The Motor Boys | Page 6

would you like to go off and get a good smoke? Come, I'll pay for it?"
"I'd like it first rate, but I must stay here quite late," said Pete.
"Why so? Oh, I don't know," mocked Bill, falling into the eccentric mood of his companion.
"To guard the wheels against the steals," replied Pete.
"Don't let that worry you," went on Bill, eagerly. "I'll stay here. You go get yourself something to smoke, and take your time. I'll stand guard while you're away."
If there was one thing more than another that Old Pete liked, it was to smoke. Usually he had to forego this pleasure because of lack of funds. Now here was a chance to indulge. So, after receiving twenty-five cents from Bill Berry, Pete started over to the grand stand, near which was a booth where cigars and refreshments were sold.
Bill looked narrowly about as soon as Pete was out of sight. There were plenty of people around him, but no one seemed to be noticing what he was doing. Quickly Bill pulled a wrench from his pocket and used it on each of the three bicycles. Then he brought out a stick of something black.
"This graphite is well doctored," he muttered. "I guess it won't be healthy for the chains."
He rubbed a liberal supply on the chain of each wheel, and also on the sprockets. Then he rapidly opened the tool bags on each machine, took out the graphite he found there, and substituted some of his own.
"I guess that will do the trick," he said softly. "And I guess I've earned my two dollars, Jack Pender."
He hurried off, mingled with the crowd, and a little later was in conversation with Jack Pender.
A little later Pete came hurrying back. He was smoking a cheap cigar, and his pockets bulged with others.
"Here you go, Bill, now smoke with a will," began Pete, when he drew near where he had left his new friend in charge of the boys' bicycles. "Why, he's gone," he went on, seeing the deserted mounts. "Wonder where he went?" However, he did not give much thought to it, and went on smoking happily.
"Wheels all right?" asked Ned a few minutes after, as he, Jerry and Bob came up.
"Right as a fiddle, come high-diddle," recited Pete.
"Hark! What's that?" asked Chunky suddenly? "Sounds like an announcement."
The three boys ran nearer the grand stand where the official announcer stood. The man was using a small megaphone and went on to say that there had been a slight change in the program, and that the race for those who had never been in a contest before would be the first number instead of the third.
"Great Scott, Chunky! That'll mean you'll have to hustle for all you're worth!" cried Jerry? "Here, get your wheel out, strip off your sweater and get around to the track entrance and have your number pinned on."
Jerry grabbed up his chum's wheel, while Ned assisted the lad in pulling his sweater over his head. Then, cautioning Pete to keep a strict look-out, the three boys ran with Bob to the track entrance.
They were only just in time, and found a lot of other contestants ahead of them. Bob received his number, and then, for the first time, thought of his wheel.
"Just spin it for me, to see if it don't need a drop more of oil," Bob asked Jerry. "My hands shake so I can't undo the tool bag."
Obligingly Jerry spun the wheels. The rubber-tired circle went around swiftly for several turns, and then came a sudden slowing down.
"That's funny," remarked Bob? "I had that all adjusted this noon."
Jerry bent down and looked at the bearings.
"The cones have been tightened," he announced? "Why I can feel the friction," and he moved the front wheel slowly with his hands.
"Try the back wheel!" urged Ned.
Holding that clear of the ground Jerry spun it by placing his foot on the pedal. There was a woeful squeak, and, after a few revolutions that wheel, too, slowed down. Jerry rubbed his finger over the sprocket chain. It came away black from the graphite, but mingled with the blackness were many shining specks.
Just then there came the crack of a revolver.
"That means three minutes to the start," cried Bob. "What will I do? I can't fix the wheel in that time!"
"Some one's put iron filings in the graphite," announced Jerry, rubbing the stuff between his fingers?. "There's trickery here!"
"And I'll lose the race!" cried Bob. "I know I have a good chance of winning!"
"Let me get my wheel!" exclaimed Ned.
"It wouldn't do any good," interposed Jerry. "We haven't time to run after them. Besides, the chances are our wheels are doctored too."
"All ready, boys!" warned the starter. "Minute and a half more before the final gun!"
"I might as well quit," cried Bob.
"Don't you