“Some,” said Cameron. “I raced last year at the Athole Games.”
Fatty threw himself upon him.
“Cameron, you are my man! Do you want to save your country, and perhaps my life, certainly my reputation? Get out of those frills,” touching his kilt, “and I'll get a suit from one of the jumpers for you. Go! Bless your soul, anything you want that's mine you can have! Only hustle for dear life's sake! Go! Go! Go! Take him away, Mack. We'll get something else on!”
Fatty actually pushed Cameron clear away from the platform and after him big Mack.
“There seems to be no help for it,” said Cameron, as they went to the tent together.
“It's awful good of you,” replied Mack, “but you can see how hard Fatty takes it, though it is not a bit fair to you.”
“Oh, nobody knows me here,” said Cameron, “and I don't mind being a victim.”
But as Mack saw him get into his jersey and shorts he began to wonder a bit.
“Man, it would be great if you should beat yon Frenchman!” he exclaimed.
“Frenchman?”