"Shucks, everyone comes on. I wish I'd known

you were there. What—what did you think of it?"

"The field?" asked Mr. Addicks innocently.

"No, I mean the—the sprinting and all."

"I thought that fellow White was a mighty clever runner, Perry. I don't know that I ever saw a chap handle himself much better. Of course he wasn't half trying to-day. He didn't have to. I'd like to see him when he was pushed."

"He's fine, Lanny is," said Perry admiringly. "And Kirke is pretty good, too, didn't you think? He got second in the hundred, you know."

"That his name? Well, he's not the sprinter White is. Is that little thin fellow your trainer? The fellow in the brown-and-white sweater?"

"Yes, that's Skeet Presser. He used to be a champion miler; or maybe it was half-miler; I forget."

"Is he considered a good coach?"

"Oh, yes, sir! He trains at the Y. M. C. A., you know."

Mr. Addicks smiled. "Well, that ought to be conclusive, Perry! But let me ask you something now. Who taught you how to run?"

"Why, he did; he and Lanny. Lanny coaches the sprinters sometimes."

"White, you mean? Well, did either of them