Lanky gave a grunt, and turned a little red; but immediately looked away. It was apparently more satisfactory to turn his eyes toward that corner of the stand where a certain little rosy-cheeked girl sat, waving her Columbia flag every time he looked that way. And doubtless the sight of Dora Baxter inspired Lanky with more and more determination to do himself proud on this day. Presently the wiry-looking Clifford athlete betook himself off, apparently satisfied with his view of his two rivals at close quarters. “What do you think of him, Frank?” asked Lanky. “Is he the great wonder they say, and do we need to fear him?” “He’s got all the points of a good runner in his make-up,” replied Frank. “To tell the truth, he makes me think of some of the Indian long-distance runners whose pictures I’ve got at home--Longboat in particular. Yes, if that fellow let tobacco alone, and paid attention to himself, I rather think he’d look at the bunch of us over his shoulder as he led the procession all along the ten miles.” “But he does use cigarettes; I saw his stained fingers,” Lanky went on; “and do you expect that is going to hurt his chances?” “I don’t doubt it any more than I doubt my eyes when I see you in front of me,” Frank went on, earnestly. “And another thing, Lanky, I must say I don’t admire his face very much.” “Why, what’s the matter with it, Frank? Now, all things considered, I was sayin’ to myself that he’s a heap handsomer than Lanky Wallace ever can be.” “Oh! well, we’re not talking about good looks now, you know,” laughed Frank. “Anybody could take just one glance at your face, and know that he’d be able to trust you to the limit. But, Lanky, there was something that I think bordered on treachery and cunning in his shifty eyes, and the sneer on his face.” “Whew! that’s layin’ it on pretty thick, Frank!” “I wouldn’t think of saying it to a living soul, only you; and I do it now because I honestly believe that fellow would be mean enough to do something to disable you, if he saw that you were going to pass him, and no one seemed to be looking. He would stick out his foot, and trip you, hoping you’d strain an ankle in the tumble, and have to give up.” “Great governor! you don’t say so, Frank!” ejaculated Lanky; “but he might know I’d tell it on him after I did limp in!” “And he’d claim that it was entirely unintentional on his part--that he slipped, and came near falling himself, when he tripped you. All I want to remark is this, Lanky; keep your eye on him, and look out for a trick, if you do start to go ahead of him. That fellow believes in the rule or ruin policy, if ever it was written on a boy’s face. But see, here comes the sack race; it ought to be funny enough to make us forget all our troubles.” The crowd was in a mood for something comical; and if sack races are properly conducted, they afford plenty of fun; except for some of the unfortunate participants who in falling manage to skin their noses.