This was quite true! in a season of pecuniary depression I had once put
my legs into my stomach--had turned my athletic accomplishments to
financial advantage. It was not a pleasant topic, and I said nothing.
That Jim persisted.

"Wouldn't like to do a feller a somersault now, eh?"

The mocking tongue of this jeer was intolerable; the fellow evidently
considered me "done up," so taking a short run I clapped my hands to my
thighs and executed as pretty a flip-flap as ever was made without a
springboard! At the moment I came erect with my head still spinning, I
felt That Jim crowd past me, giving me a twirl that almost sent me off
the track. A moment later he had dashed ahead at a tremendous pace,
laughing derisively over his shoulder as if he had done a remarkably
clever thing to gain the lead.

I was on the heels of him in less than ten minutes, though I must
confess the fellow could walk amazingly. In half an hour I had run past
him, and at the end of the hour, such was my slashing gait, he was a
mere black dot in my rear, and appeared to be sitting on one of the
rails, thoroughly used up.

Relieved of Mr. Peasley, I naturally began thinking of my poor friend in
the Flatbroke jail, and it occurred to me that something might happen to
hasten the execution. I knew the feeling of the country against him, and
that many would be there from a distance who would naturally wish to get
home before nightfall. Nor could I help admitting to myself that five
o'clock was an unreasonably late hour for a hanging. Tortured with these
fears, I unconsciously increased my pace with every step, until it was