"Sure." Perry proceeded back to the beginning of the straightaway and Fudge stationed himself at the finish, scuffling a line across the track for his better guidance. Then, while the sprinter was getting his crouch, he experimented with slapping the sticks and snapping the watch at the same instant, a rather difficult proceeding.
"All ready!" shouted Perry, poised on finger-tips and knee.
"All right!" called Fudge in response. He examined his watch, fixed a finger over the stem, took a deep breath and clapped the sticks. Perry set. Another clap and a simultaneous jab at the watch, and Perry was racing down the track. Fudge's eyes took one fleeting look at the runner and then fixed themselves strainedly on the line he had drawn across the cinders. Nearer and nearer came the scrunch of the flying sneakers, there was a sudden blur of gray in Fudge's vision and he snapped the watch. Perry turned and trotted anxiously back.
"Well?" he asked.
"Better," replied Fudge. "Of course, the track's awfully slow"
"How much? Let's see?"
Fudge yielded the watch and Perry examined it.
"Eleven and two-fifths!" he shouted protestingly.
19
