And now, Jack Benson, being past both of his assailants, took refuge in
discreet flight, in fact, he ran down the street with about every pound
of human steam turned on.
"Come on!" snarled Radwin, setting the sprinting pace. "We've got to
catch that rascally boy, and mighty quick, too!"
This block or two of the street appeared to be deserted. There was no
telling, however, how soon the submarine boy might run into two or
three real men who would take his side in any scrimmage that was due.
Though Radwin had the first start after Jack, and was running well, the
driver, a long-legged fellow with splendid "wind" soon passed his leader.
Jack realized that he was in danger of being caught, and tried to put on
a greater burst of speed. Yet the driver came closer and closer.
Whizz-zz!
The driver had aimed his heavy whip, lance-fashion, and butt-end first,
and launched it after the fugitive.
Had not Jack turned the instant before, to glance backward, the whip
would have struck him in the back of the head. But Benson saw it coming,
and threw himself forward, his head went down.
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