Fred had a plan all his own which he hoped would work. He had carefully refrained from fast skating in the first race, being contented to keep up with Joe. He knew that the second race would be harder, because he would not be as fresh. This time he was determined to skate at top speed.
At the signal they started, Polly in the lead. A flash passed her; it was Fred, head bent, eyes on his skates. Try as he would, Joe could not pass him, and Fred held his lead to the bend and back to the starting point, winning by a good yard.
“Well, anyway, Carrie beat Polly,” said Stella Dorman, as Carrie shot in ahead of Polly, who had lost time in making the turn. “No one can say the Riddle Club skaters are better than we are.”
Fred was satisfied to have it that way.
“Come on, we’re going somewhere,” he said, beckoning to his chums. “Race you again some time, Joe.”
The Riddle Club waved good-bye and went on up the river. They skated more slowly now, for they were just a little tired from the excitement and the fast skating. Polly’s cheeks were crimson and Ward was panting.
“Let’s sit down a minute,” suggested Jess. “I want to see if I skinned my knee when I fell down.”
They skated into the shore and sat down on the bank. Jess discovered that her knee was not badly hurt, after all, and Ward was grateful for the rest.
“Looks like more snow,” said Fred, pointing to the sky, now gray and overcast.
“Why can’t you be cheerful?” scolded Margy. “We’ve had all the snow we want for a long time. It’s going to be clear weather—the paper said so,” and Margy looked triumphantly at her brother.