"Clear the track!" he roared. "Clear the track, I say!"
"Clear the track yourself!" answered Dave. Nevertheless, as Nat came closer, he swerved a little to one side so that the money-lender's son might pass. As Nat swept on he swung his arms freely, and one fist took Dave in the side.
"Foul! foul!" cried several who saw the move.
"It was his own fault!" Nat retorted. "I told him to get out of the way!" And off he started for the finishing line.
Dave said nothing, but kept on, reaching the turning point a few seconds later. Phil and Roger were just ahead of him, and Plum was beside him.
"Go on and win!" he shouted. "I can't keep up with these skates!"
"Here goes for a finish!" yelled Phil, and darted ahead, with Roger at his heels. Then Plum flashed forward, and soon the three were side by side, with Dave about three yards to the rear, followed by Powers.
Coming down the homestretch, Nat Poole thought he had it all to himself. He was glad of it, for he had set such a fast pace at the start that he was becoming winded, and he had to fairly gasp for breath. He looked over his shoulder, and as nobody was near he slackened his speed a little.
"Keep it up, Nat!" yelled one of his supporters. "Go it, old man!"
"Morr and Lawrence are crawling up!"