The Motor Boys | Page 7

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 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