The Motor Boys | Page 8

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
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