right. Kirke looked grimly determined and Perry

was pretty sure that he meant to win. And, thought Perry, since he had failed in the hundred he really deserved to. But Perry was not yet conceding the race. He had made mistakes in his first race. He had realized it afterwards. Now he meant to profit by what he had learned. He wasn't so frightened this time, either. He had been through the fire.

The crowd about the start drew back to the turf and a whistle shrilled. Down at the finish a handkerchief waved response. The six boys stopped prancing and settled to their places. The starter stepped back.

"On your marks!"

Perry, settling his toes into the cinders, heard the click of the pistol hammer as it was drawn back. There was a sudden silence.

"Set!"

An instant's pause and then the pistol spoke sharply and the race was on. Six lithe, white-clad forms launched themselves forward, twelve arms beat the air and twelve legs twinkled. Three of the six had drawn ahead in the first lunge, Perry and Kirke amongst them. Twenty yards away the field was already strung out. Kirke, running terrifically, was a yard to the good. Perry and Lawrence