“Look at Ginger Harper, would you?” cried a spectator; “why, he’s a wonder, for a fact. He can run around the rest of that bunch, and not half try. There he goes, grabbin’ off the yards like fun. It’s going to be a procession, with Ginger first!” “Is it?” remarked Jack Eastwick, with a grin of pity for the ignorance of the shouter, who was a particular friend of the Harper boy, he knew; “maybe so, maybe not.” Those who knew better saw that the good runners did not start at headlong pace. They held back in a bunch, and were saving their wind. In a run that covers five or ten miles it is the height of folly to make any effort at great speed at the start. By degrees experienced and knowing runners get into their stride, and in this fashion are able to finish strongly. That home stretch to them means everything, and when the crack of the pistol announces that it has been entered, they seem to exhibit all the freshness of those just starting. So the last of the runners disappeared from sight, and the crowd went back to watch a few more minor events while waiting for the return of the five-mile contestants. “Pretty near time they began to show up; isn’t it?” asked Jack Comfort, who was well pleased with the showing he had made that day, and fully assured that he would be the one selected to compete for Columbia with the weight-throwing and shot-putting squad. A shout was heard just then. “A runner in sight!” passed along the lines, and immediately everything else was neglected, while the crowd formed a long double lane from the outskirts of the field to the tape, which the contestants had to breast in order to have their time taken. “Who is it? Ginger Harper making it a sweep?” cried one, mockingly. “Say, Ginger’s been back here these ten minutes and more,” called out another. “He gave out at the first half-mile stone, and came home to see the run-in!” “It’s Frank Allen!” arose the shout. “You’re all mistaken, for it’s Lanky Wallace. Don’t you see how tall he is; and aren’t we all of us on to his way of running!” whooped Buster Billings, red in the face with all he had been attempting in various lines. “Lanky Wallace leads!” “Three Lankies for cheers!” shrieked Red Huggins, who always managed to get his sentences twisted when excited, and as some of the boys said, “got the cart before the horse.” “And he’s beat his best time by a whole lot, too!” announced another enthusiast. Some of the Bellport and Clifford boys were seen comparing watches as Lanky came bounding along with tremendous strides, making for the tape-line, and apparently they were staggered to realize what small chance their athletes had in comparison with this wonder. “If he kept to the track he’s the best ever!” one fellow said, shaking his head as though he could hardly believe it. “There’s another runner, and this time it is Frank Allen!” “With Bones close behind him; and the field out of sight!”