"No, witty youth, it wasn't anything of the kind. We don't follow in your footsteps," retorted Dick to this innuendo. "No, sir, you couldn't walk four miles an hour all day to save your neck." "I'm betting I could," Hudson replied, "I have done it often out shooting." "I dare say you thought so; have you ever tried it over a measured stretch?" "No, but I can guess at about what rate I am walking, and four miles an hour is a good easy swing. I'll bet you a V that I can do twenty-four miles in six hours." "I'll take that," answered Stoughton, promptly. "So will I, if you offer the same," said Gray. "Yes, I'll bet with you, too," said Hudson. Just at that moment Ned Burleigh came in, going through the form of giving the door a thump as he opened it, and telling himself to come in. "What are you abandoned sports betting about now?" he asked, as he covered the whole front of the fireplace as usual. "Steve thinks he can walk twenty-four miles in six hours," answered Stoughton, "and we each have five dollars worth of opinion that he can't. What do you think about it?" "I don't know; he is a pretty fast young man. Is it to be on a cinder track, or over an ordinary road? That would make a great difference." "Have you any fond hope," asked Hudson, "that I am going to make a Roman holiday of myself on Holmes' Field for the edification of you children and the whole University? I am quite aware that that is just what you would like; you would be out there with a brass band. No, my friend, I ask for no advantages. I am quite willing to take my chances over any ordinary country road, and in ordinary clothes." "Extraordinary English knickerbockers, you mean," corrected Ned. "You can take the road from here to Framingham," suggested Stoughton. "That is a perfectly straight one and you can't miss it. It is a little short of twenty-four miles, but we will allow you the slight difference." "Yes, I know that road," said Hudson. "I drove over it when I was at school at Southborough. Strike the Worcester turnpike, don't you, after crossing the river at Watertown, and then keep on through Newton, Wellesley, Natick, and all those places? All right, I'll take that road." Ned Burleigh reflected a moment. "I think," he admitted, with a shake of his head, "that it can certainly be done by any man with strength and sand; but Steve Hudson can't do it." "I'll tell you what, old fatty-cakes," declared Hudson, indignantly, "I'll bet _you ten_ dollars on the event." "No, I won't go you ten, because I don't believe in betting so much on a certainty. Besides, you are hard up now, and you would undoubtedly borrow from me the money with which to pay me your bet. I can't afford to have you do that, sweet me child, but I will contribute a five like the others, towards this purse."