“His chum Bill Bender, with him did defend her,” was the rejoinder.
“Defend her. Did her all the damage they could, I guess you mean,” sputtered Tubby. “Hark, fellows! There goes the starting bugle. It’s all off,” he concluded with a groan.
“Not, yet, we’ve got three minutes,” replied Rob, bravely, although he felt his spirits sink to the lowest ebb.
“Hullo, you fellows, what’s the matter? Looks as if you’d dropped a dollar and picked up a dime,” came a cheery voice behind them. They turned and saw a tall, sun-burned young fellow regarding them quizzically.
“Some rascals have roughened our runners with a file and we can’t compete,” was Rob’s reply.
“Tough luck,” sympathized the other; “we can’t either. I’m captain of the East Willetson team, you know. Two of our men missed their train and can’t get here, so we are out of the race.”
“Then you’re not going to use your sled?” questioned Rob, eagerly.
“No. Hard luck, ain’t it? It’s a new one, too—a dandy. I think it would beat any of these I see here. However, it can’t be helped.”
He was moving off, when Rob seized him. The lad began to speak hurriedly, his words tumbling out one after another.
“Say, old man, I don’t know your name, but mine is Rob Blake. We had a good chance to win this race if it hadn’t been for that bit of foul play. I wonder if we couldn’t——”