“Aw, you’re getting mad ’cause Jack’s going to lose,” sneered Pud.
“That’s what he is,” added Glen Forker, another crony of the bully.
“Am I? Just wait,” was all Nat answered as he rubbed his ribs. “Slithering side saddles! but you gave me a dig!”
The contestants were now rowing more rapidly, and the students on shore, who were following the race, had to increase their pace to keep up to them.
“Hit it up a little, Jack!” called Sam. “You’ve got him breathing hard.”
“He has—not! I’m—I’m all right,” answered Dock from his boat, and very foolishly, too, for he was getting winded, and he needed to save all his breath, and not waste it in talking. Besides, the halting manner in which he answered showed his condition. Sam noticed it at once.
“You’ve got him! You’ve got him, Jack!” he cried exultantly. “Go on! Row hard!”
“Say, that ain’t fair!” cried Pud Armstrong.
“What isn’t?” asked Sam.
“Telling Jack like that. Let him find out about Dock.”