"Click-click," "Click-click-click" was Tim's only answer. It was a distinct challenge, and, while not openly breaking into racing speed, Perkins accepted it.
For some minutes Webster quickened his pace in an attempt to follow the leaders, but soon gave it up and fell back to help Cameron up with his drill, remarking, "I ain't no blamed fool. I ain't going to bust myself for any man. THEY'RE racing, not me."
"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.
"Hello, 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 slashing 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 passed 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 slashing 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!"
