"Only another mile, guys!" called Benz, cheerfully, glancing slyly at
Judd. "Some exercise, eh Rube?".
"You're right! One ought to do this every day. I'm kind of out of practice now, but I reckon I'll be in form coming back!"
"Great express trains! Did you hear that?" whispered Curns, wiping perspiration from his forehead. "I'll be hanged if I try to keep the pace of this rube goin' back! I never was cut out for a long distance runner!"
"I'm on my last legs," groaned Potts, to Benz.
"I know it's only half a mile more but this pace is too hot. I'll have to drop out. Tell the folks at home I died a brave death."
"You sprained your ankle," hinted Benz, himself eager for a chance to rest.
"So I did!" cried Potts, happily grasping at any strategic ruse which might stop the line of march. "Oh, my ankle! Fellows, help! I've turned my ankle! Wow! No, not my left one, my right! Oh, my! Oh, my!"
"What a pitiful accident!" sympathized Benz, soberly, removing Potts' shoe and rubbing the ankle roughly. At the same time he winked slyly at the bunch.
Momentarily checked, the fellows threw themselves flat upon their backs and inhaled long, deep breaths of the refreshing air. All, save Judd. He strode about in circles, anxious to be off again.
"I'd give a dime to get these kinks out of my legs," he muttered, slowly.