“Go in, Tom!” shouted Tom Rover.  “Don’t let him beat you!”

“Mr. Strong is behind!” came presently.  “Tom is going to win out, sure!”

On and on went the skaters, until the rock was gained.  Then Tom Mardell turned so suddenly that he ran full tilt into the teacher with whom he was racing.  Both spun around and came down on the ice with a crash.

“Oh!” gasped Mardell.  “I didn’t mean to do that!”

“I—­I know you didn’t!” panted Mr. Strong.  “You have finished the race in fine shape, I must declare!” And then he arose slowly to his feet and Mardell followed.  But nobody was seriously hurt, and in a moment more both skated off hand in hand.

Dick was looking for Dora Stanhope, and presently she appeared, in a pretty fur coat and a jaunty fur cap.  He put on her skates for her, and they skated off, with many a side wink from some of the boys.

“Dick’s head over heels,” said one lad, to Tom.

“Well, I guess you’d be, too, Urner, if you could get such a nice girl to notice you,” returned Tom dryly.  And then he added:  “You must remember we are all old friends.”

“Oh, I know that; and I was only joking.”

A grand race, open to all comers, had been arranged by the students of the Hall and of Pornell Academy, a rival institute of learning, which has already figured in other volumes of this series.  The Pornell boys were out in force, and they were sure that one of their number would win the silver napkin ring, which was the first prize, and another the story book, which constituted the second prize.

Of this race a gentleman from Cedarville, named Mr. Richards, was to be the starter and judge.  The course was a short mile, down the lake and back again.  The Pornell boys to enter were named Gray, Wardham, Gussy, and De Long.  The contestants from Putnam Hall were Tom Rover, Fred Garrison, Tubbs, and a lad named Hollbrook.

“Are you ready?” asked Mr. Richards, after lining the boys up and telling them of the conditions of the race.

There was a dead silence.

“Go!” shouted the starter.

Away went the eight skaters, side by side each striking out bravely.  Fred was in the lead, with two Pornell boys a close second, while Tom Rover was fourth.

“Go in, Tom, you must win!” sang out Dick excitedly.

“Hurrah for Tubby!” came from several others.  “He’s crawling up!”

“Go in, Gray!” came in a shout from some Pornell sympathizers.  Gray was one of the pair striving for second place.  Now he shot ahead, and in a second more was close upon Fred Garrison’s heels.

The pace was truly terrific from the very start, and long before the turn was gained De Long and Hollbrook dropped out, satisfied that they could not win.

Gray, the leader of the Pornell contingent, was a tall, lanky, and powerful fellow, and every stroke he took told well in his favor.  The turning point was hardly rounded when he began to crawl up to Fred, and then he gradually passed him.