Part 6 (1/2)

The jumpers, the wrestlers, and the boxers immediately suspended their respective contests to enjoy the innovation.

Slim was trying to back away, protesting that he ”couldn't run for a cent,” when a familiar, smiling countenance intruded itself in the circle of good-natured faces with the suggestion: ”Well, how about a plum pudding, then?”

Slim and Jerry at once recognized him as the youth who had similarly suggested a plum pudding, also sausage, at a most inopportune time.

”Have you got one?” Slim demanded, his spirit aroused.

”Sure have,” announced the other, ”and I'll make it the stake.”

Another shout went up as a second group pushed before Slim another youth who, so far as size, shape and avoirdupois was concerned, might have been his twin brother. They looked at each other and both burst into a hearty laugh.

”h.e.l.lo, Skinny,” said the stranger.

”Howdy, Delicate?” Slim came back at him, quick as a flash. ”Want to race?”

”Don't particularly want to race,” responded the other lad, ”but I'm awfully fond of plum pudding.”

”And sausage?”

”Is there going to be a sausage in it, too?” asked the stranger, evidencing increasing interest.

”Only yourself,” Slim announced, laughing and jumping back quickly to avoid any belligerency his joke might inspire in the other.

But he took the joke as good-naturedly as he did the howls of delight from the crowd, and the two peeled off their coats and discarded their hats as a couple of youths marked off the starting and finis.h.i.+ng line, while others ”cleared the deck for action.”

”This will be the tape,” said a tall lean fellow, as he tied one end of a string to the rail, at a point just above the starting line. ”After you have pa.s.sed here the second time we'll stretch this out, and the first one to touch it will be the winner.”

”Right,” said the fat boys together, leaning over in true sprinter fas.h.i.+on so far as their stomachs would permit them to stoop.

One of the one-hundred-and-eighty-pound wrestlers winked to his comrades and hurried down into the lower part of the s.h.i.+p on some mysterious errand.

”One, two, three--Go!” shouted the self-const.i.tuted referee.

And Slim and Delicate went! True, neither of them got what sportsmen would call ”a flying start,” but they got away, nevertheless, and with all the grace and speed of--two loaded hay wagons.

”Whoopee!” yelled one in the crowd. ”Look at 'em go! You can't see 'em for dust!”

”Two dollars on the knock-kneed guy,” shouted another.

Slim turned his head for the fraction of a second to learn whether this insult had been directed at him, and his opponent gained a lead of a foot.

”Go it, you deerhounds,” shrilled an Irish tenor in the crowd. ”Work your feet, not your arms.”

”The elephant leads; come on, you whale!” shouted another.

By this time the runners had made the curve at the bow of the boat and were coming up the starboard side, toward the stern.

On the nearest armed convoy an officer was taking in the contest through a pair of marine gla.s.ses, and apparently enjoying it immensely.