“I’ll tell you,” the latter answered, at the same time giving Tom a sly wink which entirely escaped the other youth, who at that time with belligerent movements was disentangling himself from his blanket, in order to get into a sitting posture.
“Well tell us,” he snapped. “You might as well get it off your mind.”
“Now don’t get so peeved,” Ollie soothed again. “It’s nothing to get so excited about.”
“Oh, no, of course not,” from Harper again. “Nothing to get excited about, of course. Well, are you going to tell us what you were grinning and sputtering about a moment ago?”
“Sure,” Ollie answered, “if you’ll just give me half a chance.”
“Go ahead, I’m not interrupting you.”
“You remember, Tom,” again giving him the wink, “that you got so far ahead of the others that you had the race practically won at the end of the first mile, when you touched George’s hand, and he was off, to maintain that lead to the end of the second mile, when I was waiting to finish up?”
“Yes,” Tom drawled, trying vainly to suppress a smile, while George squirmed uneasily and had to interrupt with, “You always have to review the whole thing, don’t you?”
As George seemed about to break forth with another impatient interruption, Ollie turned to Tom again with another grimace. “It wasn’t George’s fault that he started across country in the wrong direction,” he went on. “We all know he didn’t do that on purpose. He ran like the wind, all right, but it just happened that he ran the wrong way.”
There was a distinctly audible grunt of disgust from Harper.