"It's Luke Watson. He has lost his skate."
The last report was correct, and as the skate could not be adjusted without the loss of some time, Luke gave up, and watched the others.
Nat Poole was exceedingly anxious to win the race, and he had been partly instrumental in getting up the contest. His new skates were of the best, and it must be admitted that Nat was no mean skater.
Phil had good skates and so had Roger. Dave's skates were only fair, and were very much in need of sharpening.
Away went Nat at top speed, soon drawing half a dozen yards ahead of his competitors. Behind him came a student named Powers, and then followed Ben, Roger, Phil, Dave, and the others.
"I don't think I can win!" sang out Dave to his chums. "These skates slip too much. But I'll do my best."
"Come on, you slow-coaches!" cried Ben, merrily, and then he shot forward until he was abreast of Nat. Seeing this, the money-lender's son put on an extra burst of speed, and went ahead again.
"Say, Nat Poole is certainly skating well!" cried one of the onlookers. "He'll make a record if he keeps it up."
"I don't think he can keep it up," answered another.
In a very few minutes the turning point was gained, and Nat made a sharp curve and started back. The turn brought him directly in front of Dave.