Going back was not as uneventful as the run out. Feet not used to skating, were tired and sore, girls who laughed loudest were now bent on making the line first, and altogether it had by this time developed into a real, lively race.
Molly Richards and Edna Black were first for the Glens, and they stuck the run out faithfully. Cecilia Reynolds gave way to Jean Faval, who on the out-run had gained first place, which entitled her to the lead for final.
Suddenly Molly’s ankle turned, and she called to Tavia to take her place. Tavia said she couldn’t win that race if her future happiness depended upon it. At this Dorothy forgot every thing but the glory of her team, and she dashed ahead in line with Jean.
For some time they raced like human greyhounds, then suddenly something happened and Jean lay in a heap in the dust.
“You tripped me,” she shouted angrily at Dorothy, “and the race is ours. It’s a foul!”
“I never went near you,” declared Dorothy, hotly, “why there are my tracks. Any one can see them.”
But the “T’s” of course sided with their leader, and there was more than a mere discussion there in the road.
No one could doubt, in justice that, whatever had happened to Jean, it was purely accidental, and that, as Dorothy said, the traces of her skates could plainly be seen far away from the spot where the girl had fallen.
At last the race was abandoned, but, as Jean left, and went ahead with her contingent, she slurred back at Dorothy:
“Perhaps when you look over the Glenwood Gleaner you won’t carry your head so high!”