There were many entries for the half-mile handicap and a lower middle-class fellow won it easily from scratch. In the mile race for novices Wayne finished well up in the first crowd and was quite elated. Both Paddy and Dave were entered in the mile event, and the former won from a field of some twenty fellows by a generous ten yards. Dave struggled along bravely and cheerfully, and seemed well satisfied with sixth place. When the class race was called twelve boys stood on the mark, three entries from each class, and the juniors gathered in a body at the starting place and cheered their men and their class loudly and tirelessly until the contestants sped away over the shining course, their runners ringing musically on the frosty air. Dave was one of the chosen three representing the seniors, Paddy held the hopes of the upper middle class, and the lower middle banked on the fleet youth who had previously won the half-mile handicap. The juniors placed implicit faith in a small and wiry boy who looked scarcely over thirteen years of age. The twelve kept well together for the first of the three laps constituting the mile, but when the flags were reached the junior champion sprang to the front, followed by the three senior class fellows, and the balance strung themselves back along the course, Paddy laboring manfully to hold himself in for the last half lap. As the skaters sped by the point where Wayne and Don were watching, the former recognized one of the lower middle-class entries as Carl Gray, and drew Don’s attention to him.
“Gray?” said Don. “Oh, the fellow that comes to see you every week on that mysterious business? Well, he skates well, doesn’t he? He ought to finish pretty decently, I should think. Paddy’s just dying to ‘go up head,’ isn’t he? And look at old David; wouldn’t you think he was an ice wagon on runners? Poor old chap! I believe if somebody got up a flying match he’d enter.”
“He ought to have known better than to have got in the lead so early in the race,” said Wayne.
“Well, I guess he thought that if he didn’t get in front now he never would,” laughed Don. “But he’ll not be there after this round.”
And he wasn’t. When the last spin over the course began, it seemed as though Dave stood still, for the entire field of skaters, with one exception, sped by him ere the remaining distance was one fourth traversed. The single exception was the small junior who had forced the skating and who was now too used up to keep his lead. A hundred yards from the finish eight of the ten leaders were so closely bunched as to render guessing the winner a difficult feat, and Wayne and Don, shouting loudly for Paddy, didn’t know who had won until the judges gave out the result a moment later: Breen, first; Gray, second; Wallace, third. The upper middle had captured first place, the lower middle second, and the seniors had to be content with the third prize. Dave and the small junior fought stubbornly for precedence and the latter won by a yard, and Dave was enthusiastically presented with a piece of ice, in lieu of a booby prize, by a delegation headed by Don.
Meanwhile a flight of six hurdles, two and a half feet in height, had been put in place, and Don and three other fellows—one of them Greene—were on the mark. Hurdle racing on skates is a difficult accomplishment, even when low hurdles are used, and success depends not alone on speed. The contestant who has not undergone the hardest practice over the bars and learned to take them in much the same manner as does the hurdler who is running on cinders, might as well save his breath, and possibly a hard fall. Of the four contestants entered Don was acknowledged the best, since his long training at track hurdling enabled him to perform on ice in beautiful style. Although not so speedy a skater as Greene, he was a more perfect hurdler, and he was looked upon as the winner. The jumps were placed thirty yards apart, and the entire distance to be raced from starting line to finish was two hundred and ten yards. At the report of the pistol the four started well together. Conroy, a lower middle-class fellow, took the lead and covered the twenty yards intervening between the line and the first hurdle at fine speed, but only to come an inglorious cropper at the first leap and to find himself utterly out of the race ere it was well begun. Greene, and Jackson, the fourth man, took their hurdle side by side, and were halfway to their second before Don was in the air. At the third hurdle, however, Jackson was behind, and Don and Greene were rising for the jump at the same moment. And now form over the obstacles began to tell, for while Greene was able to cover every intervening twenty yards at a faster pace than Don, the latter gained ground at every hurdle, taking off at his full speed and in each case barely topping the wood, while Greene perceptibly decreased his speed before each leap and always jumped from three to six inches higher than was necessary.
Cheers for the boys filled the air as they raced for the last hurdle, Don a bare foot in advance of Greene, and Jackson just taking his fifth jump. At the sixth hurdle Greene’s performance was even clumsier than before, and Don’s skates clanged down on the ice at the very moment the former was rising to the jump. But in another moment the two were again almost side by side, for on the level Greene’s speed told, and it was nip and tuck to the tape. But Don managed to hold the slight advantage gained at the last hurdle and Greene accepted second place by the narrowest sort of a margin.
“If you were as fast on skates as I am, or I was as crack a hurdler as you are,” he told Don laughingly, “one of us would be a wonder.”
A half-mile straight-away race followed, but Don, who had entered for this event, stayed out, being too winded to do himself justice, and the race was won by the small junior, who had somehow found his speed again. And then the event of the day was called, the great faculty race, in which Professor Wheeler and a mysterious Unknown were to compete over the mile course. Conjecture as to the identity of the Unknown was still rife, and as Professor Wheeler, on a fine new pair of full-clamp skates, advanced to the starting line, the throng watched and waited impatiently for the other competitor. All the professors were present, even “Turkey,” and not a few wore skates. It might be any one of them. Professor Beck skated to the line, and a murmur of “It’s Beck!” arose, only to be drowned by a second murmur of “No, it’s Longworth!” as the junior instructor in mathematics also approached.
“Who is the other competitor, sir?” asked Wallace, who was to act as starter. The principal looked toward the shore.