Whizz-zz!
The driver had aimed his heavy whip, lance-fashion, and butt-end first, and launched it after the fugitive.
Had not Jack turned the instant before, to glance backward, the whip would have struck him in the back of the head. But Benson saw it coming, and threw himself forward, his head went down.
The whip, therefore, flew just over his head, striking the sidewalk ahead of him.
At that moment Jack Benson tripped. He did not mean to do it. He simply fell and landed on his knees, his head low.
On came the sprinting driver. It was too late to stop or turn. Over
Jack Benson plunged the fellow, then landed in a heap on the sidewalk.
Jack was up like a flash. He heard a yell from the driver, but Benson's gaze was upon the whip.
At a bound the submarine boy possessed himself of this weapon. He got it, just in time, too, to wheel and face Fred Radwin, threatening that fellow with the heavy butt-end of the driver's recent weapon.
"Get up behind the boy, you fool!" hissed Radwin.
"Sure, I can't," moaned the fellow, rubbing himself, real anguish sounding in his voice. "My neck's broke!"