"I can't say I hanker after them, aunt," said Ben good humoredly. "However, you see, I might have had a place, so you mustn't get discouraged so quick." "Will you stay at home this afternoon, Ben?" asked little Tony. "I can't Tony; I have an engagement with James Watson. Aunt Jane, if I am late to supper, don't be frightened." Ben found James ready and waiting. They set out at once. Lovell's Grounds were situated a mile and a half away; they comprised several acres, sloping down to a pond, which was provided with pleasure boats. The grounds were frequently hired by parties from neighboring towns, having been fitted up especially for the enjoyment of a crowd. To-day they were engaged by a young people's association, and the program included, among other things, some athletic sports. The grounds were pretty well filled when the two boys arrived. In fact, the performance had already commenced. "You're just in time for the fun, boys," said George Herman, a mutual acquaintance, coming up to meet them. "Why, what's up George?" "There is to be a fat man's race of two hundred yards, for a prize of five dollars." "Who are going to enter?" "Tom Hayden, the landlord of the Milltown House, and Jim Morrison, the tailor. One weighs two hundred and fifty, the other two hundred and forty-three." "Good!" laughed Ben. "That will be fun. Where do they start from?" "There! Don't you see that chalk-mark? And there come the men." There was a level track laid out, extending two hundred yards, which was used for such occasions, and this was one of the attractive features of Lovell's Grounds. The two men advanced to the starting-line, each accoutered for the race. They had divested themselves of their coats, and stood in shirt-sleeves, breathing hard already, in anticipation of the race. Their bulky forms appeared to great advantage, and excited considerable amusement. Tom Hayden, who was rather the heavier of the two, had encircled his waist with a leather strap, which confined it almost as closely as a young lady's waist. This was by advice of Frank Jones, a young fellow noted as a runner. "I don't think I can stand it, Frank," said Hayden, gasping for breath. "Oh, yes, you can, Mr. Hayden. You'll see how it will help you." "I can hardly breathe. You've got it too tight." Frank Jones loosened it a little, and then turned to Morrison. "Won't you have a girdle, too, Mr. Morrison?" he asked. "Not much. I don't want to be suffocated before I start. Have you made your will, Hayden?" "Not yet, I will make it after I have won the prize." "Are you ready, gentlemen?" asked Frank Jones, who officiated as starter. "As ready as I ever expect to be," answered Hayden, trying to draw a long breath, and failing. "Then, start at the word three. One! Two! Three!"