Their mothers and big brothers are looking on, their "chums" are shouting to them along the course, and the winning-post is not very far ahead.

On they go, but not in a level row.

One has taken the lead, and the others straggle behind him in a queer procession.

It doesn't last long.

Even a Junior 100 yards must come to an end at last, and the winner runs, puffing, into the judge's arms, half a dozen yards ahead of the next boy, and 50 yards ahead of the last.