He was utterly unmanned, and his mother, observing his pallor, asked him if he had been suddenly taken ill. He answered her with a snarl, like a mad dog. The five runners came down to the line. Just as they did so, Duncan Yates burst into the Flemming box. "What sort of a jolly business is this, Flemming?" he demanded, his face pale with anger. And then, seeing there were ladies present, he removed his cap and mumbled an apology. Fred did not introduce Yates; he was too much broken up to think of such a thing. "That's what I'd like to know," he said, helplessly. "You know we were told Merriwell was not on hand to run." "But he showed up in time to dress, and I was coolly informed that I wasn't in it. I object to such treatment, and I want to know if it was a job on me." "If it was a job, I'll give you my word I know nothing about it," said Fred, in a weak and humble manner. At this moment, as they looked down, Frank Merriwell was seen to gaze straight toward them, and something like a scornful, triumphant smile flitted across his face. "I'd like to strangle him!" grated Flemming. The runners were preparing for the start. Pistol in hand, the starter stood ready to give the signal. His voice was heard bidding them make ready. A moment later, the pistol cracked, and the runners leaped away. "Oh, if he'll come in the tail-ender!" panted Fred Flemming. The band was playing its liveliest air, and the runners sped around the track like fawns. Graceful fellows they were, with the possible exception of little Judd. Judd started off bravely, however, seeming to scoot into the lead like a squirrel, his short legs fairly twinkling. The U. P. crowd let out a great cheer to encourage the little fellow. Beatty, of Harvard, was likewise a quick starter, and he was right at Judd's heels, while Mansford and Merriwell got away side by side. Jetting, the Dartmouth representative, was slow about starting, but still he was a runner. It had been expected that other colleges would take part in this race, but, for certain reasons, there were but five starters. Around the track ran the lithe-limbed youngsters, with Judd holding the lead for two laps. Then he was passed by Beatty, who spurted to get to the front, and this gave Harvard an opportunity to "hoo-rah." From the very outset it seemed that Merriwell and Mansford were in for a neck-and-neck match. They clung together in a singular manner. For a time the five runners were well bunched, but there came a stringing out at last. Little Judd began to lag, and Jetting, who had pushed past Merriwell and Mansford, went by the U. P. man and began to crowd Beatty. The New Hampshire boys cheered him on, and the sound of the yell he loved to hear got into his head and worked his undoing. Otherwise Jetting must have been a dangerous man for the leaders at the finish. As it was, he pumped himself out some seconds too soon.