got as
good a right to the telegraph office as you have. I'd like to see
you beat me."

Larry himself did not just see how he would, but he made up his mind
to attempt it. Peter was now keeping pace with him. There was
nothing for it but to hurry on. Whoever reached the office first and
"filed his copy" would have the right to the wire. Larry resolved
that he would win in the race, even as he had won in the other, at
the big flood, but he knew there was time enough yet. If he started
to run Peter would run also, and the way was too long for a fast
sprint.

The two kept on, side by side, neither speaking. The only sound was
the patter of the rain, and the rustle and rattle of Larry's oilskin
suit.

They passed through the deserted summer resort. It was about a mile
now to the telegraph office. Larry recalled that Bailey had told him
there was a short cut by keeping to the railroad track, and he
turned into that highway, followed by Peter, who, it seemed, had
resolved not to lose sight of his rival.

It was now about nine o'clock, though his activity since early
morning made it seem much later to Larry. He knew he had a good
story safe in his pocket, and he was pretty sure Peter had only a
garbled account, for he could not have gotten the facts so quickly.
Nor did he, Larry was sure, have the passenger list, which was the
best part of the story.

On and on the two rivals trudged silently. They must be near the
office now, Larry thought, and he looked ahead through the rain.
They were in the midst of a little settlement of fishermen's
houses--a small village--but it was nearly deserted, as most of the
inhabitants had gone to the wreck. Larry saw a building on which was
a sign informing those who cared to know that it contained a store,
the post-office and a place whence telegrams might be sent and
received. Peter saw it at the same instant.

"Here's where I beat you!" he cried as he sprang forward on the
run.

Larry tried to follow, but his legs became entangled in the oilskin
coat and he fell. He was up again in an instant, only to see Peter
entering the office. Larry's heart seemed like lead. Had he worked
so hard only to be beaten at the last?

Something spurred him on. He stumbled into the office in time to
hear Peter saying:

"I want to hold a wire for a long despatch to the New York
_Scorcher_. I've got a big account of the wreck."

"Where's your copy?" asked the young man in charge of the clicking