He clasped his hands tighter and threw himself forward. Fourth place was better than fifth, he told himself, and at least he would not be beaten by a man who was ready to fall. So up he went, working as hard to beat out the Technology runner as though first place was at stake. And beat him he did, and turned off of the track and walked back to the dressing-room apparently as untired as when he had started. “You lost that race,” said Kernahan, “when you lost your place in the first row. But don’t you care; you’ve learned a thing or two, and one of them’s to wait for the pistol.” “But I’m not decently winded,” Allan complained. “I could run the mile now, and yet those chaps beat me.” “Sprinting ability is what you’ve got to learn, my boy. And with three months before the dual----” “Hang the dual!” said Allan, petulantly. “I wanted to win this.” “Well, there’s the mile yet,” said Billy, soothingly. But the mile brought Allan scant satisfaction. He was given a handicap of thirty-five yards, and, although this time he was careful to wait for the pistol, he came to the conclusion when half the distance was run that he might as well drop out of the race. There were almost fifty entries, and it seemed less a race than a fast-moving procession. The turns were always filled with fellows elbowing and fighting, and after the half-distance it was hard to tell who the leaders were, so close they were to the tail-enders. Rindgely and Harris had also entered, and about the only satisfaction Allan was able to gather was derived from the fact that he had them beaten from the start. But the smaller handicaps allowed those youths had something to do with that. Allan never knew what number he was at the finish, and didn’t much care. In the dressing-room, Harris, Rindgely, Long, and Monroe--the latter the only Erskine entry who had won a place--were finding balm in the fact that Robinson hadn’t showed up in a single event. “Wait until the team race, though,” said Rindgely, darkly. “That’s where they’ll get us; you’ll see.” “Don’t believe it,” said Harris, stoutly. “When does it come off?” “After this, I think,” said Long. “Who’s got a program?” “That’s right,” said Monroe. “Hello, Ware! Say, that was a perfect mess, wasn’t it?” “Yes, it was,” growled Allan. “I never knew whether I was running this lap or the last one.” “Or the one ahead,” added Harris. “Thought you were going to do something,” said Rindgely. “You had a good chance.” “Did I?” Allan responded, with intense sarcasm. “All right, only I didn’t know it.” “Let’s get out of here and see the Harvard and Penn race,” Long suggested. “Where’s our team?” “They’re out there somewhere. Thatcher says we’re going to get it put all over us,” said Allan. “Thatcher’s an old raven,” said Harris, as they crowded out to where they could watch the race. “If he runs as well as he croaks, we’re all right.”