The warning was unnecessary, because Harry had heard the sharp strokes of the skates close to him, and, although he did not check his speed by looking around, he intuitively seemed to realize that the approach of the skater boded him no good; and, just as the bully sought to throw him off his balance, he turned his skate out and shot rapidly to one side, putting himself a scant foot beyond Snook’s reach.
“Pretty work! Good boy!” shouted the spectators, as they realized the bully’s attempt and our hero’s escape.
But his move had taken Harry several yards out of his course, and quick were Elmer and Longback to improve the opportunity to wrest the lead from him. Clenching his fists more tightly, Harry bent lower, and exerted himself to the utmost to recover the lost ground. Less than one hundred yards away was the brush-pile, and a stick held in front of the racers would have touched each one, so even were they.
“Oh, you Elmer! Get a move on! They’re going to have a carnival and crown the winner king. The girls are racing to be queen, and Viola’s leading!” shouting one of the scholars.
Thus apprised for the first time of the additional plans which had been made for the bonfire, the three boys bent themselves to still greater efforts.
To Elmer, the thought that Harry might win and thus share the honor of participating in the mock ceremony with Viola was bitter indeed.
“If there was no one else but Longback, I wouldn’t care,” he told himself. “But I can’t let that scrub play king when Viola is queen.”
Nearer and nearer to the finish the three boys sped, amid the yells and cheers of advice and encouragement their partisans hurled at them.
But though each of the trio was skating with might and main, not one of them seemed able to gain on the others—and the brush-pile was a scant fifty yards away.
“Shake ’em, Elmer! Shake ’em, Watson!” cried the spectators, according to their preference.