“Why, ‘Wheels’ can leave him at the flag if he wants to!”
“Course he can. He’s just letting ‘Turkey’ down easy.”
“Oh, can he? Well, just you wait and see! Why, ‘Wheels’ is done for already; he’s plumb beat!”
And so on, while the contestants reached the farther end of the course and made the turn. And now the spectators thronged the ropes that guarded the finish, cheering excitedly. Down the ice sped the skaters; a quarter of the remaining distance was traversed when a shout arose.
“Durkee’s closing up!”
And so he was. His feet were moving so fast over the frozen surface that they were just a blur to the sight, his coat tails were flapping gloriously, and he was closing up the gap! But the principal was yet game, and with a hundred yards or so still to cover and with Professor Durkee close behind him he spurted again to the front and had put several more yards between him and his rival ere the latter was aware of it. And then—well, then the red mittens moved so fast hither and thither that they looked like a streak of fire, the muffler ends stood out straight in the wind, the coat tails followed suit, the wooden skates bit and clanged on the ice, the little professor became a small cyclone, and the watchers held their breaths, too astonished to even cheer.
Now the coat tails were even with the principal, now they had passed him and were flapping derisively in his face, and now they were far beyond reach. And then amid the delighted acclaim of hundreds “Turkey” crossed the line like a specially constructed whirlwind and won the faculty race by a dozen long yards!