Joe could not stand this, and running forward he touched Luke Stout on the shoulder.
“I will bet with you that Harry comes in ahead of Jack Ferris,” he said calmly. “What will you bet?”
“I was going to put up my pocket knife,” said Stout, hauling it out. “She’s a good three-blader.”
“Mine is as good,” said Joe, and brought the article forth. “Three blades, too, and a Boston knife at that.”
“I’ll take you up,” came eagerly from Luke Stout. And the knives were deposited with another party who said he would act as stakeholder.
“Oh, Joe, why did you put up that knife,” whispered Harry. “It’s the one your father gave you on your last birthday.”
“I don’t expect to lose it, Harry. You must win Stout’s knife for me.”
“But he may come in ahead.”
“You said you didn’t fear anybody but Darry Ford. I wagered that you would come in ahead of Jack Ferris, not that you would win the race.”
“Well, that is something. But still—he may come in ahead of me.”