"Hardly that," Dick rejoined, dryly.
"Then how do you know the coming owner's intentions, if you don't
know who is going to win the race?" Miss Bentley insisted.
"Well, you see, it's this way?" Dick admitted, "I've made up my
mind to win that race."
"So you regard the race as being as good as won by yourself?"
smiled the physician's daughter.
"It's one of the rules of Dick & Co.," Prescott answered, as they
turned and skated slowly back toward the center of the cove, "when
we go into anything we consider it as good as won from the outset."
"Well, I like that spirit," Laura admitted. "Faint heart never
yet won anything but a spill."
Laura had her card out by this time, and was studying it
leisurely, trusting to her companion to guide her.
"I see Fred Ripley is entered for the grand event in fancy skating,"
she observed.
"Yes; are you interested in him?"
Something in the directness of the question caused the girl to
bite her lips.
"Now, that's hardly fair, Dick," she cried, flushing with vexation.
"No; the fact is, I'm hoping he'll lose."
"Why?"
"Because, Fred has never been very nice to you, Dick."
That was direct enough, and Dick flushed with pleasure.
"Thank you, Laura; that's more handsome than what I said to you."
"I accept your apology," she laughed. "Look! There goes Fred
Ripley now! How foolish of him."
Fred was heading straight out of the cove toward the river. He
was a fine skater, and now he was showing off at his best.
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