“I know about what I want,” said Bob, “but I’ll have to ask my father first.”
Bob’s father had not had time to go to the races, it being impossible for him to leave the bank, and Bob made up his mind to ride down to the institution and tell the banker the result of the contest. He promised to meet his chums a little later, and let them know how Mr. Baker regarded the automobile project.
“Well, are the races over?” inquired the banker when his son came into the private office.
“Yes, sir.”
“How did you make out? Come in tenth or last?”
“I won.”
“You don’t mean to tell me you got first prize! Not the two thousand dollars?”
“That’s what I did, dad,” replied Bob, laughing.
“Shake hands!” exclaimed the banker. “I’m proud of you, Bob, my boy! What are you going to take as your prize?”
“I—that is we—er—you see,” burst out Bob, “Ned, Jerry and I agreed if either of us won, to ask for a touring automobile.”