Away the ten young chaps raced, each eager to be one of the two first at the tree, and so gain the honor of being one of the captains.
“Come on, Tommy!” called Dan Danforth, looking back to note the progress of the other lad, for Dan was a year older than our hero and liked him very much. “Come on, Tommy; don’t let Sammie beat you!”
“I—I won’t!” gasped Tommy, his sturdy legs going back and forth rapidly. “I—I’m coming!”
“Go on. I’m going to win!” cried Sammie, as with a burst of speed he got ahead of Tommy. Sammie and Dan were now the two foremost runners, but the big tree was still some distance away, and Tommy had a chance, for he was directly behind Sammie. The other boys were strung out in a long line behind.
“Go on, Tommy! Go on!” yelled some of the boys in the rear. “We want you for our captain!”
“I’m going to be the captain!” cried Sammie, and he looked back to see how close Tommy was to him.
And then something happened. Sammie did not see a crooked stick that was right in his path, and the next moment his toe caught under it. He tripped and then went sprawling in the soft grass, rolling over and over.
“Now’s your time, Tommy!” yelled George Squire, who had no chance of winning. “Go on, Tommy! Leg it! Leg it!”
“That ain’t fair!” cried Sammie, trying to jump up and keep on with the race.
“Sure it is!” exclaimed Dan. “He didn’t trip you. You did it yourself. Go on and win, Tommy!”