Looking in the direction from whence the groan came he discovered a boy sitting on the ground, and rubbing his lower extremities vigorously.
It was "Just" Smith! Evidently something not down on the programme had happened to the boy who led the race across the quarry road.
Hugh suspected treachery immediately.

He turned aside, and sprang towards his chum.
"Hey! what ails you, 'Just' Smith ?" he called out, wasting some of his precious breath in the bargain.

"This isn't the way to win a Marathon, don't you know?
What if you have barked your shin ?--forget all about it, and get moving again!" The Smith boy looked very sad, as he shook his face dolefully.
"Huh! wish I could, Hugh," he hastened to mumble, still rubbing his shin, and making faces as though it hurt him considerably.

"I've tried to run, but shucks; what's the use when you can hardly limp at the best?
I'm through, Hugh, sorry to say.

You keep on, and bag the prize; next to winning it myself I'd love to know _you_ took it away from that Whipple chap." "But--how did the accident happen, 'Just' Smith ?" continued Hugh.
"Accident nothing!" snapped the other, between his set teeth.