"I'd be a fine candidate for a fifteen-mile Marathon race, wouldn't I, if seven miles knocked me out?
I'm as fit right now as a fiddle.

But Hugh, can you come right over here now?
Something dreadful has happened." Hugh had a chilly feeling pass over him.

It seemed as though some sort of bad news was coming.

Had the great meet been called off, for some unknown reason or other?
Somehow that struck him first as a dire possibility, since it would grievously disappoint thousands of eager boys and girls, not to mention many older folks with young hearts.
Now Hugh had intended to take that evening quietly, resting after his strenuous afternoon, and absolutely refuse to allow Thad, or any other fellow, to coax him outside the door.

But already this resolve began to weaken.