PRACTICE FOR THE RACE.
“We must begin track work,” said Jerry one afternoon, when the three
chums, having been out on a spin, stopped beneath the shade of a
road-side tree. “A week from to-day the races take place.”
“I think we are all in pretty good trim, and so are the machines,”
ventured Bob.
“That part’s all right, Chunky,” came from Ned, “but what we want is
track work, as Jerry says. Nothing like getting right on the ground.
Besides, we have been speeding on a wide road, where we have all the
room we want. It will be different when there are twenty riders on a
narrow track, each one wanting to get inside.”
Ned and Bob agreed that it would be the very thing needed. Accordingly
the next morning, early, saw the three boys at the track of the
Cresville Athletic Club. Though it was little more than eight o’clock
the chums found about a dozen riders with their motors “warming-up”
on the banked oval. The explosions of the numerous gasolene engines
sounded like a miniature battle.
“If any one challenges you to a little sprint, accept it,” said Jerry to
Ned and Bob, “but don’t attempt to win.”
“Why not?” asked Ned, always ready to take sides.
“Tell you later,” was all Jerry had time to say, for just then two young
men rode up to our heroes.
“What do you fellows say to a little sprint for a few miles around the
track,” inquired one young man, who wore a blue sweater.
“Just a practice warm-up,” put in the other, who was attired in a pair
of pink racing trousers. “It’s rather dull going around this way, you
know.”
“We don’t mind a little race,” said Jerry. “Just for fun, however.”
“Of course. What sort of a start do you prefer, flying or from a
standstill?”
“Flying will suit us,” Ned put in.
“All right. Come on, we’ll ride around once together, line up at the
judge’s stand, and make a four-mile circuit.”
This was agreeable to the boys and they prepared for the start with
their unknown rivals. They all came up to the line opposite the judges’
stand in good formation.
“Go!” shouted the youth in the blue sweater.
Each contestant turned more power into his motor and the machines
whizzed around the track in good time. It was easy to see that the two
strangers were trying to get a “line” on the speeds of the motors of the
three chums.
Both of the youths who had been so anxious for the sprint watched with
eager eyes every motion of Bob, Ned and Jerry. But the latter, under
the direction of Jerry, did not operate their motors at top speed. This
was what the strangers wanted. They desired to see just how fast the
machines of the Cresville boys could go, so as to know what sort of
competitors they would have when the big event came on.
All the efforts of the two schemers to get either of our three heroes to
“make pace” for them failed. Bob, Ned and Jerry just went around easily,
sometimes taking the lead, and again dropping behind. The impromptu race
was finally ended with the motors running about three-quarters speed,
and Jerry and Ned just a little in the lead.
“You two win!” cried the youth in the blue sweater. “Pretty good
machines you have there.”
“They’ll do,” agreed Jerry, determined that the strangers should not
find out that they had been suspected. “And we went at a pretty good
clip, while it lasted.”
“No doubt,” commented the lad in the blue sweater. Plainly the two
plotters were disappointed. They had not succeeded in taking the
speed-measure of the three chums.
The track was now well filled with those practicing for the coming race.
More than a score were scooting around on their machines. Few motors
were as fine and complete as those of the three chums and not many had
the double cylinder improvement.
“Shall we go around again?” asked Ned.
“I think we’d better,” counseled Jerry. “That sprint was nothing. What
we most need is to ride in a big crowd and not lose our nerve when we
think there is going to be a collision.”
“I hope there will be no smash-ups,” came from Bob. “If I thought that I
wouldn’t go in.”
“There will not be any if you are careful,” advised Jerry. “Just keep
your wits about you and mind your steering. Poor steering is responsible
for more accidents than anything else.”
“What do you suppose those two chaps wanted to see how fast we could go
for?” asked Bob.
“They wanted to know just what sort of opposition they might count on,”
replied Jerry.
“I don’t think those fellows gained much,” said Ned.
“Me either,” commented Jerry. “Another thing we must look out for is a
‘pocket.’”
“What’s that?” asked Bob, who was not very well up on racing terms.
“You’ll see in a minute,” said Jerry.
He speeded up his motor. At the sound of the quicker explosions there
were hasty glances at the youth on the part of many strangers. Jerry was
off down the track in a trice. The next instant a dozen riders had taken
after him, anxious to see what his machine could do. But Jerry was too
wise to be caught.
He pretended to be trying to get more revolutions from his motor, but,
in reality he was throttling down the gasolene and advancing the spark,
which made the reports quicker but which did not increase his speed.
The bunch of a dozen riders soon surrounded Jerry. He continued to speed
away, but in a few moments he found himself in the apex of a “V” shaped
gathering of contestants. They were ahead and on either side of him; a
veritable pocket, from which there was no way out so close were the
riders bunched. As soon as Jerry would try to pass any one the others
would crowd in front and prevent it.
Finally Jerry shut off the power of his machine, and with a laugh at the
efforts of those who thought they were fooling him, he came to a halt,
and dismounted.
“Smart kid, that,” commented one of the older riders. “Up to snuff!”
“Thinks he is,” growled the youth in the blue sweater. “He and those
other two with him fooled me a while ago. I couldn’t get a rise out of
him.”
“Now you see what a pocket is,” said Jerry as he joined his chums. “If
you get into one do your best to ride out, or you’ll lose the race,
providing the others stick together and have made up their mind to let
one of their number win.”
The practice continued for some time. A little before noon there was a
stir at the track entrance and a motor cycle, painted a bright red on
every available space shot on the track. The loudness of the explosions
told that it was a machine of high power, and it attracted considerable
attention.
“There’s a faster machine than ours,” called Jerry.
“Yes, and do you see who’s riding it?” asked Ned.
“No. Who?”
“Jack Pender.”
“Is that Noddy’s machine painted over?”
“No, it looks like a new one,” said Ned. “Yes, it is a new one,” he
added as he got a closer view of the motor which swept by at that
instant.
“If he goes in the race we’ll have to look sharp if we want our touring
car,” Jerry remarked.
Jack Pender did not seem to care to have anything to say to the three
chums, and neither did they seek to speak to the bully’s toady. Bob, Ned
and Jerry rode together around the track for several minutes, while Jack
occasionally passed them, making swift speed.
“Guess I’ll go off and get some dinner,” Jerry announced finally. He was
opposite the gate by which riders left the track and steered for it. He
looked and saw Jack coming toward him, but noted that the latter would,
in the natural course of events, pass behind him.
“Look out there! What’s the matter with you?” cried Jack in sudden
anger. Jerry glanced around in time to see the rider of the red machine
steering directly for him, having left his course to do so. A collision
was imminent, and only by a skillful handling of his machine did Jerry
so manage that Jack only struck the rear wheel with his front one.
“What are you trying to do?” cried Jerry.
“What are you up to?” retorted Jack. “You got right in my way!”
“And I say you deliberately left your path to try and run me down!”
cried Jerry.
“It’s false!” exclaimed Jack, getting off his motor.
“It is not, and I’ll leave it to any one who saw it,” spoke Jerry
sharply. He was very angry.
“That’s right; you had plenty of room to pass him,” said a quiet dark
man, who had been making several rounds of the track. “I don’t know
either of you, but the man on the red machine is to blame.”
“Mind your own business!” snapped Jack.
“Look here, my young friend,” said the dark man, as he got off his
machine and came close to Jack. “I would advise you to be a little more
careful of your language and your conduct. You were either foolishly
or deliberately careless in this matter. This track is for gentlemen,
remember.”
“What affair of yours is it?” asked Jack with a growl.
“I am one of the directors of the club, and I will most certainly make
it my affair, if necessary.”
Jack had nothing more to say, and turned off the track with his
loud-puffing machine.
“Did he damage your motor any?” asked the man of Jerry.
“I guess not,” was the answer.
“If you want to make a complaint to the club I will be a witness for
you,” went on the director of the organization.
“No, I had rather drop it now,” replied Jerry. “I thank you, just the
same.”
“He and Noddy make a nice team, don’t they?” inquired Ned, he and Bob
having followed Jerry from the track.
“Well, I suppose it comes natural for them to be mean,” replied Jerry.
“The only thing to do is to avoid trouble, but not to give in too much.”
“I wonder if he is going in the race with that red machine? If so we’ll
have to hustle,” commented Ned.
“That’s what races are for,” said Jerry, with a smile.