Off the beds and from retired corners rolled in blankets they stagger into the circle, even the quarter and half milers, still deathly sick from their races, add a few husky notes to the chorus. From above comes a derisive yell and the rival strains of "Fair Harvard!" "Last call for the mile," comes through the open door. "Now, Jack," says the Captain, "we're all looking at you." "Remember what I told you, Jack!" shouts Mike, and then somebody else calls for a cheer for Jack Vail. So Jack goes out of the door with their voices still ringing in his ears. The three Harvard milers are already out by the start, jogging up and down the track. Jack's appearance is the signal for a burst of cheers from the Yale bleachers, and a similar roar from the Harvard adherents. "Now, boys," remarked Dickie Arnot, Jack's chum, who is leading the cheering in front of one tier, "save your voices until Jack turns into the homestretch; then we'll ejaculate a few feeble notes just to let him know that we're here." Jack takes a little spin down the stretch to be sure that his legs are in proper working order, and then trots back to the starting-line, where the customary ceremony between the runners takes place. Each Harvard man shakes Jack's hand, and politely expresses great pleasure at the meeting, and Jack looks each one over, and wonders how fast he can go, and withal feels a bit lonely and lost--one man against three--without his running-mate "Shorty" Farnham, who became ill a week before the games, and had to stop training. [Illustration: HE CROUCHES IN THE REGULATION SPRINT START.] "Now-boys-I-shall-tell-you-to-get-set-and-then-fire-you-off. Any-man-breaking-off-his-mark-before-the-pistol-goes-back-ten-yards," clatters the starter, jumbling the words all together, according to the time-honored custom of starters. Jack is on the extreme edge of the track furthest from the pole. So when the command "Get set" comes, he crouches in the regulation sprint start, much to the astonishment of the Harvard milers, who are standing erect, as mile-runners usually start. "Bang!" goes the pistol, and Jack springs from his mark as if beginning a hundred-yard dash. For nearly thirty yards he sprints, and rounds in ahead of the startled Harvard men, and secures the pole. A roar from the Yale men attests their appreciation of the neat manoeuvre. But now the famed team-work of the Harvard men begins. With a tremendous spurt one of them comes up from the rear, passes Jack, and secures the pole just ahead, while at the same time another man tries to run up on the outside and complete the "pocket." But Jack avoids the attempt by suddenly swerving away from the pole. Immediately the other swerves out too, and Jack is forced to run yards wide of the pole.