"We got to get outa this," Billy said. "The fun's only
commenced."

"Aw, wait," Bert begged. "It's worth eight dollars. It's cheap at
any price. I ain't seen so many black eyes and bloody noses in a
month of Sundays."

"Well, go on back an' enjoy yourself," Billy commended. "I'll
take the girls up there on the side hill where we can look on.
But I won't give much for your good looks if some of them Micks
lands on you."

The trouble was over in an amazingly short time, for from the
judges' stand beside the track the announcer was bellowing the
start of the boys' foot-race; and Bert, disappointed, joined
Billy and the two girls on the hillside looking down upon the
track.

There were boys' races and girls' races, races of young women and
old women, of fat men and fat women, sack races and three-legged
races, and the contestants strove around the small track through
a Bedlam of cheering supporters. The tug-of-war was already
forgotten, and good nature reigned again.

Five young men toed the mark, crouching with fingertips to the
ground and waiting the starter's revolver-shot. Three were in
their stocking-feet, and the remaining two wore spiked
running-shoes.

"Young men's race," Bert read from the program. "An' only one