"
"Well," said Tom, "Bert isn't such an awful good runner, no. He's never
done a thing in that line except win the Marathon run at the last Olympic
games, break every college record from one to twenty-five miles, and set
up a new world's record for the five mile distance. Outside of that he
can't run worth a cent, can he, Dick?"
For a moment Dick was too amused watching the faces of the two ranchmen
to answer. "Wh-what are yuh tryin' t' hand us, anyhow," demanded Chip.
"Do yuh really mean he's the same Wilson thet won the big Marathon race?"
"Straight goods," answered Dick; "if you don't believe it, ask Melton."
"Whoop-ee!" yelled Sandy, throwing his sombrero high in the air and
catching it deftly as it descended. "No wonder he seemed so confident
when he offered to run fer us. At thet time I kind a' thought he was jest
stringin' us along."
"You'll find that when Bert says a thing he generally means it," remarked
Dick, "but what is it all about, anyway? What was it that he offered to
run in?"
Sandy then proceeded to explain all that had occurred that morning, and
when he had finished both Tom and Dick gave a long whistle.
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