Jim looked from Sara's outstretched hand to his beaming face. Then he put his own hand in his pocket.
"That was a rotten deal you handed me, Sara," he said in the drawl that bit.
"What!" cried Sara.
"What's done's done," replied Jim. "I'm no snitcher, so you know you're safe. But I'm through with you."
Sara turned to Uncle Denny, injured innocence in his face. "What is the matter with him, Mr. Dennis?" he exclaimed.
"Still Jim, me boy, go down to the machine while I talk with Sara," said Dennis.
"No, there is no use talking," insisted Jim.
"Jim," said Dennis sternly, "I ask you to obey me but seldom."
Without a word Jim picked up the suit case containing his running togs and went down to the automobile where his mother and Penelope were waiting. To their anxious questions he merely replied that he had fallen. This was enough for the two women folk, who tucked him in between them comfortably and his mother held his hand while Pen gave him a glowing account of the finish of the race.
Jim listened with a grim smile, his gray eyes steadily fixed on Pen's lovely face. Not for worlds would he have had Penelope know that Sara had won the race on a foul. Whatever she learned about the Greek he was determined she should not learn through him. He was going to win on his own points, he told himself, and not by tattling on his rival.