down there. Of course, we ought to have another fellow here to help, but I guess I can manage all right." He set his stop-watch, composed his features into a stern frown and retired some twenty yards back from the track and half that distance nearer the finish line. "On your mark!" called Fudge. "Set! . . . Go!"
Perry sped from the mark only to hear Fudge's arresting voice. "Sorry, Perry, but I forgot to start the watch that time. Try it again."
"That's a fine trick! I had a bully getaway," complained the sprinter. "Make it good this time, Fudge; I'm getting dog-tired!"
"I will. Now, then! On your mark! . . . Set! . . . Go!"
Off leaped Perry again, not quite so nicely this time, and down the wet path he sped, splashing through the puddles, head back, legs twinkling. And, as though trying to make pace for him, Fudge raced along on the turf in a valiant endeavor to judge the finish. Perry's Sunday trousers made a gray streak across the line, Fudge pressed convulsively on the stem of the watch and the trial was over!
"Wh-what was it?" inquired Perry breathlessly as he walked back. Fudge was staring puzzledly at the dial.
17
