“Yes,” said the boy, and there was a little choke in his throat. “It was the best wheel I ever had. Judge Merritt put it up as a prize for the best rider.”
“An’ he thought his son was going to git it,” put in a little fellow; “but Sammy he jest beat Arthur Merritt out at the finish an’ got the wheel, though Art was the maddest feller you ever saw.”
“Well, it’s a shame to have your wheel smashed after you worked so hard for it,” said Dick. “What did you do with your other wheel—the one you had before you got this one?”
“I sold it. It wasn’t much good, anyhow, and it only cost me nine dollars second-hand. But I earned all the money to buy it myself.”
“Did you race on your old wheel at the fair?”
“Oh, no! I never could have won on that. Fred Thurston let me have his wheel to race on.”
“Well, this bike is ruined, that’s plain,” said Dick, as he examined the ill-fated bicycle. “You’ll never ride it again.”
“I guess that’s right,” nodded Sammy sadly. “But you stopped the horse and saved the girl.”
Not a whimper, not a sign of anger, only regret for the loss of the wheel and satisfaction because Dick had been able to save June.
Young Merriwell realized that the boy was something of a hero, with a most remarkable disposition.