severely for what they thought was his lack of ship’s spirit, that he had, much against his inclinations, allowed his name to be put on the list before it was sent to the flag-ship. Our two boys stopped to read the names of the competitors. Many of those entering were strangers, but an occasional name would evoke a remark of surprise or pleasure from one or the other of the readers. Lazar’s name was in but one list, that for the 100-yard run, and Phil wondered whether the latter had withdrawn because he had entered. The next minute Marshall came rushing up to him. “Lazar is running only in the 100-yard. I suppose you noticed his name is not in the others. I have just seen him and he seems confident of being able to win the race. Now, if you can win the others and run second in this short dash, we shall win the pennant hands down.” Phil immediately bristled. “Did he say I might run second?” he asked quickly. Marshall hesitated. “You know what I mean, Perry,” he answered knowingly; “after your other races you can hardly expect to beat Lazar, but if you try for second, you can get it. Don’t you see?” “Is that his suggestion?” Phil asked, his anger rising. “To be frank with you, yes, it is,” confessed Marshall. “He found that the three races were being run too close together, so he scratched in the others and thinks he is sure for the shorter run. It’s all perfectly square.” “H’m, maybe so,” Phil answered shortly, as he turned toward the dressing-tent to be ready for the first race in which he was entered. “‘Second,’ eh?” he soliloquized. “I’ll give him the race of his life for first.” The races were run amid great enthusiasm as the sailors saw the possibility for the winner gradually narrow down until the coveted pennant lay between but two ships, the “Connecticut” and the “Minnesota.” “You have just a half hour to rest up before the first heat of the big race,” said Sydney, as he and Phil walked toward the hospital tent after the 440-yard run.