“He is too,” Vevi insisted. “I call him Lightning. I’m going to enter him in the race Saturday. Maybe I’ll win for the Brownies.”
“You won’t win with that old slow poke,” Jamie scoffed. “I’d toss him in the water.”
“No,” Vevi answered firmly. She was so hurt and disappointed she felt like crying.
Jamie seemed to be ashamed of himself for making fun of the turtle. At any rate, he said quickly:
“Oh, he’s not too bad. And you never can tell about turtles. Sometimes the fast ones won’t start up right, or maybe they get scared and stop just before they reach the finish line.”
“Then you think he might win?” Vevi demanded eagerly.
“Might,” Jamie shrugged.
“You’ll help me fix a pen for him?”
Jamie told her that she wouldn’t need a pen. “An old dish pan will do,” he said. “I can get you one, I guess.”
The boy took her across the beach to the big hotel. On the way he pointed out a little beach house where he lived with his father during the summer.