“Hurrah!  Gray is ahead!” shouted his friends.

“Here is where Pornell wins the race!” added one enthusiastic sympathizer.

Fred’s pace had been too sharp from the very start, and now he slowly but surely dropped back to second place, and then to third.

But then Tom Rover began to crawl up.  He had held himself slightly in reserve.  Now he “let himself out.”  Whiz! whiz! went the polished pair of steels under him, and soon Wardham, the fellow who had held second place, was passed, dropping behind Fred, thus taking fourth place.  Then Tom came up on Gray’s heels.

“Hurrah for Tom Rover!”

“Go it, Tom, don’t let him beat you!”

“Go it Gray, Tom Rover is at your heels!”

Gray did not dare to look back, but at the latter cry he did his best to increase his speed.  So did Tom, and while the finishing line was still a hundred yards distant he came up side by side with Gray.

“It’s a tie!”

“No, Gray is a little ahead yet!”

“Go in, Gray, don’t let him beat you!”

“Tom Rover to the front!  Go it, Tom, for the glory of old Putnam Hall!”

A wild yelling broke out on every side.  On and on went the two boys, with Fred Garrison not two yards behind them.  That the finish would be a close one there was no question.  The line was but a hundred feet away; now but seventy-five; now but fifty.  Still the leaders kept side by side, neither gaining an inch.  Surely it would be a tie.  The yelling increased until the noise was deafening.

And then of a sudden Tom Rover shot ahead.  How it was done nobody knew, and Tom himself couldn’t explain it when asked afterward.  But ahead he went, like an arrow shot from a bow, and crossed the line six feet in advance of Gray.

“Hurrah!  Tom Rover has won!”

“Told you Tom would do it!”

“Three cheers for Putnam Hall!”

“And Fred Garrison came in only one yard behind Gray, too, and Tubby is a pretty good fourth.”

“This is Putnam Hall day, thank you!”

The cheering increased, and Tom was immediately surrounded by a host of admirers.

Gray felt very sore, and wanted to leave the pond at once, but before he could do so Tom skated up to him and held out his hand.

“You came pretty close to beating me,” he said.  “I can’t really say how I got ahead at the finish.”

“I—­I guess my skate slipped, or something,” stammered Gray, and shook hands.  Tom’s candor took away the keen edge of the defeat.

The Putnam Hall boys were wild with delight, and insisted upon carrying Tom on their shoulders around the pond.  A great crowd followed, and nobody noticed how this made the ice bend and crack.

“Be careful there!” shouted Mr. Strong warningly.  “There are too many of you in a bunch!” But ere he had finished the sentence there came another loud cracking, and in a twinkle a section of the ice went down, plunging fully a dozen lads into the icy water below.