"Anyone at home?" called Referee Tyndall, poking his head in past the flap of the tent and viewing the recumbent lads. "All here? That's good. I'm a committee of one, sent over here by the Gridley folks at the hotel. They're ordering a supper and they want you boys to come over promptly. You're to be the guests of honor." "Will you be good enough to present the Gridley people with our best thanks," returned Dick promptly, rising to greet the referee, "and ask them very kindly to excuse us? Assure them, please, that we're in strict training, with more races to come, and that banquets would perhaps spoil us for the next race." "I'm afraid I'll have difficulty in getting that message through," protested Mr. Tyndall. "Your Gridley friends are bound to have you over at the hotel." "They can't get us there with anything less than the state militia," declared Dave, who had awakened. "We can fight and whip any smaller body of armed men that tries to drag us away from our rest. Our friends are good to us but can't they understand that we ache?" "You _do_ look rather played out," assented Mr. Tyndall, after surveying the various wrapped bundles of high school boy humanity. "But can't you raise enough energy to come over in an hour?" "If the Gridley people are really our friends," protested Tom Reade, opening his eyes, "they'll let us sleep through until to-morrow morning. We nearly killed our tender young selves in that last big spurt, and now we must rest our bones and aching muscles." "But what can I tell the folks at the hotel?" begged Mr. Tyndall. "Tell 'em that we appreciate their kindness," laughed Dick. "All right. I'll tell them---something," murmured Mr. Tyndall, as he turned away. "Up, all of you fellows!" commanded Dick Prescott. "This doesn't look very gracious on our part, when an entertainment has been arranged for us. We'll go, and attend to our aches to-morrow." But when the referee of the afternoon noted how stiffly they all moved he found himself filled with compassion. "Don't you try to come over, boys," he urged. "You're too stiff and sore to-night. Some people, myself included, don't realize that fifteen-year-old boys haven't the bodily stamina of men of twenty-five. You did a splendid bit of work this afternoon, and now you're entitled to your rest." "We'll get over there, somehow," Dick promised. "No; you won't. Don't you try it. The Gridley visitors would be brutes to try to drag you out to-night. I shan't let you go, and I shall tell the home folks that you're enjoying a well-won rest." "But don't you let any of the Preston High School fellows know how crippled you found us," begged Dave Darrin. "What would you care, if I did?" laughed Mr. Tyndall. "You fellows won the race, didn't you? And I'll wager that the Preston boys are feeling a whole lot worse than you are. Don't come! Good night." "Tyndall is a brick to let us off," sighed Tom gratefully, as he sank down once more.