"We're going to have some boys' races, miss, and we want the ladies to look on.

His lordship has offered prizes.

The first is a boys' race-under eleven." "You can join in that, anyhow," she said to Paul.

"Go along and let me see you win." Paul scudded off, his heart aflame, his hand, as he ran, tucking in the shirt whose evasion from the breeches was beyond the control of the single brace.

Besides, crawling on your stomach is dislocating even to the most neatly secured attire.