Bets had been made by both that they could beat the Man.
Frank guessed the truth at once.
“Ki dar, Marse Frank,” cried Pomp, with a chuckle and a shake of his woolly head. “Dem two chaps ain got a pile ob gall. Jes’ yo’ show dem dat dey ain’t in it. Won’t yo’?”
Pomp had more than one reason for beating the horse and bicycle. He had made a small bet of his own on the result.
It was evident that the parties ahead were ready for the fun.
Frank Reade, Jr., smiled grimly, and opened the throttle a little wider.
The next moment the Steam Man, the bicycle rider and the trotter were all flying neck and neck down the road.
Heavens! what a race that was!
Down the road they flew like a whirlwind. The dust flew up behind them in a cloud.
But the Steam Man just trotted by his competitors with seemingly no exertion at all. Frank turned with a laugh to see how easily they were distanced.