“No, thanks, I don’t bet,” replied Jack quietly.
“Hu! Afraid of losing the money, I s’pose,” sneered Dock.
“No, but I don’t believe in betting on amateur sport.”
“Well, if you think you can beat me, why don’t you bet? It’s a chance to make twenty-five.”
“Because I don’t particularly need the money; and when I race I like to do it just for the fun that’s in it.”
“Aw, you’re no sport,” growled Snaith as he turned aside. “I thought you had some spunk.”
“So I have, but I don’t bet,” replied Jack quickly. He felt angry at the bully, but did not want to get into a dispute with him.
“Hello, Dock,” called Pud Armstrong, as, walking along with Glen Forker, he caught sight of his crony. “How you feeling?”
“Fine, but I’d feel better if there weren’t so many Sunday-school kids at this institution. I thought this was a swell place, but it’s a regular kindergarten,” and he looked meaningly at Jack.
“What’s up?” asked Pud.