“So it is,” agreed Bert.  “Shall we make a sprint and pass ’em?”

“Oh, there’s time enough yet,” said George.  “Don’t let’s rush things.”

They accepted this easy way out of it, and, as a matter of fact, none of them cared very much about passing Sam and Nick.  They jogged down the slope, to strike a level stretch, and, by this time, Sam and his companion were out of sight beyond a turn in the road.

“There’s Aldenhurst!” exclaimed Tom at length, as they came in view of a small but pretty village.

“And if there isn’t a soda water stand in it I’m going to make a complaint to the police!” gasped Bert.  “I’m as dry as a fish.”

“Don’t fill up on trash,” advised Tom.  “The rules said that was bad to do;” for a few simple directions as to the best way of making the run had been circulated by Coach Jackson.

“Well, I’m going to swab out with seltzer, anyhow,” declared Jack, “rules or no rules.”

“Oh, I guess that won’t hurt,” admitted Tom, and a little later they had lined up before a crossroads grocery, in front of which was the magical sign:  “Ice Cold Soda!”

“Ginger ale!  Birch beer!  Sasp’rilla!  Cream sody!” rattled off the snub-nosed and freckle-faced lad behind the counter, when our four friends filed in and asked for some cool drink.  “That’s all I’ve got.”

“Any seltzer?” asked Tom, who knew the risk of taking into an over-heated system the artificially flavored and colored concoctions that pass current as summer drinks.

“Seltzer?” queried the lad.  “Do you mean that there fizzy stuff that squirts all over when you press down on the handle of the bottle?”

“That’s her!” laughed Jack.  “Pass it out—­if it’s cold.”

“Oh, it’s cold all right, but nobody around here likes it,” volunteered the lad.  “I took some once, and it tasted like salt water with needles in it.  I’d rather have strawberry pop.”

“Seltzer’s good for your system, son.  Pass it out,” ordered Tom, with a laugh at the description of the mineral water, and the lad went to a big refrigerator where, after moving out some tubs of butter, and some bottles of milk, he came upon the seltzer which he set before our heroes.

“That’s good!” exclaimed Tom, as he drained his glass, and then, after a brief rest, they started off on the cross-country run again, waving farewell to the lad who had so aptly characterized the seltzer.

They crossed the river at Weldon, and circled up the hill to Marsden.  There the going was stiff, and they realized why Jackson had given them such leeway in time, for the slope was a steep one.

“This is good for our legs,” remarked Jack, as he plodded on.

“Yes, and Sam and Nick seem to be still ahead of us,” remarked Tom.  “They’re keeping up well—­better than I thought they would.”

“Unless they’ve taken a short cut,” suggested George.

“They have to check in at Marsden,” said Bert.