“He is coming now, Mr. Starter,” he answered smilingly. The throng about the line followed his gaze and gasped in wondering amazement. Skating toward them, and leaving a ripple of amused laughter in his wake, his head covered with a fur cap whose lappets were drawn down over his ears, with a long woolen muffler wrapped about his throat and a pair of old-fashioned wooden skates strapped to his feet, came—Professor Durkee!
A moment of silent surprise was broken by a laugh that quickly resolved itself into a loud cheer. On the outskirts of the crowd, where they could not be seen, impish juniors doubled themselves up with laughter. More dignified seniors shouted hoarsely to keep from following the example, and even Professor Beck smiled broadly at the odd figure of the principal’s rival for honors. Whether Professor Durkee was aware of the sentiments aroused by his appearance none can say; if he was he carefully concealed the fact; and after a few explanations from the referee the two professors stood on the mark, silence fell, the pistol banged, and the great faculty race was on!
Professor Wheeler sped away up river at a pace that soon dropped the English instructor yards behind. But fellows who knew the length of a mile on ice shook their heads and predicted that the pace was too good to last. Perhaps Professor Durkee thought so too, for he made no effort to win the side of the flying principal, but skated serenely on, his coat tails and the ends of his knitted gray muffler flying in the wind.
“Isn’t he a sight?” asked Don, with a grin.
“Oh, he’s something to dream of,” giggled Paddy. “But he can skate, can old ‘Turkey’! He has a style like—like—a scarecrow.”
At that moment Dave flew frantically up.
“What do you think?” he gasped. “It was ‘Turkey’——”
But the words were taken out of his mouth by Wayne, who slid out of the crowd and embraced Paddy to keep from falling.
“Say, fellows, it was Professor Durkee that we saw on the river last night.”
“And chased!” supplemented Dave.