“We’ll do nothing of the sort!” exclaimed Larry.  “I don’t want anything to do with you.”  He had never forgiven Peter for his part in the kidnapping of Jimmie.

“Needn’t get huffy about it,” remarked Peter.  “I want to be friendly.”

Larry thought it was hardly Peter’s place to offer to be “friendly” after the mean part he had played.

“I haven’t time to stop now,” said Larry.  “I’m in a hurry.  You’ll have to get along the best you can.”

“So that’s how you feel, eh?” asked the rival reporter.  “Not very white of you, Larry Dexter.  I’ve only just got back my job on the Scorcher after they laid me off for getting beaten, and I’ve got to make good.  But never mind.  The beach is free, and I’ve got as good a right to the telegraph office as you have.  I’d like to see you beat me.”

Larry himself did not just see how he would, but he made up his mind to attempt it.  Peter was now keeping pace with him.  There was nothing for it but to hurry on.  Whoever reached the office first and “filed his copy” would have the right to the wire.  Larry resolved that he would win in the race, even as he had won in the other, at the big flood, but he knew there was time enough yet.  If he started to run Peter would run also, and the way was too long for a fast sprint.

The two kept on, side by side, neither speaking.  The only sound was the patter of the rain, and the rustle and rattle of Larry’s oilskin suit.

They passed through the deserted summer resort.  It was about a mile now to the telegraph office.  Larry recalled that Bailey had told him there was a short cut by keeping to the railroad track, and he turned into that highway, followed by Peter, who, it seemed, had resolved not to lose sight of his rival.

It was now about nine o’clock, though his activity since early morning made it seem much later to Larry.  He knew he had a good story safe in his pocket, and he was pretty sure Peter had only a garbled account, for he could not have gotten the facts so quickly.  Nor did he, Larry was sure, have the passenger list, which was the best part of the story.

On and on the two rivals trudged silently.  They must be near the office now, Larry thought, and he looked ahead through the rain.  They were in the midst of a little settlement of fishermen’s houses—­a small village—­but it was nearly deserted, as most of the inhabitants had gone to the wreck.  Larry saw a building on which was a sign informing those who cared to know that it contained a store, the post-office and a place whence telegrams might be sent and received.  Peter saw it at the same instant.

“Here’s where I beat you!” he cried as he sprang forward on the run.

Larry tried to follow, but his legs became entangled in the oilskin coat and he fell.  He was up again in an instant, only to see Peter entering the office.  Larry’s heart seemed like lead.  Had he worked so hard only to be beaten at the last?