"Jim's got him!" "No, no; the Angel wins! the Angel wins!"
A yard from the gate they were neck and neck; but then, using up all his remaining strength, Dick flung himself forward—the winner by scarcely half a foot.
Unlucky Dick! In the excitement of the last half-second he had gone like stone from catapult straight against the vest pocket of a portly gentleman who was strolling leisurely across the playground to the gate. Jim's onset completed the mischief, and the three rolled together on the ground.
The boys in the road, unable to see the catastrophe, ran up with a brisk "hurrah." But suddenly every tongue was still.
If you have ever felt the shock of an earthquake, or been shipwrecked, or in a railway collision, you will have some faint idea of the fright which held the handful of Deanery boys spellbound.
"The inspector!" whispered Tompkins in a tone of awe, and a shiver ran through the little crowd.
Then, as the gentleman and boys rose to their feet, Tompkins, with an imbecile kind of smile, said, "Please, sir, it's only the Angel!"
Only the Angel! Had His Majesty's Inspector been a Deanery boy he would not have required any further information. As it was, the look of surprise in his face deepened.
Now Dick, with all his faults, was a little gentleman. His face was white and his voice husky, but, standing cap in hand, he said bravely, "I am very sorry, sir. We were racing, and Jim Hartland had almost caught me, so I put on a last sprint, and—"
"And won?"