"Bellows did it," said the big boy; "look at his chest"; and then for the first time I noticed where the secret of this hero's triumph lay. But, horrors! the next race is Number 12, and Slipshaw and I scuttle off as hard as we can go, to get ready. How miserable I felt then! I hated athletic sports, and detested "three-legged races." As we emerged from the tent, we and the other two couples, ambling along on our respective three legs, a shout of laughter greeted our appearance. I, for one, didn't see anything to laugh at, just then. "Adams," said Slipshaw, as we reached the starting-place, "take it easy, old man, and mind you don't go over." "All right," said I, feeling very much inclined to go over at that instant. Then that awful starter began his little speech. "Are you ready?" he asked. "Not at all," inwardly ejaculated I. "Off!" he cried; and almost before I knew where I was, Slipshaw and I were hopping along on our three legs amid the cheers of the crowd. "Steady!" said he, as I stepped out rather _too_ fast. Alas! we were last. The other two couples were pounding along ahead at a wonderful pace. "Steady!" growled Slipshaw again, as I began to try to run, and nearly capsized him. You may laugh, reader, but it was no joke, that three-legged race. The others ahead of us showed no signs of flagging; they were going hard, one couple close at the heels of the other, and we a full five yards behind. I was giving one despairing thought to the pots and prizes in the tent, when a great roar of laughter almost made me forget which foot to put forward. What could it be?--and Slipshaw was laughing too! "Steady, now," he said, "and come along!" The laughter continued, and looking before me, I suddenly detected its cause. The leading couple in a moment of over-confidence had attempted to go too fast, and had come on their noses on the path, and the second couple, too close behind them, had not had time to avoid the obstacle, but had plunged headlong on to the top of them! It was all right now! Slipshaw and I trotted triumphantly past the prostrate heap, and after all won our prize! You may fancy I was too excited to think of much else after that, except indeed the hurdle race, which was most exciting, and won most cleverly by Catherall, who, though he came to grief at the last hurdle, was able to pick himself up in time to rush in and win the race by a neck from the new boy, whom we found to be almost as good at jumping as he was at running. Then followed a two-mile race--rather dull to watch--and with that the sports were at an end. Need I say how proudly Slipshaw and I marched up arm-in-arm to receive the prize for our race, which consisted of a bat for me and a telescope for my companion?--or how the new boy was cheered?--or how Shute and Catherall were applauded?