he withdrew ... impressed ... awed....

I flung myself on my face.

"Look here, God, I'll really believe in you, if you give me this last
race ... it will be a miracle, God, if you do this for me, and I will
believe in your Bible, despite my common sense ... despite history ...
despite Huxley and Voltaire," then, going as far as I could--"yes, and
despite Shelley ... dear God, dear Christ, please do what I have asked."

My hand struck on a bottle of witch hazel as I rose. Impulsively, I
drank off half the contents. It sent a warmth through me. I straightened
up, invigorated.

"Come on, Gregory ... what's the matter?" it was Dunn, protesting,
"we'll have to run off the mile without you, if you don't come."

"I'm ready ... I'm coming."

* * * * *

All that I had in my head, when the pistol cracked, was to _run!_ ...
all I felt about me was only a pair of mad legs.

I licked out, neither seeing nor caring ... almost feeling my way along
the rim of the track with my toes, as I ran--as if I had racing eyes in
them. There was a continuous roar that rose and fell like the sea. But I
neither saw nor heeded. I just ran and ran.

On the home-stretch a fellow came breast to breast with me. It was