“I don’t care, I claim that race,” said Sully, loudly. “I don’t care a rap about the pocket-knife. It’s not half as good as my own.”
Harry wanted to try again, but the bully declined, saying it was getting late, and he was expected home. In reality, Sully was afraid to race fairly.
“We’ll try our good points at the skating races day after to-morrow,” he said to Harry. “You mustn’t forget that I am in the five-mile race against you and Jack Bascoe, and Milne and the rest.”
“I have a good memory,” returned Harry, pointedly. “And you can rest assured that we’ll look out for any more rope tricks,” and with this parting shot he walked off with his toboggan, accompanied by Jack and the others.
“Dat dere Sully makes me mos’ drefful sick,” said Pickles. “He t’inks de hull town must bow to him. It would be de best t’ing in de world if da would jess git togedder and run him off de co’s.”
“One of us must beat him in that race,” said Jack, decidedly. “If he wins, he won’t stop crowing for a month.”
“You can do it, Jack,” said Andy, who had great confidence in his older brother’s abilities. “He hasn’t near the wind you have.”
“That may be, but he’s got everlastingly long legs, Andy; don’t forget that.”
“I’ll bank on Harry,” put in Boxy, who was Harry’s most intimate friend, having lived next door to him for years. “His legs are pretty long, and his wind is right there every time.”
“Well, I don’t care if I do lose, if Harry wins,” said Jack. “So long as we keep the first prize away from the Sully crowd.”