"Wait a moment, may be we can fix up a race," he cried, and pushing through the crowd he ran across the street to a confectionery store, where Nibs had gone with Billy for a soda. He burst in upon them out of breath. He told them of the wise fool over the way who needed a tuck taken in him.
"Will you run, Nibsey? Come on," he cried.
Nibs looked at Billy.
"Do it, do it," the latter urged.
"All right," Nibs agreed, and arm in arm with his backer he issued into the street, clutching his mackintosh about him.
The stranger had, meanwhile, walked back along the course followed by a great throng, anxious to witness what to them promised to be a fiasco of immense proportions. Only three carriages had waited. The occupants perceiving the crowd at the lower end of the street had lingered for developments. In one of the carriages was Nibs Morey's sister Wilma. She called a youth to the wheel and questioned him concerning the throng which still surged in the street. The freshman explained gaily.
"And will Nibs run that great tall thing?" the girl inquired anxiously.
"Oh, don't you worry, Miss Morey," the little freshman replied consolingly. "He'll beat him so far he won't know he's running."
"But he's all tired out," she expostulated.