“Sing out, Chunky!” shouted Ned.
There was a moment of suspense, and a momentary thrill over even so slight a thing as this little sprint among the three boys. Each one meant to win.
“Go!” yelled Bob.
In an instant the wheels were started off. Three boys bounded into three saddles. Three pairs of feet began to pump the pedals desperately. A cloud of dust arose and the race was on.
It was a distance of half a mile from the maple tree, where the start was made, to the oak which Bob had designated as the winning post. The road was a good hard level stretch of macadam and the wheels fairly spun along it.
At first the boys were on even terms. Then Bob gradually drew away from Ned and Jerry. Seeing this Ned put an extra ounce or two into his pushing and he soon caught up to Bob. These two held the lead on almost a line for a few hundred feet.
Suddenly there was a whirr of wheels behind them, an excited joyous shout and, with a yell, Jerry whizzed past, and obtained such a good advantage that he kept it, until he reached the oak, where he leaped off, and cast himself down in the shade to rest.
“I didn’t think you could do it, Jerry,” panted Ned, as he and Bob flashed up two seconds later. “Honest, I didn’t.”
“Nor I,” came from Bob. “You must have been practicing lately.”