Cinder Path Tales

ATHERTON'S LAST "HALF" 125 swift feet behind him. I knew it was a hopeless task, for his opponent was fresh as paint, and full of running. Gradually his longer stride drew him up, but when he tried to pass, Teddy still had a word to say, and met him with the most stubborn resistance. He was almost gone, his face white asdeath, his eyes glazed, and he kept his speed only by sheer force of will. Somehow, I know not how, for I could hardly have taken my eyes from the runners, I knew that Mollie Kittredge wason her feet with a look of horror in her face. Down the stretch they came, the little fellow with the drawn cheeks, and his oppo­ nent tall and strong andconfident. Side by side they came, neithergaining, until perhaps fifteen yards from the finish, when the big fellow shot by. Teddy staggeredon, but lurched forward, and fell, a few feet short of the line, just as the winner broke the tape. He fell without an effort to save himself, plowing through the cinders with his white face. There was a convulsive struggle to crawl over, and then he lay still, dead to the world, with one hand stretched out toward the line. The half-dozen who finished ran by the motionless figure, and I was over it a second after. Tom Furness was almost as soon as