Part 33 (1/2)

”Will Tim win?” enquired Cameron.

”Naw! Not this year! Why, Perkins is the best man in the whole country at turnips. He took the Agricultural Society's prize two years ago.”

”I believe Tim will beat him,” said Cameron confidently, with his eyes upon the two in front.

”Beat nothing!” said Webster. ”You just wait a bit, Perkins isn't letting himself out yet.”

In a short time Tim finished his drill some distance ahead, and then, though it was quitting time, without a pause he swung into the next.

”h.e.l.lo, Timmy!” cried Perkins good-naturedly, ”going to work all night, eh? Well, I'll just take a whirl out of you,” and for the first time he frankly threw himself into his racing gait.

”Good boy, Tim!” called out Cameron, as Tim bore down upon them, still in the lead and going like a small steam engine. ”You're all right and going easy. Don't worry!”

But Perkins, putting on a great spurt, drew up within a hoe-handle length of Tim and there held his place.

”All right, Tim, my boy, you can hold him,” cried Cameron, as the racers came down upon him.

”He can, eh?” replied Perkins. ”I'll show him and you,” and with an accession of speed he drew up on a level with Tim.

”Ah, ha! Timmy, my boy! we've got you where we want you, I guess,” he exulted, and, with a whoop and still increasing his speed, he drew past the boy.

But Cameron, who was narrowly observing the combatants and their work, called out again:

”Don't worry, Tim, you're doing nice clean work and doing it easily.”

The inference was obvious, and Perkins, who had been slas.h.i.+ng wildly and leaving many blanks and weeds behind him where neither blanks nor weeds should be, steadied down somewhat, and, taking more pains with his work, began to lose ground, while Tim, whose work was without flaw, moved again to the front place. There remained half a drill to be done and the issue was still uncertain. With half the length of a hoe handle between them the two clicked along at a furious pace. Tim's hat had fallen off.

His face showed white and his breath was coming fast, but there was no slackening of speed, and the cleanness and ease with which he was doing his work showed that there was still some reserve in him. They were approaching the last quarter when, with a yell, Perkins threw himself again with a wild recklessness into his work, and again he gained upon Tim and pa.s.sed him.

”Steady, Tim!” cried Cameron, who, with Webster, had given up their own work, it being, as the latter remarked, ”quitting time anyway,” and were following up the racers. ”Don't spoil your work, Tim!” continued Cameron, ”don't worry.”

His words caught the boy at a critical moment, for Perkins' yell and his fresh exhibition of speed had shaken the lad's nerve. But Cameron's voice steadied him, and, quickly responding, Tim settled down again into his old style, while Perkins was still in the lead, but slas.h.i.+ng wildly.

”Fine work, Tim,” said Cameron quietly, ”and you can do better yet.” For a few paces he walked behind the boy, steadying him now and then with a quiet word, then, recognising that the crisis of the struggle was at hand, and believing that the boy had still some reserve of speed and strength, he began to call on him.

”Come on, Tim! Quicker, quicker; come on, boy, you can do better!” His words, and his tone more than his words, were like a spur to the boy.

From some secret source of supply he called up an unsuspected reserve of strength and speed and, still keeping up his clean cutting finished style, foot by foot he drew away from Perkins, who followed in the rear, slas.h.i.+ng more wildly than ever. The race was practically won. Tim was well in the lead, and apparently gaining speed with every click of his hoe.

”Here, you fellers, what are yeh has.h.i.+n' them turnips for?” It was Haley's voice, who, unperceived, had come into the field. Tim's reply was a letting out of his last ounce of strength in a perfect fury of endeavour.

”There--ain't--no--has.h.i.+n'--on this--drill--Dad!” he panted.

The sudden demand for careful work, however, at once lowered Perkins'

rate of speed. He fell rapidly behind and, after a few moments of further struggle, threw down his hoe with a whoop and called out, ”Quitting time, I guess,” and, striding after Tim, he caught him by the arms and swung him round clear off the ground.

”Here, let me go!” gasped the boy, kicking, squirming, and trying to strike his antagonist with his hoe.

”Let the boy go!” said Cameron. The tone in his voice arrested Perkins'

attention.