“You’ll see in a minute,” said Jerry.
He speeded up his motor. At the sound of the quicker explosions there were hasty glances at the youth on the part of many strangers. Jerry was off down the track in a trice. The next instant a dozen riders had taken after him, anxious to see what his machine could do. But Jerry was too wise to be caught.
He pretended to be trying to get more revolutions from his motor, but, in reality he was throttling down the gasolene and advancing the spark, which made the reports quicker but which did not increase his speed.
The bunch of a dozen riders soon surrounded Jerry. He continued to speed away, but in a few moments he found himself in the apex of a “V” shaped gathering of contestants. They were ahead and on either side of him; a veritable pocket, from which there was no way out so close were the riders bunched. As soon as Jerry would try to pass any one the others would crowd in front and prevent it.
Finally Jerry shut off the power of his machine, and with a laugh at the efforts of those who thought they were fooling him, he came to a halt, and dismounted.
“Smart kid, that,” commented one of the older riders. “Up to snuff!”
“Thinks he is,” growled the youth in the blue sweater. “He and those other two with him fooled me a while ago. I couldn’t get a rise out of him.”
“Now you see what a pocket is,” said Jerry as he joined his chums. “If you get into one do your best to ride out, or you’ll lose the race, providing the others stick together and have made up their mind to let one of their number win.”
The practice continued for some time. A little before noon there was a stir at the track entrance and a motor cycle, painted a bright red on every available space shot on the track. The loudness of the explosions told that it was a machine of high power, and it attracted considerable attention.
“There’s a faster machine than ours,” called Jerry.