At the tent the secretary found his brother nursing a twisted ankle, heart-sick with disappointment. Early in the day he had injured his foot in an attempt to fasten a swing upon a tree. Every minute since that time he had spent in rubbing and manipulating the injured member, but all to no purpose. While the pain was not great, a race was out of the question. The secretary was greatly disturbed and as nearly wrathful as ever he allowed himself to become. He was set on his brother making a good showing in this race; moreover, without Wilbur there would be no competitor to uphold the honour of Maplehill in this contest and this would deprive it of much of its interest.
“What the dickens were you climbing trees for?” he began impatiently, but a glance at his young brother's pale and woe-stricken face changed his wrath to pity. “Never mind, old chap,” he said, “better luck next time, and you will be fitter too.”
Back he ran to the platform, for he must report the dismal news to his mother, whose chief interest in the programme for the day lay in this race in which her latest born was to win his spurs. The cheery secretary was nearly desperate. It was an ominous beginning for the day's sports. What should he do? He confided his woe to Mack and Cameron, who were standing close by the platform.
“It will play the very mischief with the programme. It will spoil the whole day, for Wilbur was the sole Maplehill representative in the three races; besides, I believe the youngster would have shown up well.”
“He would that!” cried Mack heartily. “He was a bird. But is there no one else from the Hill that could enter?”
“No, no one with a chance of winning, and no fellow likes to go in simply to be beaten.”
“What difference?” said Cameron. “It's all in a day's sport.”
“That's so,” said Mack. “If I could run myself I would enter. I wonder if Danny would—”
“Danny!” said the secretary shortly. “You know better than that. Danny's too shy to appear before this crowd even if he were dead sure of winning.”
“Say, it is too bad!” continued Mack, as the magnitude of the calamity grew upon him. “Surely we can find some one to make an appearance. What about yourself, Cameron? Did you ever race?”