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Then followed a two-mile race rather dull to watch and with that the sports were at an end. Need I say how proudly Slipshaw and I marched up arm-in-arm to receive the prize for our race, which consisted of a bat for me and a telescope for my companion? or how the new boy was cheered? or how Shute and Catherall were applauded?
Before I left Parkhurst I was an old hand at athletic sports, but I don't think I ever thought any of them so interesting as the day on which Slipshaw and I, with our legs tied together, came in first in the three-legged race! Sneak! It's an ugly name, but not ugly enough, believe me, for the animal it describes.
"Number 1, Junior 100 yards, for boys under 12," and 24 names entered! Slipshaw and 1, both over 12, go off to have a look at "the kids," and a queer sight it is. Of course, they can't all, 24 of them, run abreast, and so they are being started in heats, six at a time. The first lot is just starting. How eagerly they toe the line and look up at the starter!
I was giving one despairing thought to the pots and prizes in the tent, when a great roar of laughter almost made me forget which foot to put forward. What could it be? and Slipshaw was laughing too! "Steady, now," he said, "and come along!" The laughter continued, and looking before me, I suddenly detected its cause.
"Bellows did it," said the big boy; "look at his chest"; and then for the first time I noticed where the secret of this hero's triumph lay. But, horrors! the next race is Number 12, and Slipshaw and I scuttle off as hard as we can go, to get ready. How miserable I felt then! I hated athletic sports, and detested "three-legged races."
For the Senior 100 yards which followed only three were entered, and each of these had his band of confident admirers. Slipshaw and I were very "sweet" on Jackson, who was monitor of our dormitory, and often gave us the leavings of his muffins, but Ranger was a lighter-built fellow, and seemed very active, while Bruce's long legs looked not at all pleasant for his opponents.
"Steady!" growled Slipshaw again, as I began to try to run, and nearly capsized him. You may laugh, reader, but it was no joke, that three-legged race. The others ahead of us showed no signs of flagging; they were going hard, one couple close at the heels of the other, and we a full five yards behind.
As we emerged from the tent, we and the other two couples, ambling along on our respective three legs, a shout of laughter greeted our appearance. I, for one, didn't see anything to laugh at, just then. "Adams," said Slipshaw, as we reached the starting-place, "take it easy, old man, and mind you don't go over." "All right," said I, feeling very much inclined to go over at that instant.
Not a few of us, too, turn our eyes wistfully to that tent over yonder, where we know are concealed the rewards of this day's combats; and in my secret heart I find myself wondering more than once how it will sound to hear the names "Adams and Slipshaw" called upon to receive the first prize for the three-legged race. Hark! There goes a bell, and we are really about to begin.
Then that awful starter began his little speech. "Are you ready?" he asked. "Not at all," inwardly ejaculated I. "Off!" he cried; and almost before I knew where I was, Slipshaw and I were hopping along on our three legs amid the cheers of the crowd. "Steady!" said he, as I stepped out rather too fast. Alas! we were last. The other two couples were pounding along ahead at a wonderful pace.
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