But a careful eye could see that Bob was beginning to regain his lost ground. The distance between his wheel and Jerry’s lessened until, after two more rounds Jerry and the stout youth were riding exactly on a line. Ned was perhaps a length behind.
“I guess this will do,” called Jerry. “Shut down!”
Slowly the motors ceased their rapid explosions, and after another turn of the track the three boys came to a halt and dismounted.
“We’re pretty evenly matched,” said Ned. “My machine didn’t do as well as I expected though.”
They separated, arranging to be on hand at the old mill at ten o’clock the following morning, to clear up the last of the mill robbery mystery.
“Jerry, I wish you would take this message over to Mrs. Northrup’s for me,” said Mrs. Hopkins to her son, after supper that evening. “I want her to come and do some sewing for me.”
“All right, mother,” responded the boy.
“Are you going on your machine?” asked his sister.
“No, sis. I don’t want to run any chance of puncturing a tire after dark. It’s too near the race for that. I’m going to walk.”