"_Of course_, after
what he's been through, no matter how much nerve Prescott may
have, he can't be anything like up to his usual form."
Had Dick heard them he would have smiled. He knew that the skating
was warming him up and taking away whatever of the chill had been
left.
As they neared the second turn the distance between Dick and Hewlett
was about fifteen yards. The other freshmen were far enough
behind both not to appear to count.
Now Prescott turned on steam. He reached the second turn only
eight yards behind Hewlett, and that latter freshman made the
poorer turn.
Down the home stretch now! Dick began to work deep breathing
for all he was worth. Instead of taking slow, deep breaths, he
breathed rapidly, pumping his lungs full of air.
That _rapid_ deep breathing started his heart to working faster,
sent the blood bounding through his arteries.
It would have been exhausting if carried out too long. But now,
on what was left of the home stretch, it acted almost like pumping
oxygen into his lungs.
Swiftly the distance melted.
"Hurrah!" rang the yell. "There goes Prescott ahead!"
Not only ahead, but gaining in the lead. Five yards to the good,
then ten, twelve, fifteen. Dick Prescott shot over the finish
line a good eighteen yards ahead. Then the victor came to a stop,
panting but happy.
Five minutes later, when all the congratulations were over, he
skated up beside Laura Bentley.
"You saved my skates for me, Laura, and brought me luck all through.
Pages:
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165