"What do you say to that, major?" he asked.
"If we select you to represent the Phœnix Athletic Club in the bicycle-race, Matt," inquired the major, "why can't we count on you to be on hand and see the thing through?"
A touch of red ran into Matt's face.
"I may not be in Phœnix when the Prescott fellows come down, major," he replied.
"I'll take chances on that," growled the major. "Try him out, Carter."
Splinters, at that moment, came up with his machine. "I was going into this myself, Matt," said he, with a significant look at Perry, "but changed my mind. My racing-clothes are over in the dressing-room. They wouldn't be overly wide for you, but they'd be plenty long."
"Much obliged, Splinters," returned Matt, rolling the bicycle to the tape, "but I'll race as I stand."
A moment more and the four boys were shoved away at the crack of the starter's pistol. The major, watch in hand, followed the flight around the track with eager eyes.
"See him go, Jack!" he cried. "Why, that boy is off like a scared coyote making for home and mother. Dace Perry hasn't a ghost of a show."
The track measured a mile, and was a perfect oval. There were no trees to intercept the vision, and every part of the course could be seen by the major and the governor.