He wore no running shoes,
but a pair of gray woolen socks, plainly "hand made," provided a
substitute. His "running shirt" was a calico blouse which had at one
time doubtless served him as a garment in which he had done the daily
chores upon his father's farm, but, as if to make matters still worse, a
broad band of ribbon, the colors of the class, was diagonally fastened
to his blouse in front, and Peter John's fierce shock of bright red
hair, uncut since he had entered Winthrop, served to set off the entire
picture he presented.
"Well, I guess we'll do 'em to-day, Will," exclaimed Peter John as he
approached the group of which his friend was a member.
"I guess we will," remarked Mott soberly.
"I'm going to do my prettiest," continued Peter John.
"If you let anybody once get ahead of you, Schenck," said Mott, "you'll
never catch him. If he sees you after him he'll run for his life."
"He'll have to!"
"What are you entered for?" inquired Mott, glancing at his program as he
spoke.
"The half-mile run."
"Ever do it before?"
"Once or twice."
"What time did you make?"
"I don't just recollect.
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