Part 5 (1/2)

”The boy's a streak,” Billy commented. ”He ain't tryin' his hardest, an'

Red-head's just bustin' himself.”

Still ten feet in the lead, the black-haired one breasted the tape in a hubbub of cheers. Yet yells of disapproval could be distinguished. Bert hugged himself with joy.

”Mm-mm,” he gloated. ”Ain't Frisco sore? Watch out for fireworks now.

See! He's bein' challenged. The judges ain't payin' him the money. An'

he's got a gang behind him. Oh! Oh! Oh! Ain't had so much fun since my old woman broke her leg!”

”Why don't they pay him, Billy?” Saxon asked. ”He won.”

”The Fris...o...b..nch is challengin' him for a professional,” Billy elucidated. ”That's what they're all beefin' about. But it ain't right.

They all ran for that money, so they're all professional.”

The crowd surged and argued and roared in front of the judges' stand.

The stand was a rickety, two-story affair, the second story open at the front, and here the judges could be seen debating as heatedly as the crowd beneath them.

”There she starts!” Bert cried. ”Oh, you rough-house!”

The black-haired racer, backed by a dozen supporters, was climbing the outside stairs to the judges.

”The purse-holder's his friend,” Billy said. ”See, he's paid him, an'

some of the judges is willin' an' some are beefin'. An' now that other gang's going up--they're Redhead's.” He turned to Saxon with a rea.s.suring smile. ”We're well out of it this time. There's goin' to be rough stuff down there in a minute.”

”The judges are tryin' to make him give the money back,” Bert explained.

”An' if he don't the other gang'll take it away from him. See! They're reachin' for it now.”

High above his head, the winner held the roll of paper containing the twenty-five silver dollars. His gang, around him, was shouldering back those who tried to seize the money. No blows had been struck yet, but the struggle increased until the frail structure shook and swayed. From the crowd beneath the winner was variously addressed: ”Give it back, you dog!” ”Hang on to it, Tim!” ”You won fair, Timmy!” ”Give it back, you dirty robber!” Abuse unprintable as well as friendly advice was hurled at him.

The struggle grew more violent. Tim's supporters strove to hold him off the floor so that his hand would still be above the grasping hands that shot up. Once, for an instant, his arm was jerked down. Again it went up. But evidently the paper had broken, and with a last desperate effort, before he went down, Tim flung the coin out in a silvery shower upon the heads of the crowd beneath. Then ensued a weary period of arguing and quarreling.

”I wish they'd finish, so as we could get back to the dancin',” Mary complained. ”This ain't no fun.”

Slowly and painfully the judges' stand was cleared, and an announcer, stepping to the front of the stand, spread his arms appealing for silence. The angry clamor died down.

”The judges have decided,” he shouted, ”that this day of good fellows.h.i.+p an' brotherhood--”

”Hear! Hear!” Many of the cooler heads applauded. ”That's the stuff!”

”No fightin'!” ”No hard feelin's!”

”An' therefore,” the announcer became audible again, ”the judges have decided to put up another purse of twenty-five dollars an' run the race over again!”

”An' Tim?” bellowed scores of throats. ”What about Tim?” ”He's been robbed!” ”The judges is rotten!”

Again the announcer stilled the tumult with his arm appeal.

”The judges have decided, for the sake of good feelin', that Timothy McMa.n.u.s will also run. If he wins, the money's his.”

”Now wouldn't that jar you?” Billy grumbled disgustedly. ”If Tim's eligible now, he was eligible the first time. An' if he was eligible the first time, then the money was his.”