The finish line was a hundred feet away. Tom looked ahead, and saw a confused mass of excited spectators, waving flags and banners, tossing caps in the air, dancing about and uttering yells at the tops of their voices. He looked to left and right and saw on one side of him, Bruce Bennington, and, on the other, Sam Heller. Jack Fitch was not in sight.
“I guess Jack’s out of it,” mused Tom, regretfully.
He gathered himself for a final effort, and, just as he struck out with increased force he saw Sam lurch over toward him.
“Look out!” Tom yelled.
The bully returned no answer. He seemed to have lost control of himself. Nearer and nearer he glided toward Tom.
In vain did our hero try to get out of the way of what in a flash he knew to be an intentional attempt to foul him. But he could not escape without swerving so far to one side as to mean the loss of the race.
“Look out for yourself!” warned Tom, determined to give way no longer, and he braced himself for the shock.
It came an instant later, when Sam’s skate struck Tom’s, staggering him.
“Excuse me!” panted the bully, unnecessarily loud. “I couldn’t help it!”