"Then somebody's played us a trick," said Patsy.
"I'm sorry for that," said Phaeton.
"Ah, well, we don't mind—we'll run all the same," said Patsy.
"But I don't care to have you run," said Phaeton. "In fact, I'd rather you wouldn't."
"Well, we're all ready for it," said Patsy, giving his trousers a hitch, and tightening the suspender a little by giving another twist to the nail that fastened it in lieu of a buckle. "And I suppose the road's as free to us as 'tis to you?"
"Oh, certainly!" said Phaeton.
"If you haven't any money," spoke up another Dublin boy, "you might say you'll give a ride in your car to the fellow that beats it—just to lend a little interest to the race, you know."
Phaeton somewhat reluctantly said he would,—"although," he added, in an undertone, "if you can beat it, I don't see why you should want to ride in it."
Casting one more glance about, to see that all was ready, Phaeton told me to cut the rope and let him start. Partly because he spoke in a low tone, wishing to make as little excitement as possible, and partly because I was watching what I considered certain suspicious movements on the part of Monkey Roe, I did not hear or heed him.
"Littera lapsa!—let her slide!" roared out Holman, who saw that I had not understood.