Part 25 (2/2)

Frank took her spinning with him clear to the end of the pond. When they started back he made her strike out for herself, steadying her with his hand. Before they got back to the big bon-fire at the starting point, Chicken Little had discovered the all-important secret of keeping her balance.

Ernest and Carol came up in great excitement to tell them there were going to be races and the spectators must line up along the sides of the pond.

”See they are starting now--you must be careful to keep off the track, girls. Here, let's go over by that rock.”

Frank made haste to post his small charges midway of the course, where they could have a clear view of both ends of the pond.

Six young men lined up at the starting point while the starter stood off to one side to give the signal and another man was posted at the farther end of the course.

”One, two, three--go!”

The starter snapped the words out and the men swung off in long steady strides. Faster and faster they came till it seemed to Chicken Little they fairly flew. She watched them closely as they came nearer--there seemed something familiar about one of the racers. Suddenly she gave a little shriek of surprise.

”Why, it's Mr. Harding--see, see! It is Mr. Harding. Oh, I just hope he'll beat! Don't you think he'll beat, Frank?”

”He is a good skater, all right, Sis, but that dark chap is going it strong, too. They have to make the circuit of the pond three times. We can tell better the next lap.”

d.i.c.k Harding heard Jane's exclamation and waved his hand at her as they swung by. He was about six feet behind the dark man, skating easily with long swinging strokes. Chicken Little waved her red mittened hand enthusiastically in return.

Carol and Ernest, who had been trying to follow the racers along the edge of the pond, pulled up along side for a breathing spell.

”Say, Frank,” exclaimed Ernest, ”they say that dark fellow is a professional skater--his name is Sanders.”

”Yes, and Sherm says he's tricky--he has just come here from some place up on the lakes,” added Carol.

”I'm afraid he has Harding outcla.s.sed,” replied Frank watching the racers circle gracefully around the end of the pond and start toward them again. The dark stranger was in the lead and Harding a couple of lengths behind, with the other four spilling out at irregular distances in the rear.

”He keeps crowding Harding out--do you see? He cuts across his path every now and then, but part of the time he only makes a feint so Harding loses a stroke and he doesn't. I don't think that's fair!”

Ernest raised his voice indignantly.

Frank watched them a moment keenly before he replied.

”You're right--that is what he is doing--and it isn't clean sport. He's tricky--I'd like to see Harding beat him; but I'm afraid he can't. He's soft yet for we haven't had more than two week's skating here, and this chap has probably been at it for two months or more up north.”

”Oh, Frank, isn't he skating fair? Do you think he's going to beat Mr.

Harding?” Chicken Little was genuinely distressed.

”Can't tell, Chicken, watch and see!”

The racers turned the end of the pond for the second time and came swiftly past--Harding about the same distance behind the other as before. Again they turned and shot past for the third round, the stranger still pursuing his tactics of interfering with his rival.

”Jove, that makes me hot!” Frank exclaimed wrathfully. ”I believe Harding could beat him on a fair and square race.”

”Gee, I wish we could make him give way once himself, the scoundrel!”

Ernest shook his fist viciously at Sanders' back.

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