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 pass. 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 finishing 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 finish!" 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 nobody 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 finishing line
was still a quarter of a mile away.

"There goes Morr to the front!"

"Lawrence is after him, and so is Plum!"

"Here comes Basswood!"

"What's the matter with Porter? He is dropping behind."

"He said his skates were dull."

"Oh, that's only an excuse!" sneered one of the students who had been
put off of the football eleven that term.

"It's true," answered Tom Hally. "I saw the skates myself. Can't you see
how he slips when he strikes out?"

On and on went the skaters. Nat was still ahead, but now Roger and Phil
came up on one side, and Gus Plum on the other, while Ben came up close
in the rear. Behind Ben was Dave, determined to see the race out even if
he did not win.

With the finishing line but a hundred feet away, Phil, Roger, and Gus
Plum shot to the front. Then Ben followed. Nat Poole tried to keep up,
but could not. Then of a sudden Dave went ahead also.

"Nat is dropping behind!"

"He put