“Make sure always that they’re all properly ‘set’ before you fire.  If there’s any fouling at the start, you can call them back and penalize the fellow that fouled—­a yard to five yards, according to your discretion.  But there’s not likely to be any fouling; in most of the events the fellows are pretty well separated by their handicaps.”

“I’ll be careful,” said Irving.  He inspected the revolver.  “It’s all loaded?”

“Yes—­and there are some blank cartridges.  Now, you’re all equipped.  If any questions come up—­I’ll be down at the field; I’m to be one of the judges and you can call on me.”

At luncheon Irving entered into the talk about the sports to come, without giving any intimation as to the part which he was to play.

“They’ve given Heath only thirty yards over Lou Collingwood,” complained Westby.

“I thought Lou wasn’t going to run, because of football; he hasn’t been practising,” said Carroll.

“I know, but the Pythians have got hold of him, and Dennison’s persuaded him it’s his duty to run.  And I guess he’s good enough without practice to win from scratch—­giving that handicap!”

“Is Dennison the captain of the Pythian track team?” asked Irving.

“Yes.”

“And who’s captain of yours—­the Corinthians?”

“Ned Morrill.”

“Morrill’s going awfully fast in the quarter now,” said Blake.  “I timed him yesterday.”

“They’ve handicapped him pretty hard.  And he’s apt to be just a shade late in starting—­just as Dave Pratt is apt to be just a shade previous,” said Westby.  “It ought to be a close race between those two.”

“How much does Pratt get over Morrill?”

“Five yards.  And if he steals another yard on the start—­”

“Dave wouldn’t steal it,” exclaimed Blake indignantly.  “You Corinthians would accuse a man of anything!”

“Oh, I don’t mean that he’d do it intentionally,” replied Westby.  “But he’s so overanxious and eager always—­and he’s apt to get away without realizing—­without the starter realizing.—­I wonder who’s going to be starter, by the way?”

Nobody knew; Irving did not enlighten them.

Westby bethought him to ask the same question of Scarborough half an hour later, when they were dressing in the athletic house.

“Mr. Upton has consented to serve,” said Scarborough gravely.

Westby thumped himself down on a bench, dangling one spiked running shoe by the string.

“What!  Kiddy!”

“The same,” said Scarborough.

Westby said nothing more; he stooped and put on his shoe, and then he rose and came over to Scarborough, who was untangling a knot.  He passed his hand over Scarborough’s head and remarked wonderingly, “Feels perfectly normal—­strange—­strange!”

Morrill came in from outside, clapping his hands.  “Corinthians out for the mile—­Heath—­Price—­Bolton—­Edwards—­all ready?”