“Never mind! Now listen to me; I have raced myself some and I have trained men to race. Are you not too tired with your day's work?”
“Tired! Not a bit,” said the gallant little soul scornfully.
“Well, all right. It's nice and cool and you can't hurt yourself much. Now, how many drills do you do after supper as a rule?”
“Down and up twice,” said Tim.
“How many drills can you do at your top speed, your very top speed, remember?”
“About two drills, I guess,” replied Tim, after a moment's thought.
“Now, listen to me!” said Cameron impressively. “Go quietly for two and a half drills, then let yourself out and go your best. And, listen! I have been watching you this afternoon. You have easily done once and a half what Perkins has done and you are going to lick him out of his boots.”
Tim gulped a moment or two, looked at his friend with glistening eyes, but said not a word. For the first two and a half drills Cameron exerted to the highest degree his conversational powers with the two-fold purpose of holding back Perkins and Webster and also of so occupying Tim's mind that he might forget for a time the approaching conflict, the strain of waiting for which he knew would be exhausting for the lad. But when the middle of the second last drill had been reached, Tim began unconsciously to quicken his speed.
“I say, Tim,” called Cameron, “come here! Am I getting these spaces too wide?” Tim came over to his side. “Now, Tim,” said Cameron, in a low voice, “wait a little longer; you can never wear him out. Your only chance is in speed. Wait till the last drill.”
But Tim was not to be held back. Back he went to his place and with a rush brought his drill up even with Webster, passed him, and in a few moments like a whirlwind passed Perkins and took the lead.