Part 39 (1/2)

”Don't try to skate too fast, Ben. Remember, the race is two miles long!”

”h.e.l.lo, there goes one fellow down!”

”It's Luke Watson. He has lost his skate.”

The last report was correct, and as the skate could not be adjusted without the loss of some time, Luke gave up, and watched the others.

Nat Poole was exceedingly anxious to win the race, and he had been partly instrumental in getting up the contest. His new skates were of the best, and it must be admitted that Nat was no mean skater.

Phil had good skates and so had Roger. Dave's skates were only fair, and were very much in need of sharpening.

Away went Nat at top speed, soon drawing half a dozen yards ahead of his compet.i.tors. Behind him came a student named Powers, and then followed Ben, Roger, Phil, Dave, and the others.

”I don't think I can win!” sang out Dave to his chums. ”These skates slip too much. But I'll do my best.”

”Come on, you slow-coaches!” cried Ben, merrily, and then he shot forward until he was abreast of Nat. Seeing this, the money-lender's son put on an extra burst of speed, and went ahead again.

”Say, Nat Poole is certainly skating well!” cried one of the onlookers.

”He'll make a record if he keeps it up.”

”I don't think he can keep it up,” answered another.

In a very few minutes the turning point was gained, and Nat made a sharp curve and started back. The turn brought him directly in front of Dave.

”Clear the track!” he roared. ”Clear the track, I say!”

”Clear the track yourself!” answered Dave. Nevertheless, as Nat came closer, he swerved a little to one side so that the money-lender's son might pa.s.s. As Nat swept on he swung his arms freely, and one fist took Dave in the side.

”Foul! foul!” cried several who saw the move.

”It was his own fault!” Nat retorted. ”I told him to get out of the way!” And off he started for the finis.h.i.+ng line.

Dave said nothing, but kept on, reaching the turning point a few seconds later. Phil and Roger were just ahead of him, and Plum was beside him.

”Go on and win!” he shouted. ”I can't keep up with these skates!”

”Here goes for a finis.h.!.+” yelled Phil, and darted ahead, with Roger at his heels. Then Plum flashed forward, and soon the three were side by side, with Dave about three yards to the rear, followed by Powers.

Coming down the homestretch, Nat Poole thought he had it all to himself.

He was glad of it, for he had set such a fast pace at the start that he was becoming winded, and he had to fairly gasp for breath. He looked over his shoulder, and as n.o.body was near he slackened his speed a little.

”Keep it up, Nat!” yelled one of his supporters. ”Go it, old man!”

”Morr and Lawrence are crawling up!”

”So is Plum!”

These last cries startled Nat, and he sought to strike out as he had at the start. But his wind was now completely gone--and the finis.h.i.+ng line was still a quarter of a mile away.

”There goes Morr to the front!”