For the two-mile, the half, and the mile, each—­a single athlete was training, his heart set on the record.  It seemed impossible that I should win all three races.  Yet I did.

I was all nerves and sinews for the two-mile.  The night before I had lain awake.  I could not sleep so I read a poor translation of the odes of Pindar.  But behind the bad verbiage of the translator, I fed on the shining spirit of the poetry.  With Pindar’s music in me, I was ready for the two-mile.

* * * * *

Tensely we leaned forward, at the scratch.  I had my plan of campaign evolved.  I would leap to the fore, at the crack of the pistol, set a terrific pace, sprint the first quarter, and then settle into my long, steady stride, and trust to my good lung power ... for I had paid special attention to my lung-development, at “Perfection City.”

I felt a melting fire of nervousness running through my body, a weakness.

I bowed my face in my hands and prayed ... both to Christ and to Apollo ... in deadly seriousness ... perhaps all the gods really were....

The gun cracked.  Off I leapt, in the lead ... in the first lap the field fell behind.

“Steady, Gregory, steady!” advised Dunn, in a low voice, as I flashed into the second....

I thought I had distanced everybody ... but it chilled me to hear the soft swish, swish of another runner ... glancing rapidly behind, I saw a swarthy lad, a fellow with a mop of wiry, black hair, whom we called “The Hick” (for he had never been anywhere but on a farm)—­going stride for stride, right in my steps, just avoiding my heels....

Run as I might, I couldn’t shake him off....

Every time I swept by, the crowd would set up a shout ... but now they were encouraging “The hick” more than me.  This made me furious, hurt my egotism.  My lungs were burning with effort ...  I threw out into a longer stride.  I glanced back again.  Still the chap was lumbering along ... but easily, so easily ... almost without an effort....

“Good God, am I going to be beaten?” I sensed a terrific sprinting-power in the following, chunky body of my antagonist.

There were only two more laps ... the rest of the field were a lap and a half behind, fighting for third place amongst themselves ... jeered at by the instinctive cruelty of the onlookers....

My ears perceived a cessation of the following swish, the tread.  Simultaneously I heard a great shout go up.  I dared not look back, however, to see what was happening—­I threw myself forward at that shout, fearing the worst, and ran myself blind....

* * * * *

“Take it easy, you have it!”

“Shut up! he’s after the record.”

* * * * *

The shrill screaming of the girls who had come over, in a white, linen-starched wagon load, from Fairfield, gave me my last spurt.  Expecting every moment to hear my antagonist grind past me, on the cinders, I sped up the home-stretch.