“Line up! Do your best and win!” counseled Ned.
“I will!” shouted back Bob, and the next instant he was lined up with the others, waiting for the pistol shot that would start them off.
“Crack!”
A little puff of smoke, a sliver of flame, and a slight report. Then the whirr of rubber tires on the track sounded like the wind rushing through the trees.
The race, while it was of much interest to the contestants and their friends, was not very important to the general public. It was only a mile sprint and there were ten starters.
Bob’s heart beat wildly at first and his wheel wobbled from side to side. Then the fever of fear left him. He saw that he was not being left behind and he picked up courage. He shut his teeth tightly, took a long breath, and let out a burst of speed that carried him to within three of the leader.
There was a cheer at this, which gave him new courage, and he struggled harder and harder. Gradually he passed two of those ahead of him. There now remained but one lad between himself and the lead. He gave one quick glance.
“It’s Jack Pender,” he thought. “I know he’s been in races before. But I’m going to beat him.”
Once more Bob clenched his teeth and let out another burst of speed. But he had a good rider to contend against. Jack, looking behind and seeing the boy he hated, redoubled his efforts.
The race was half done. Already several who had no chance had dropped out. The struggle was between Bob and Jack. Bob could hear the band playing, as if it was a mile away. He drew one long breath, threw into his leg muscles another ounce of strength and then, with an effort that surprised even himself he found that he was on even terms with Jack.