Hearing the sound of laughter Ned, Bob and Jerry, who were walking together in the fields, a short distance away from the athletic grounds, came over.

“Why it’s Old Pete!” cried Bob. “Hello Pete! I say, Old Pete Bumps!” he called, waving his hand to the man with a green coat and a red patch on either elbow.

“Oh, I say, is that you, why how do you do?” said Mr., otherwise Old Pete Bumps, who was a general man of all work about Mr. Baker’s place. He did everything from feeding the chickens to taking out the ashes.

“Hello Pete!” called Jerry and Ned in chorus. “What did you come for? Are you going to race?”

“Am I going to race? Well not in this place,” replied Pete gravely. “I came to watch over you boys. Be a sort of general overseer as it were. Look after the wheels and see that they get full meals,” he added without a smile.

From which it may be inferred that Mr. Bumps was something of a character.

Indeed at one time he had been a well educated man. But an injury to his head, caused by a fall, and a number of misfortunes, had displaced him from a life of comparative wealth, and had made him a sort of foolish, though very loving, elderly man. Mr. Baker had taken pity on him and made a place for him, for which poor Old Pete Bumps, as he called himself, was very grateful. He was very fond of children, especially boys, and was always looking after the interests of Bob and his chums.

“Now Pete can look after our wheels,” said Bob. “I was wondering who we could leave in charge between the heats, and while we were dressing. He’ll be the very one.”

“Surely will I, e’en though I die,” said Pete gravely, for he had a habit of making extemporaneous rhymes on all occasions, which jingles sometimes fitted and sometimes did not.

“All right, Pete,” said Bob. “Come on over here,” and he led the hired man to where the boys had left their three wheels in charge of a lad of their acquaintance, who had agreed to stand guard at the rate of five cents a half hour. Pete gravely squatted down on the grass near the bicycles.

Relieved of the responsibility of guarding their mounts, the trio of lads wandered about the grounds of the club. There was much bustle and excitement. New riders were constantly arriving and going out on the track to warm up. Hundreds of spectators were coming afoot, or in carriages or automobiles. Flags waved gaily in the wind, and the whole scene was a spirited one. A bevy of girls coming up the road that led to the entrance of the grounds attracted the attention of our three heroes.

“Looks like my sister Susie with that red dress on,” said Bob.

“And that seems to be Julia, in that green hat,” observed Jerry. “Yes, that’s her,” he went on. “I can tell by her laugh,” he added, as a merry peal floated over the green field.

“Who are the girls with them?” asked Ned, who had no sisters, but who was as fond of girls as they were of him.

“There’s Mollie Horton, who lives near me,” said Ned. “She’s jolly enough. And Alice Vines. I don’t know who the other one is.”

“That’s Helen Gale,” put in Bob. “I know her. She made that silk flag with our foot-ball colors on last year for me.”

“Good for her!” exclaimed Ned.

The girls soon came up, and there was merry talk for a little while. The boys wanted to take the girls over and buy some ice-cream sodas.

“We haven’t time,” objected Julia. “We want to get our seats before the races begin. We don’t want to miss a one.”

“You won’t miss anything,” assured Ned.

“Oh but we might,” interposed Alice. “And it is not every day we can come to such a big event as this. If you boys want to get the sodas afterward—”

“Of course we will,” broke in Jerry. And so they agreed to treat the girls after the races.

Not long after Pete had been left in charge of the cycles a man, wearing a slouch hat, who had been but a few minutes before in close consultation with Jack Pender, shuffled up to where Pete was lying in the grass.

“Arternoon, mate,” said the roughly dressed man in a growling voice.

“How do you do, I’m glad to see you,” replied Pete, in his sweetest tones.

“What yer givin’ us?” demanded the stranger.

“Me? I gave you nothing, sir,” replied Pete.

“Come off your high perch then, an’ talk United States,” went on the stranger gruffly. “My name’s Bill Berry, what’s yours?”

“My name’s Pete Bumps, I’m full of humps,” recited Pete gravely.

“You look it,” commented Bill Berry. “But I say, mate,” he went on, “how would you like to go off and get a good smoke? Come, I’ll pay for it?”

“I’d like it first rate, but I must stay here quite late,” said Pete.

“Why so? Oh, I don’t know,” mocked Bill, falling into the eccentric mood of his companion.

“To guard the wheels against the steals,” replied Pete.

“Don’t let that worry you,” went on Bill, eagerly. “I’ll stay here. You go get yourself something to smoke, and take your time. I’ll stand guard while you’re away.”

If there was one thing more than another that Old Pete liked, it was to smoke. Usually he had to forego this pleasure because of lack of funds. Now here was a chance to indulge. So, after receiving twenty-five cents from Bill Berry, Pete started over to the grand stand, near which was a booth where cigars and refreshments were sold.

Bill looked narrowly about as soon as Pete was out of sight. There were plenty of people around him, but no one seemed to be noticing what he was doing. Quickly Bill pulled a wrench from his pocket and used it on each of the three bicycles. Then he brought out a stick of something black.

“This graphite is well doctored,” he muttered. “I guess it won’t be healthy for the chains.”

He rubbed a liberal supply on the chain of each wheel, and also on the sprockets. Then he rapidly opened the tool bags on each machine, took out the graphite he found there, and substituted some of his own.

“I guess that will do the trick,” he said softly. “And I guess I’ve earned my two dollars, Jack Pender.”

He hurried off, mingled with the crowd, and a little later was in conversation with Jack Pender.

A little later Pete came hurrying back. He was smoking a cheap cigar, and his pockets bulged with others.

“Here you go, Bill, now smoke with a will,” began Pete, when he drew near where he had left his new friend in charge of the boys’ bicycles. “Why, he’s gone,” he went on, seeing the deserted mounts. “Wonder where he went?” However, he did not give much thought to it, and went on smoking happily.

“Wheels all right?” asked Ned a few minutes after, as he, Jerry and Bob came up.

“Right as a fiddle, come high-diddle,” recited Pete.

“Hark! What’s that?” asked Chunky suddenly. “Sounds like an announcement.”

The three boys ran nearer the grand stand where the official announcer stood. The man was using a small megaphone and went on to say that there had been a slight change in the program, and that the race for those who had never been in a contest before would be the first number instead of the third.

“Great Scott, Chunky! That’ll mean you’ll have to hustle for all you’re worth!” cried Jerry. “Here, get your wheel out, strip off your sweater and get around to the track entrance and have your number pinned on.”

Jerry grabbed up his chum’s wheel, while