“Then—go!”
This time both started together.
At equal speed they dashed out for the opposite shore. Tom was fresher than his rival, and he was not now obliged to exert himself as in the former race. Indeed, he kept himself partly in check, not caring to pass Rupert till they neared the end of the race, for he feared that when the latter found himself hopelessly in the rear he would again manage to stumble, and so deprive him of the laurels he had justly won.
Of course the boys who were looking on did not know this, and when they saw Tom and Rupert skating side by side when the race was three-quarters over, they watched with great excitement, uncertain which would win.
Now the race was seven-eighths over, and still the boys were skating side by side. It was difficult to tell which was ahead.
Rupert’s breath came quick and short. Only a little ahead was the goal, and there seemed as good a chance of his reaching it as of Tom’s doing so.
“Anyway, we shall come in together,” he thought, “and then the pegger boy can’t triumph over me.”
This would not be quite as well as winning the race, but it would certainly be a great deal better than being defeated.
But Rupert made no account of Tom’s reserved strength. Even as this thought passed through his mind, Tom made a brilliant spurt, and before Rupert fairly realized the situation, his rival had touched the goal, leaving him fifty feet behind.
He reddened with anger and mortification, utterly unable to devise any excuse for his failure.