The Motor Boys | Page 8

Clarence Young
cigar, evidently in great enjoyment.
Jerry and Ned made a hasty examination of their bicycles, and quickly discovered something wrong with each.
"The same scoundrel that tampered with Bob's was at ours," said Ned. "Bearings tightened and steel filings in the graphite. Who was it, I wonder?"
"Say, Pete," began Bob, "did any one touch our wheels while we were away?"
"Not a one, my dear son," recited Pete with a wise air.
"Here Pete, you drop that poetry and attend to business," said Bob, somewhat sternly. "Were you here every minute since we left?"
"I went over to get some cigars."
"And who stayed with the wheels while you were away?"
"Friend of mine. Bill Berry, fat as a cherry," replied Pete, unable to resist the temptation to make a rhyme.
"Look here..." started in Bob, fiercely. "I'll have to..."
"That explains it," broke in Jerry.
"Explains what?" asked Bob.
"Explains who had a hand in this," went on Jerry. "You know Bill, who isn't any too good a character about town, and Jack Pender have been quite thick of late. Two or three times I've caught them whispering together down to the post office."
"Well, what of it?"
"This much. You know what a sneak Jack is, always toadying around that bully Nixon. Well, Nixon threatened to get even with all of us on account of that little spill he and Ned had. This is how he's done it. He's got Jack to do his dirty work, and Jack has hired Bill to doctor our wheels.
"While we were away Bill comes over here, bribes poor old Pete with the offer of something to smoke to leave him in charge for a little while, and does the trick. Didn't Bill give you something to smoke?" demanded Jerry.
"He give me the money, now ain't that funny," sang Pete, without a thought of the consequences of his act.
"That's just it," agreed Ned and Bob, and they complimented Jerry on his shrewdness.
"Oh, that was easy enough to figure out," said the lad. "The question is, can we get our wheels in shape for the race? We've got about half an hour."
The boys lost no more time in idle regrets. Tool bags were opened, and with wrenches and screw drivers the three set to work adjusting the bearings properly. Though this was a somewhat delicate task they succeeded in about ten minutes.
"Now to clean the chains," said Bob. "That graphite must all come off."
"Kerosene oil is the best," suggested Jerry. "Hurrah!" he shouted. "This will do!" and he set off on the run.
In a few seconds he reached a lantern that was fastened on a pole, and used, at night, to illuminate the driveway to the club-house. "This is just what we needed," he said. "We'll borrow a little kerosene from the lamp."
The tin reservoir held more than was needed, and in another minute each boy was busy cleaning his chain.
"Now to put some fresh graphite on, and we'll be in good shape," cried Ned, in high glee over the successful outcome of the plan.
Jerry was the first to take his stick of lubricant from his tool bag. As he did so he gave a start. Then he rubbed some of the black material between his thumb and finger.
"I thought so!" he exclaimed.
"Doctored?" inquired Ned and Jerry nodded.
"Iron or steel filings," he said. "Lucky there is plenty of graphite to be had, or we'd be stuck."
It did not take long to borrow from other cyclists some of the stuff, and the chains were soon lubricated. The boys still had five minutes before their race would be called. They spent the time in resting from their hustling labors. They had fixed things just in time.
In the meantime Noddy had been rather busy about the track. He prided himself on being a sport and was seeking some one who would lay wagers with him. He made several on various events, profiting by what Jack Pender said were sure tips.
"I wonder if we can't bet something on this race we're in?" asked Noddy of his toady.
"I don't see why not," assented Jack. "I think you have a good chance of winning, with those three young cubs out."
So Noddy busied himself, putting up what was a large sum even for a youth whose father kept him liberally supplied with pocket money. As a matter of fact Noddy went so deep into the betting that he had to lay considerable of the money on "wind." That is he did not have in his pocket the money he would have to pay if he lost. But then he did not think of losing.
His last wager, laid just before the time of the three mile race, was with Paul Banner. "Polly," the boys called him, for young Banner aspired to be what, a few years ago, was called a dude. He was fond of
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