“To-morrow the contest begins,” reminded the captain.
“So it does,” answered Harriet, as though she had overlooked that fact. “What time do you start?”
“Oh, I don’t know. What time do you start?”
“After breakfast,” laughed Harriet.
“Ha, ha! That’s another joke,” chuckled Dill.
“It isn’t as yet. Perhaps it may be to-morrow night,” replied Harriet. But just how much of a joke it was to be, or on whom, Harriet Burrell at that moment did not know. She rather suspected it would be on the Tramp Club, but in this conjecture she was wrong.
“Oh, Harriet, why did you ever get us into this?” groaned Margery, after the departure of the boys. “Here am I half dead, with swollen feet and aching bones, and now I’ve got to enter a race of I don’t know how many miles against a lot of athletic boys.”
“As I said before, Margery, you may ride in the car if you prefer.”
“No; I’m going through with this hike if it kills me.”
“That’s the way to talk!” nodded Harriet briskly. “Faint heart never won strong race.”