"All ready for the hundred yards race," called out Mr. Parks, who was master of ceremonies. For Queen's, Jimmy Turner, Hillard and Robbins, bareheaded and dressed in jerseys and knickerbockers with long blue socks, came to the mark, followed quickly by the Warwick trio,—Sumner, Perkins and Hallowell. The latter were easily distinguished by their gray jerseys and gray socks. They looked fit to race, and the Queen's contingent eyed them respectfully.

"Are the judges ready?" called Mr. Parks, who had decided to officiate at the start. An assistant dashed down over the course and answered affirmatively with a wave of a white handkerchief.

"All ready, boys," shouted Mr. Parks. "Start on the pistol." The six boys set themselves in their favorite attitudes for a quick start, and at the report of the pistol, dashed off like the wind. Sumner and Turner went to the front at the first rush. Side by side they flew along, each striving for a few inches lead while on their heels came the other four bunched almost together. At the half distance it was any one's race. Jimmy had now cleared the rest of the fellows sufficiently, and was where he had a little wider space to travel. He bent his body almost at right angles to his legs, and drove ahead with all the power that was in him. Ten yards from the finish you could not have picked the winner, but in the last few feet Jimmy fairly threw himself forward and crossed a few inches ahead of his rival.

A yell which echoed far over the icy river and was thrown back by the distant woods, greeted the winner, and a crowd of Queen's fellows tore after him, patted him on the back and tried to get him on their shoulders; but in the effort some one slipped and fell and pulled all the rest down with him. Jimmy tore himself free, well pleased that he had won. He and Sumner shook hands.

"You beat me fair and square," said the latter. "No kick coming from me." They skated back side by side to the starting line where Frank hugged Jimmy delightedly.

"I knew you could do it," he said.

"Well, I'm glad I won, and I'm glad that you are more like yourself. When we started you looked like a funeral."

"I do feel better," said Frank, "now that we have one of the three, but I wonder what's keeping the folks and David. They should have been here at two o'clock."

"Clear the way, clear the way," shouted the clerks of the course, as they flew back and forth. "The mile race will start in a very few minutes. The skaters are on their way up the course now. Keep back and give them room!"

Immediately at the finish of the hundred, Mr. Parks had headed to the mark up the river, whither he had been preceded by the Queen's representatives. The half mile was being left to the last as it was considered to be the best race. It was to be the climax of the afternoon. While the crowd strained their gaze up river, the roar of a fast traveling motor car was heard.

"Here they are now," said Jimmy. "And, gee whiz, how they are coming!" The boys could see on the open road a big gray car fairly leaping toward them. Frank, even at the distance, recognized it as the one that had brought his parents and Colonel Powers that morning. A smile lighted up his face.

"That'll help some to have David here," he said.

In a few minutes the car came to a halt on the road opposite them, and a voice called, "Frank Armstrong, oh, Frank Armstrong, you're wanted."

Frank turned and made his way through the crowd to the side of the car. Colonel Powers held a package in his hand.

"David is determined that you are to skate on Ruddock blades, Frank. When we were visiting you after luncheon, he took the car and went to Milton, searched the stores and duplicated the skates that some one stole from you."

Frank could not answer for the choking sensation in his throat, and when he looked at David the latter grinned back at him merrily.

"Get them onto your feet," he cried, "quick. You'll find the screw holes of the other ones will be just right for these. They are exact duplicates."

Frank could not answer just then, but he pulled the paper off the skates.

"And in case you didn't have any screws to fit," continued David, "I brought some screws and a screw driver. Get them on quick." Frank ran to the river bank, and in a few minutes had the new skates firmly attached to his stout shoes. Then he threw the old ones down and sprang to his feet. How good they felt, how light, how different from the other clogs! He took a spin around on them, stamped his feet, and felt himself another person, fit to fight for his life, and, better still, to fight and win. His antics were watched with interest by the occupants of the car.

Jimmy's amazement knew no bounds when he saw how Frank was shod.

"David made a record run to Milton, ransacked the town and brought these to me."

"Isn't he a brick?" said Jimmy.

"They don't make many like him, I tell you."

"Well, you look like a winner, now; your face isn't so long as it was," said Jimmy. "I'm betting on you. Did you notice Chip Dixon's skates? They are Ruddocks, and they look mightily like yours. They are brand new, too. I wonder!!"

"I can't believe it," said Frank. "He wouldn't dare do it. But I thought he grinned sarcastically when I met him this afternoon, and he saw my old skates in my hand. But maybe we'll surprise him yet."

"Here they come, here they come," shouted the crowd. Far up the river could be seen a lot of flying arms and legs.

"Warwick's ahead."

"No, it's Queen's; can't you see the blue jerseys?"

Nearer and nearer they came. Then it was seen that two gray jerseys and a blue jersey were in the leading group, while at some distance behind, the other three plugged along. But it was plain that a gray jersey headed the first group, only a few strides ahead, but still ahead; and as the struggling skaters came flying towards the finish that gray jersey seemed to lengthen out, pulling along with it the other gray jersey.

"Warwick, Warwick, Warwick," yelled the crowd. It was Warwick indeed, and all Warwick. Two of her skaters flashed over the line first and second, and the race was ended. It was now the turn of the Warwick adherents to expend their enthusiasm on the winner, and this they did with great noise and shouting. Morgan was announced as the winner, and escorted to where his team-mates were resting on a pile of blankets on the boards on the ice.

"It's up to you now, Frank," said Jimmy, as Mr. Parks announced to the crowd that Warwick had won. "It's now one apiece, and a tie. The half mile race will decide it.

"And you, Mr. Frank Armstrong, have got to decide that tie," added Jimmy. "You look like a winner now. Come on, I'll go a part way up. I won't go all the way because I want to see the finish. I'm going to stand about fifty yards from the finish and as you pass me I'm going to yell at the top of my lungs, GO! That will be a signal for you to put everything you have left into the business. Don't forget, put everything you have in you into these skates. I'll yell loud enough to wake the dead."

"All right," said Frank, "I'll be waiting, but I'll try to put all I have into the skates before that time. I may not be near enough up to get any benefit from your plan, but I'll be hoping." They were now half way to the start of the race, and Jimmy turned back. Dixon sculled slowly past, and his face showed surprise when he glanced at the bright new runners under Frank's feet. Frank simply nodded, and Chip coldly returned the nod.

Up at the start there was a testing of straps and skates and the tightening of belts, for on this race hung the school championship, as the six contestants well knew. Mr. Parks was very careful about the start. He told them that they must not cross-cut ahead of another skater unless they were well ahead. Such crossing, if not followed according to instructions, would constitute a foul and the one who committed it would be ruled out.

"Do you all understand?"

"Yes," came the answer.

Away down the course the crowd waited breathlessly, necks stretched and eyes straining. Suddenly the pistol's flash was seen.

"They're off," roared the crowd.

From the start of the half to the finish was practically a straight line broken only by a slight curve about one third of the way up the course, so that the skaters could be seen almost every yard of the distance.

On the racers came, the six spread across the ice in nearly a straight line. Big Channing towered above the others, a thing that could be plainly seen as the racers came sweeping along. Next to Channing was Wheeler, then Frank, while Chip had the outside course. At the half distance Channing had forged a few feet to the front, not over six or seven at the most. Chip Dixon was almost abreast with him. Frank was skating third, but was moving easily. The others were beginning to straggle back, the pace being too hot for them.

The crowd was now yelling like mad, and the names of the racers were mingled by many voices.

"Channing! Wheeler! Armstrong! Warwick! Queen's! Dixon!"

On they came, Channing holding his own a couple of yards in advance. Do his best, Frank could not catch either him or Dixon. He felt that he might go faster, but for some reason could not make his legs drive any harder. On the skaters dashed and now they were entering the lane of human beings.

True to his word, Jimmy had wormed himself through the crowd, and was stationed forty or fifty yards from the finish line. He leaned far over to get a view of the skaters, and saw with dismay that Frank was behind. As they neared him he gathered into himself a mighty breath, and as the three flashed past him, yelled "Go!"

It was so shrill a cry that the spectators jumped from the very force of it. On Frank, the yell of his friend, the signal he had been waiting for and thought would never come, was as though a spring had uncoiled inside him. At the shout he fairly sprang from the ice, and in that one leap reached Channing who, at the rush of the boy at his left, turned his head.

Another leap carried Frank even, and then something like the power of a six cylinder motor grew within him. He must, he would win for the school. They couldn't beat him! And driving his legs like pistons, he shot ahead of Channing who struggled desperately to make up the lost ground, but without avail. Frank went over the finish line fairly flying, at least two good yards ahead of his rival. Chip in his effort to follow Frank, when the rush of the latter carried him past, put too much strain on his tired muscles, stumbled and fell, and before he got to his feet and could cross the line, a Warwick skater slipped across ahead of him. He was officially counted out.

How Queen's did yell! This time they got Frank up on their shoulders and lugged him up the course for twenty-five yards or more.

"Armstrong! Armstrong! Armstrong!"

"That was some race, I tell you," was the usual greeting between any two Queen's boys who happened to be within reach of each other, and then they fell upon each other, and embraced, pounding violently on each other's backs. Over in the motor car David was swinging his cap, and even the dignified seniors—Colonel Powers and Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong—were standing up, clapping their hands and shouting applause. It was a great finish to a great day.

The term closed on the following Wednesday and it was a jolly party which rolled out of the gates of Queen's in the big gray motor car bound for Christmas vacation and home. Colonel Powers, whose business had kept him in Milton, sent Henry and the car to bring the boys to town. David was the host now and he piled Frank, Jimmy, Lewis, the Codfish and even Wee Willie Patterson into the big motor. Suit cases were tucked wherever a suit case could stick.

It was a happy crowd that gathered around the Armstrong table that night for supper, for Frank had insisted that they must all come to supper before they took their several ways homeward. And what a rumpus they made and what a chatter, and what stories of the doings at Queen's during that first term they unfolded to their elders. Mrs. Armstrong instead of being shocked at all the noise simply beamed with joy. Finally the leave-taking came and the boys parted with best wishes for the holidays and with great plans for the future at Queen's. And of that future of Frank Armstrong at Queen's you will hear in the next book of this series, entitled: Frank Armstrong's Second Term.

Obvious punctuation errors repaired.
Both "postage stamp" and "postage-stamp" retained in the text.