"Tom Rover to the front! Go it, Tom, for the glory of old Putnam Hall!"
A wild yelling broke out on every side. On and on went the two boys, with Fred Garrison not two yards behind them. That the finish would be a close one there was no question. The line was but a hundred feet away; now but seventy-five; now but fifty. Still the leaders kept side by side, neither gaining an inch. Surely it would be a tie. The yelling increased until the noise was deafening.
And then of a sudden Tom Rover shot ahead. How it was done nobody knew, and Tom himself couldn't explain it when asked afterward. But ahead he went, like an arrow shot from a bow, and crossed the line six feet in advance of Gray.
"Hurrah! Tom Rover has won!"
"Told you Tom would do it!"
"Three cheers for Putnam Hall!"
"And Fred Garrison came in only one yard behind Gray, too, and Tubby is a pretty good fourth."
"This is Putnam Hall day, thank you!"
The cheering increased, and Tom was immediately surrounded by a host of admirers.
Gray felt very sore, and wanted to leave the pond at once, but before he could do so Tom skated up to him and held out his hand
"You came pretty close to beating me," he
