They spun back to Wissining in something close to ten minutes, stopping, with a triumphant toot of the horn, in front of Clarke at twenty minutes to ten. Half a dozen fellows who had seen the arrival of the automobile rushed up to shake Dan’s hand and inquire anxiously if he were going to play. “Yes,” replied Dan, “and we’re going to win.”
Then he made his escape to his room, while Gerald and the others sped around to the gymnasium in the car. At a few minutes after the hour Gerald took the wheel again and, with ten boys packed into or onto it, swung the automobile’s nose toward Broadwood. They didn’t go that far, however, as the start of the cross-country race was at the Old Cider Mill, a mile beyond the bridge. Here the road was already lined with spectators, while numerous bare-legged youths, wrapped in many-hued bath-gowns, awaited the signal. Gerald steered the car into the bushes at one side of the road and left it in charge of Ned. He and[290] Kendall made themselves comfortable in the rear seat, where they were presently joined by Arthur Thompson. Arthur had discarded his crutch several days before, but was glad of a place where he might watch events and favor his knee.
“Gerald says that Dan’s back,” said Arthur as he climbed into the front seat. “Have you seen him, Tooker?”
“Yes, I’ve seen him. In fact, Thompson, we spent last night and the night before with him at Lloyd. He was at the hotel over there. He was sort of done up when Payson sent him off, but he’s as fit as a fiddle now. How’s your knee, by the way?”
“All right, thanks. It gets sort of tired, though, if I use it much. So Dan’s really going to play? The paper said—”
“Yes, we saw that. He’s going to play all right, Thompson. By the way, do you know Burtis?”
“We used to see each other on the field a while back,” responded Arthur, shaking hands. “There, they’re going to start. I hope Gerald gets first place to-day. If he does they can’t very well help making him captain for next year; they probably will anyway. They’re off!”
The sharp report of the pistol rent the air, two[291] lines of runners sprang away and the crowd closed in behind them.
“What I object to,” said Ned, when the spectators had begun to stream off up the road toward the finish, a mile distant, “is that I’ve got to leave this comfortable seat and hit the dusty highway if I want to see the finish.”
“You wouldn’t mind it a bit,” Kendall laughed, “if you had a golf ball in front of you.”
“I expected to stay here,” said Arthur. “You can get a pretty good idea of things at this point, you know, but if I thought Gerald wouldn’t mind my running the car I’d go on up to the finish.”
“Can you run it?” asked Ned eagerly.
“Yes, I can run it all right, but he might not like it.”
“Not like it! He’d be tickled to death, Thompson. He said coming down that he wished I could take the car to the finish and get him there. He was going to telephone home and have the chauffeur come and do it, but he didn’t have time. If you can run her, Thompson, do your worst.”
“All right. Can you crank her for me? My knee’s still sort of wobbly.”
“I’m the original cranker,” responded Ned, leaping out. “All right? Let her go!”
Chug, chug, chug, chug, chug, said the big car. And a minute later it was running softly along[292] the road, Arthur at the wheel. It required some manipulation to get the car berthed near the finish line, for Broadwood and Yardley were there in force and resented yielding a foot of ground. Ned finally solved the problem by taking down the bars of a fence and Arthur “parked” the car in somebody’s meadow.
There was still some time to wait, for the four-mile course was a fairly difficult one, one part of it, about three-quarters of a mile long, being over the fields. While they waited Arthur, in response to a question from Kendall, explained the conditions of the contest.............