"Go it, Betty—beat her!" whispered Bobby, proud of her chum. "She and
Ruth Royal have dispositions like vinegar barrels!"
Betty had often raced with Bob, and she ran like a boy herself—head down, elbows held in. She was running that way, against Ada, when something suddenly shunted her off sideways. She fell, landing in a little heap. High and sharp rose the shrill whistle of the starter.
"Are you hurt, Betty?" demanded Miss Anderson, running up to the dazed girl and lifting her to her feet. "Ada Nansen that was absolutely the most unsportsmanlike trick I ever saw. You've lost the race on a foul. Betty was clearly winning when you tripped her."
"I didn't," muttered Ada, but she refused to meet her teacher's eyes.
"I don't want a race on a foul," argued Betty pluckily, for her skinned elbow was smarting madly. "Let's begin over."
She had her way, too, and this time won without interference, though Ada was so furious that Bobby was seriously concerned.
"She looks mad enough to put something in your soup," she told Betty, as they went in to dress and have Betty's elbow attended to. "What is it, Caroline?"
"Two young gentlemen to see you, Miss Bobby and Miss Betty," announced the maid importantly. "They is waiting in the parlor. Mrs. Eustice says you all should go right up."
In the parlor the girls found two slim, uniformed young figures who rose like well-set-up ramrods at their entrance.
"Bob!" ejaculated Betty, her voice betraying her pleasure. "Bob, you look splendid!"