“Has Adelaide shown you her brother’s letters?” I asked. “We think that the young man who leads the applause and Rosario Ricos’s brother are the scamps.”
“That supposition might be entertained provided it had been only a boyish caper; but the two robberies can hardly be attributed to these young gentlemen.”
I groaned. So our poor Polo was beginning to be “shadowed.” She had told us with such delight, a few days before this, that she had found her brother. He had been away from New York for two years, but had left no stone unturned on his return in his search for them. He had a kind friend who had secured him a fine position, and she was so happy. The good news had nearly cured her mother.
I was drawn from my reverie by Adelaide’s announcement that the time had come for the one mile safety bicycle race for boys under fifteen, in which Jim was to take part. This was the great event of the day for us. There were two entries from the Cadet School—Jim and Ricos.
“Ricos is certainly over fifteen,” I said to Adelaide.
“He is no taller than Jim,” Adelaide replied doubtfully.
“He is a little fellow,” I admitted, “but those Cubans are all stunted, weazened little monkeys.”
Adelaide smiled faintly, but watched the preparations for the race with straining eyes. So did all the cadets. There were many entries from the other schools, but they were confident in the prowess of their own champions. The only question was which would be successful.
“Come boys,” shouted Buttertub, “let’s give them a rousing send-off. Whoop her up for Ricos! One, two, three,—’Rah! ’Rah! ’Rah! Ricos!”
A red-haired boy, whom I at once recognized as the Woodpecker, shouted from the field, “Cheer Armstrong, too!” but Buttertub either did not hear him, or wilfully disregarded his request.