“There’s the fancy stunt event left yet,” intimated Hiram after a somewhat gloomy spell of silence.
“Of course we will make a try at that,” declared Dave, briskly. “I can’t think of letting our practicing go for nothing.”
“But fifty and forty make ninety,” grumbled the disconsolate Hiram. “There are only thirty points in the stunt event.”
“Perhaps we can pick up a few points in the last day minor events,” suggested Dave, hopefully.
Hiram would not be comforted. He spent a miserable afternoon. It added to his wretchedness as he wondered what Mr. Brackett would say. Hiram did not regret their action in the instance of the sinking vessel. All the same, their backer had a right to suppose they would have thought of his business interests first.
They came across the manufacturer just as they were going to supper. Hiram looked pretty serious as Mr. Brackett advanced towards them. He was all smiles and animation. He grasped first the hand of Dave, and then that of Hiram.
“Boys,” he said, with a thrill of heartiness in his voice, “I’m proud of you!”
“Why—you see—don’t you know that we lost out on the long distance race?” stammered Hiram.
“The long distance race is entirely secondary to what you two have done,” declared the manufacturer. “I fancy you haven’t seen the city evening paper? Well, there it is.”
Mr. Brackett drew a late edition from his pocket. He shook it open and held it in front of his young friends.