“I don’t like him one bit,” said Vevi. “His name should be ‘Snapper.’ He snaps just like a turtle.”
Picking up a stick, she poked it at one of the turtles which was crawling across the lawn. It huffed up and bit fiercely at the stick.
“Careful,” warned the man who owned the turtle. “That old boy is a biter. The only safe way to handle him is to pick him up by the tail.”
“I don’t think I want a racing turtle,” said Connie, backing away.
“Only the snappers are cross,” the man explained. “They’re safe enough if you handle them right. If you youngsters want to enter the race, better get yourselves a pair of nice pond turtles. Most of them are good-natured.”
“I don’t think Mr. Curry wants us to be in the race,” declared Vevi. “He wouldn’t tell us anything about it.”
“Oh, Curry’s out of sorts this morning,” the man replied. “It seems his son has run away again.”
Now Vevi and Connie had forgotten that Barney Fulsom had told them the hotel lifeguard had a son. In fact, they did not know anything about him, except that he was a fine swimmer.
“Curry and his son, Jamie, can’t seem to get along well,” the man went on. “Every so often, the youngster chases off somewhere for a day or two. It makes his father very angry.”
Vevi and Connie now understood why the lifeguard had spoken so crossly to them. They thought though, that he might have taken time to tell them more about the race.