At the big door of the Kennel the boys stopped for a final word.  “We won’t make a sound if we should have to pass on the trail,” said George.  “We’ll be as silent as the dead,” an expression recently acquired, and one which seemed in keeping with these solemn moments.  “All the dogs know our voices, an’ if we should speak they might stop just like they have when we’ve been exercisin’ ’em, an’ wanted t’ talk things over.  We’ll pull the hoods of our parkas over our heads, an’ turn our faces away so’s not to attract ’em.  Dan, I do want t’ win this race awful bad, ‘cause o’ my father mostly, but you bet I hope you’ll come in a close second.”

“Same to you, George,” and they made their way to the middle of the street, where they fell in behind the Big Man and the Peril, and were flanked by the Woman and “Scotty,” Matt and Ben, with most of the others who had waited for this imposing departure.

The other entries had already arrived at the starting point, where there was much confusion and zeal in keeping the bewildered dogs in order.  It was a new game, and they did not quite comprehend what was expected of them.

At last, however, the Timekeeper, and Starter, assisted by various members of the Kennel Club, had cleared a space into which the first entry was led with great ceremony.  It was Bob, with the cordial, if ancient, Nero in the lead.

They were to leave three minutes apart; the time of each team being computed from the moment of its departure till its return, as is always done in the Great Races.

The Timekeeper stood with his watch in his hand, and the Starter beside him.  Bob, eager for the word, spoke soothingly to the dogs to keep them quiet.  He was devoutly hoping that Nero would not discover any intimate friend in the crowd and insist upon a formal greeting; for Nero’s affability was a distinct disadvantage on such an occasion.

At last the moment came, and the Starter’s “Go” was almost simultaneous with Bob’s orders to his leader, whose usual dignified and leisurely movements were considerably hastened by the thunderous applause of the spectators.

It was a “bully get-away,” George and Dan agreed, and only hoped that theirs would be as satisfactory.

Bill followed with equal ease, and equal approbation.

Jim, justifying Dan’s earlier unfavorable report, lost over a minute by letting his dogs become tangled up in their harness, and then coaxing them to leave instead of commanding.

“Wouldn’t that jar you?” whispered Dan disgustedly.  “Why, your sister Helen does better’n that in those girly-girly races, even if she does say she’d rather get a beatin’ herself than give one to a dog.”

But the general public looked with more lenient eyes upon such mistakes, and Jim left amidst the same enthusiasm that had sped the others on their way.

When Dan and his dogs lined up there was much admiration openly expressed.