“That was a great race you ran, Nesbitt,” said the former presently.
“The last one wasn’t so bad,” answered Trevor.
“Bad! It was fine!” replied Dick warmly. “It was the best bit of head-work I’ve seen on a track. And I was glad you beat Taylor, even if it did mean the loss of the race to the seniors. But I rather think I liked the first race better.”
“Well, of course you would,” said Trevor. “Earle’s a friend of yours; and he ran a good race. I—I didn’t much mind his beating; he seems like a jolly good sort of a chap.”
“He is a good chap; and I know it pleased him like anything to win that race, because his father and mother were there, you see.”
“Yes.”
“It would have been too bad if he’d lost it, wouldn’t it?” Dick was smiling rather queerly, Trevor thought.
“I suppose it would,” he answered.
“Yes; and so you gave it to him.”
“What—what do you mean?” stammered Trevor, very red and uncomfortable.