“You will, eh? Say, you’re awfully nice, aren’t you? Mama know you’re out?” Trevor reddened but kept his temper.
“I fancy I could beat you by about twenty yards in a half mile,” he said musingly.
That was the last straw, and Billings elbowed his way toward the boat-house landing.
“Get your skates on, sonny, and I’ll show you what you don’t know about skating.”
“Where can I get a pair?” asked Trevor, addressing the fellows about him.
“Get Grove’s; what size shoe do you wear?” asked Carl. “Five? They ought to fit; wait here and I’ll get them.” And he hurried off.
“Do you think you can beat him, ’Ighness?” asked one of the crowd.
“I fancy so; anyhow, I’ll do my best.” Carl returned with Groves skating-boots, to which were screwed a superb pair of hockey skates. Trevor tried them on, and found that they fitted perfectly. News of the proposed race had spread, and those who had started toward their rooms had returned, while the two hockey teams, having taken off their skates and donned their heavy clothing, also joined the throng. Billings swept up majestically, and Trevor, who had been trying his skates in short circles, joined him.
“Suppose you skate around Long Isle and back,” suggested Grove; “that’s about a half mile. We’ll draw a mark here for the finish. I say, French, you might act as judge at the finish. Dick, you start them, will you?”