“Shake ’em up, Milne!”
“Strike out faster, Harry!”
“There goes Jack Bascoe ahead!”
The last cry proved true. Jack had made a splurge, and was now nearly a yard ahead of the other three, who, at the end of the first mile, were still closely bunched.
Then Milne put on steam and went ahead for fully a mile, with Jack behind him, and Harry and Sully side by side in the rear. But the dude of the town could not keep up the pressure, and suddenly, long before the turning point was reached, he collapsed and dropped behind and out of the race entirely.
“Only three now!”
“And Jack Bascoe still in the lead!”
“Sully is crawling up to him!”
It was true. Pete Sully’s long legs were working with wonderful rapidity, and he was slowly forging ahead of Harry, despite the other’s apparent best efforts to keep up.
“Jack’s going to win that race!” cried Andy, with pardonable pride.