When Chub left Roy lying gasping for breath in the bushes and took up the race again he was a good hundred yards behind Jack and Pryor, who were just dropping from sight beyond the brow of one of the little hills. "Keep over that way--get back to the road," he turned and shouted. He saw Roy nod wearily. Then he set out in earnest to make up lost ground. That was the hardest bit of the whole run for Chub and it took him the better part of a mile to make up that hundred yards. Jack and Pryor did their level best to maintain their advantage. But when they were back on the road once more Chub was running even with them. Pryor tried to slip aside and make him take the lead and set the pace, but Chub was too wary. It could scarcely be called running now, for with less than a mile to go it became a question with each one of them whether they could stay on their feet long enough to finish and their pace was a slow jog that was little like the springy gait with which they had started out. There was no breath wasted now in talk. They cast quick looks at each other, searching for signs of weakness and discouragement. It was every man for himself, Pryor struggling along with drooping head for the glory of the Middle Class, Jack resolved to win the honor for the First Seniors, and Chub equally determined to gain it for the Second Seniors. A quarter of a mile from the school, just as they turned into the Silver Cove road, Pryor's time came. He faltered once, stumbled, and Chub turning aside to avoid him, slowed down to a walk, his breath coming in agonized gasps. Chub and Jack went on without a turn of the head, side by side, their eyes glued doggedly on the red-tiled tower of the gymnasium visible now above the tree-tops a few hundred yards away. Then the road turned a bit and a group of waiting boys marked the corner of the school grounds. Chub looked at Jack and the latter shook his head with a wry twisted smile. But when Chub threw his head back and strove to draw away from him Jack responded gallantly and refused to own himself beaten. So they had it nip and tuck down to the corner, pounding the hard road like cart horses and yet making but slow work of it, while the audience shouted them on, scattering away from the rail fence that they might have plenty of room. And they needed it. Twice Chub strove to throw his leg across the topmost bar and twice he failed. Jack, with set teeth, got over on the second attempt, and when Chub came tumbling after him he had a good six yards of lead. Ahead, at the gate across the field, stood Doctor and Mrs Emery and Harry. "Hurry! Hurry!" cried the latter, dancing excitedly about. "Oh, it's Jack Rogers and Chub Eaton! Hurry, Jack! Hurry, Chub! Oh, _can't_ you run faster?" "Which do you want to win, my dear?" asked her mother smilingly. Harry answered breathlessly without turning. "Oh, I don't know! Both!"