Dicky's head
had burrowed into the soft turf, and but for his aviator's cap he
might have been badly bruised. That protection had saved him all
injury save a skinned shoulder.
"Come on, let's give 'em a run for it!" yelled Dicky, who was first
to recover his breath.
He started off, keeping close to the hedge, Bob close on his heels.
As they approached the corner of the field they were faced with
another hedge, evidently of much the same character as the one through
which the boys had been hurled so unceremoniously a moment before.
Inspired by a sudden thought, he put on a burst of speed, ran straight
up to the leafy barrier, and dove right at it, head first as he
used to "hit the center" for dear old Brighton. His maneuver did not
carry him quite through, but he managed to wriggle on just in time
to clear the way for Bob, who dived after him.
It was no time for words. Dicky started off to the right as fast
as he could go, ever keeping close to the protecting hedge, running
swiftly and silently over the grass, Bob not many feet behind.
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