The Motor Boys | Page 7

do it!" said some one suddenly at his side. "Here, you take my wheel. It's a racer, and I've just oiled it." As he spoke a boy, of about thirteen years, who had a slight acquaintance with our three heroes, shoved a handsome new wheel over toward Bob.
"Oh, thank you, Sam Morton," said Bo. "But don't you want it yourself?"
"Not a bit," said Sam. "I'm not going to race. Take the wheel."
"All right, I will," assented Bob. "And I'll square things with you afterward, Sam. Some one has doctored mine. I..."
But Bob did not have time to say any more.
"Half a minute!" warned the starter.
"Get on the track!" cried Jerry.
"Line up! Do your best and win!" counseled Ned.
"I will!" shouted back Bob, and the next instant he was lined up with the others, waiting for the pistol shot that would start them off.
"Crack!"
A little puff of smoke, a sliver of flame, and a slight report. Then the whirr of rubber tires on the track sounded like the wind rushing through the trees.
The race, while it was of much interest to the contestants and their friends, was not very important to the general public. It was only a mile sprint and there were ten starters.
Bob's heart beat wildly at first and his wheel wobbled from side to side. Then the fever of fear left him. He saw that he was not being left behind and he picked up courage. He shut his teeth tightly, took a long breath, and let out a burst of speed that carried him to within three of the leader.
There was a cheer at this, which gave him new courage, and he struggled harder and harder. Gradually he passed two of those ahead of him. There now remained but one lad between himself and the lead. He gave one quick glance.
"It's Jack Pender," he thought. "I know he's been in races before. But I'm going to beat him."
Once more Bob clenched his teeth and let out another burst of speed. But he had a good rider to contend against. Jack, looking behind and seeing the boy he hated, redoubled his efforts.
The race was half done. Already several who had no chance had dropped out. The struggle was between Bob and Jack. Bob could hear the band playing, as if it was a mile away. He drew one long breath, threw into his leg muscles another ounce of strength and then, with an effort that surprised even himself he found that he was on even terms with Jack.
"Confound you! What are you trying to do, beat me?" snapped Jack.
"That's what I am."
"Well, you're not going to!"
Jack gave his wheel a sudden turn. His intention was to upset Bob. But the latter was too quick for him.
"Foul! Foul!" cried several who had seen the attempt.
The two passed the post set an eighth of a mile from the finish, neck and neck. Bob could see that Jack was almost winded. As for Bob, though in distress he still had some reserve strength.
Then, with a last final burst of speed, with a frenzied effort that sent the blood singing to his head, Bob passed his rival, and came under the tape a winner by two good lengths.
"Hurrah!" cried thousands.
"Hurrah!" cried Ned and Jerry, though Bob could not hear them.
And Bob, almost tumbling from his wheel, felt happier than he ever had in his life before. He had won the race.
He could see Jack Pender scowling at him, but he did not mind that.
"I didn't know you were an amateur, Jack," Bob heard one of the toady's friends address him.
"I'm not any more," laughed Jack. "That was my last amateur race. I'm going in with the professionals on the next race, and I'm going to win."
"You are if we let you," was the response.
Chapter IV
THE THREE MILE RACE.
As soon as Ned and Jerry had congratulated Bob, which they did with glad hearts, they hurried from where they had watched him winning the race, to the place where Old Pete had been left in charge of the wheels.
"The chances are we'll find them doctored," said Jerry. "Only we'll have an opportunity to fix them before our race, if they aren't too badly tampered with."
Bob returned the wheel he had won on to its owner, Sam Morton, and offered to share the prize with him, but Sam would not hear of it.
"I was only too glad to help you out," he said. You ought to make a complaint to the officers of the club about your wheel."
"Wait until I find out who monkeyed with it," said Bob, "and I'll take care of him without any complaint," and he doubled up his fist suggestively.
The three chums, Bob carrying his own disabled wheel, hurried to where Pete was. They found that worthy consuming his third cheap