Immediately eight other boys took their places at the starting line.
Charmides snatched his father's hand and held it tight, for Creon was
one of them. Another signal and they were off, with Creon leading by
a pace or two. So it was all the way, and he gave a glad shout as he
touched the goal post.

Charmides heard men all about him say:

"A beautiful run!"

"How easily he steps!"

"We shall see him do something in the last heat."

"Who is he?"

And when the herald announced the name of the winner, the benches buzzed
with,

"Creon, Creon, son of Menon the Athenian."

Four more groups were called and ran. Then the six winners stepped up
to the line. This time the goal was the altar at the farther end of the
stadion. A wave of excitement ran around the seats. Everybody leaned
forward. The signal! Leotichides sprang a long pace ahead. Next came
Creon, loping evenly. One boy stumbled and fell behind. The other three
were running almost side by side. Menon was muttering between his teeth:

"Hermes, be his aid! Great Zeus look upon him! Herakles give him wind!"