“I don’t like to be beaten—by any one,” grieved Harry.
“Then you mustn’t race with me.”
“Pshaw! You’d be polite and let me beat you—as you did just now. I—I hate polite people!”
“No, I wouldn’t,” said Dick grimly. “When you race with me you’ve got to go as hard as you know how, for I’ll beat you if I can. And if you can’t stand being beaten you want to keep out of it, Miss Emery.”
Harry studied him a moment in silence.
“I guess nobody likes to be beaten,” she said finally; “but I can stand it as well as the next fellow. What’s your name?”
“Somes, Dick Somes; Richard for long.”
“My name’s Harriet ‘for long,’” she laughed. “But nobody calls me Harriet; it isn’t a very pretty name, is it?”
“Harriet? I don’t believe I ever heard it before. I was wondering how you came to be named Harry. Harry suits you better, I guess.”