What
about yourself, Cameron? Did you ever race?"
"Some," said Cameron. "I raced last year at the Athole Games."
Fatty threw himself upon him.
"Cameron, you are my man! Do you want to save your country, and perhaps
my life, certainly my reputation? Get out of those frills," touching his
kilt, "and I'll get a suit from one of the jumpers for you. Go! Bless
your soul, anything you want that's mine you can have! Only hustle for
dear life's sake! Go! Go! Go! Take him away, Mack. We'll get something
else on!"
Fatty actually pushed Cameron clear away from the platform and after him
big Mack.
"There seems to be no help for it," said Cameron, as they went to the
tent together.
"It's awful good of you," replied Mack, "but you can see how hard Fatty
takes it, though it is not a bit fair to you."
"Oh, nobody knows me here," said Cameron, "and I don't mind being a
victim."
But as Mack saw him get into his jersey and shorts he began to wonder a
bit.
"Man, it would be great if you should beat yon Frenchman!" he exclaimed.
"Frenchman?"
"Yes! La Belle. He is that stuck on himself; he thinks he is a winner
before he starts."
"It's a good way to think, Mack. Now let us get down into the woods and
have a bit of a practise in the 'get away.' How do they start here? With
a pistol?"
"No," replied Mack.
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