Ned, Bob and Jerry each drew different numbers. Ned was to start off with the first batch, Jerry with the second, and Bob with the third.
In this way it would not be known until the very last squad had finished who had won, and thus interest would be maintained until the end.
“Bang!” another shot was fired. It indicated that the races would start in two minutes.
“Go in and win, Ned,” advised Jerry as he and Bob left their chum with the riders of the first batch.
“The same to you!” exclaimed Ned.
“Line up!” called the starter, and the ten riders mounted their machines, which were held for them by men engaged for the purpose by the club. There was a moment of suspense!
“Go!” shouted the starter, at the same time firing his revolver.
The riders, shoved off by those who held the machines, pedaled furiously, and then, having sufficient momentum, started the motors. It sounded as if a battery of gatling guns had gone into action, for most of the contestants, in an endeavor to lighten their cycles, had taken off the mufflers, and the wild cheer that was given by the spectators as the batch started off was drowned to the contestants by reason of the gas explosions.
Ned handled his machine well, and secured a good place, about third from the front. He quickly had his motor going at full speed, and he was delighted to see that he was increasing his lead over the man behind him. He was slowly creeping up on the man ahead of him, when the latter looked back. Then he turned on a little more power, and slowly drew away from Ned. The boy knew, then, that there was at least one machine faster than his.