He suddenly began to laugh.

"It's a slow race!" he cried. "They're trying to see who can get
behind! Come on up further where we can see. It'll be great!"

"Come along, then--hurry!" shouted Jot.

"It's a free-for-all. Anybody can compete," somebody was saying as they
passed. "But they've got to be slower than Old Tilly!"

"Can't do it!" whispered Jot. "Old Tilly can sit still on his bike."

"I hope he'll see the race," Kent panted. "It would be mean if he
missed. Here's a good place--there they come. Look at 'em crawling
along like snails! There's one chap clear behind. Yes, sir, he's
standing still!"

Jot gave one look and uttered a shout:

"It's Old Tilly!"

"Jotham Eddy--no!"

"Look for yourself and see--ain't it?"

"Of course--no--yes, sir, it's Old Till, for a fact."

"And he's 'way behind--I told you there wasn't anybody slower'n Old
Tilly! He's beating as fast as anything."

"As slow as anything. Come on! Let's cheer him, Jot."

They caught off their caps and cheered wildly. Every-body else joined
in, catching at the name and laughing over it as a good joke.

"Hurrah--hurrah for Old Tilly!"

"Hip, hip, 'n' a tiger for Old Til-ly!"

The time-keeper called time, and Old Tilly descended from his victorious
wheel and bowed profoundly to his cheerers. He walked away to join the
other boys with the exaggerated air of a great victor, and the people
shouted again.

"Oh, I say, that was rich, Old Till," gasped Jot. "That was worth a
farm!"

"What made you think of entering?" Kent laughed.

"Oh, I thought I would--I knew I could beat 'em," Old Tilly said
modestly.

Sunset ended the festivities in the grove, and the boys mounted and rode
away with the other tired people. Gradually they fell behind.

"Don't--rush--so; I've got to keep up my reputation!" said Old Tilly.
"Besides, I'm tired."

"Me, too."

"Same here. Let's camp out to-night in the woods. Why didn't we stay
there and camp in that grove?"

"Well, we might have, but we won't go back," answered Old Tilly. "Come
on, let's make for that pretty little brown house. Maybe we can buy our
supper there."

But the little brown house was shut up tight. The curtains were all
pulled down, and a general air of "not at home" pervaded even the
clapboards and the morning-glory vine over the door. Only the neat
little barn looked hospitable. Its doors stood open wide. A distant
rumble of thunder suddenly sounded, and the sk