Sam tossed his book upon the table with a spiteful jerk. “They lie, then. I haven’t even told who won the race. I’ve referred every single fellow to you.”
Duncan’s wrath gave way to gloom. “Some one’s done it, anyway. They’re all joshing me about it.”
“I can’t help that,” said Sam. “What do you care? Laugh it off.”
“I’ve been laughing it off. I’ve laughed till my face aches, but that doesn’t make me any happier. Do you know, I could have sworn I was ahead of that fellow at the finish. Why didn’t you keep your eyes open?”
“I was thinking of you, not of the race. You looked as if you were all in, ten feet before you got to me. I expected to see you drop.”
Sam waited for Peck to reply, but Peck offered no comment.
“As a matter of fact,” continued Sam, frankly, “the last time I did notice your positions, Shirley was a good yard ahead.”
“I’m dead sure I beat him at the finish,” said Duncan, obstinately. “I wish I’d had Bruce there!”