aid, but--but it's such
nonsense!"

"Course it is," broke in Schonberg. "I didn't come over here to race a
girl!"

"Then you shouldn't have agreed to our terms," answered Jack, joining
the discussion. "We told you plainly in our letter that we would race
you if you'd allow us to name our entry any time before the race. We've
decided and there she is. If you have any idea, Schonberg, that you've
got an easy thing--well, just try it. Miss Emery's our best skater, and
she's so good that we're not ashamed to acknowledge it. And as we knew
that Schonberg was an A-1 skater we thought our best wouldn't be any too
good."

"Oh, all right," said Custis, with a shrug of his shoulders, "if you
insist I guess we're willing."

"I'm not," said Schonberg. "I won't race a girl."

And Schonberg held out for many minutes and had to be argued with, and
coaxed by, half the Hammond contingent. But finally he yielded, though
with ill grace, and took his place at the mark.

"All right," he said. "I'm ready."

Harry took her place a yard away, the throng pushed back and Mr. Cobb
drew out his starting pistol. Those of the boys who were on skates, and
most of them were, prepared to follow the contestants.

Harry wore a brown sweater and a short gray skirt. Her skating boots
were securely fastened to a pair of long-bladed racing skates. Her head
was bare and the wind blew her red tresses about her face as she awaited
the signal. There was a little spot of intense color in each cheek and
her blue eyes flashed venomously when Schonberg turned to glance at her
half contemptuously. If she had needed any incentive to do her level
best within the next few minutes Schonberg's pronunciation of the word
"girl" had supplied it. Harry was insulted and indignant, and Roy,
watching her from a little distance, guessed something of her feelings
and took hope. No one really expected Harry to win. That a
fourteen-year-old girl should beat a seventeen-year-old boy was out of
the question. Schonberg, too, was known to be as good a skater as
Hammond had had for many years. But every fellow had implicit faith in
Harry and knew that she would give the Hammond skater as hard a race as
he had ever had. Mr. Cobb raised his pistol.

"On your mark! Get ready! Set!"

Then the pistol spoke sharply on the winter air and the two contestants,
the brown sweater and the red jersey, shot ahead in a mad scramble. The
throng followed and for a moment the ring of steel on