William looked at him coldly.
" No one's ever found out exactly what sort of a dog Jumble is," he said distantly, " an' I bet he's as likely to be a greyhound as anythin'."
The Outlaws forbore to touch further upon the delicate subject. William was apt to resent as an outrage upon his personal honour any reflections upon Jumble's pedigree.
They turned hastily to another aspect of the matter.
" There can't be racin' with only one dog," objected Henry.
" We can easily find another dog," said William carelessly. " This country's simply overrun with dogs. I heard my father say so yesterday. One had jus' bit him."
"An' how d'you make 'em race?" demanded Ginger. " Seems to me they'd only start playin' or fightin'. Dogs don't race nacherally."
" They have a mechanical hare for them," said William kindly and with a superior air of knowledge, " that makes 'em race."
" Well, we haven't got a mechanical hare," said Ginger, as if that settled the matter.
" No," retorted William as if it didn't, " but I've got a clockwork mouse an' that's jus' the same."
They were nonplussed for the minute and then, as usually happened, they became infected with William's optimism.
" Well," said Ginger, " it oughter be all right. It'll be fun anyway."
Preparations for the race began at once and it seemed likely to grow into quite an elaborate affair.
" Let's have refreshments," said William, " an' bettin' an' all."
" Bettin's wrong," objected Henry piously.
" Only when it's horses," said William hastily; " it's all right when it's greyhounds."
" Besides," said Ginger, as if exculpating them