Produced by Jim Ludwig
The Great Race at Riverport School
By Allen Chapman
File uses: italic notation
CHAPTERS
I. In the Snow
II. The Battle Between Old Rivals
III. Up the Mohunk on an Ice-boat
IV. The Rescue, and a Mystery
V. Looking Over the Course
VI. The Wild Dog Pack
VII. The Short-Cut Way
VIII. The Tell-Tale Pin
IX. At the Toll-Gate
X. Bristles' Surprise Party
XI. On the Green Campus
XII. Laying Plans
XIII. The Muffled Voice
XIV. A Plot That Failed
XV. Clinching Evidence
XVI. Telling Bristles
XVII. Lining Up for the Trial Spin
XVIII. Caught by the Storm
XIX. The Boy in the Haymow
XX. When the Circus Came to Riverport
XXI. The Greatest of Days
XXII. "They're Off!"
XXIII. The Marathon Runners
XXIV. When Duty Called
XXV. The Victory—-Conclusion
"Now then, let's see who can put a shot through that round hole in thetree-trunk up there. Take a try, Sid."
"Must be twenty yards away from here, if a foot, eh, Bristles?"
"More like twenty-five to me, Colon; and looks farther than from firstbase to third, on the diamond."
"Line up, everybody, and we'll soon find out who takes the cake at makinga center shot. But hadn't we better bar out Fred Fenton?"
"What for, Bristles?"
"Why, because he's the regular pitcher on the Riverside High School nine:he's used to putting 'em over the plate for a steady diet."
"That's a fact, and Fred, you'll have to consider yourself handicapped inthis little contest of skill."
"Anyhow, wait till we've had our fling, Fred; and then if nobody seems toget a bull's-eye, you might show us how to do the job."
"All right, boys, that suits me. And while you bombard that poor oldtree, I'll be amusing myself making one good firm snowball, against thetime my turn comes."
"Go at it, fellows! There, did you see me smack one just a foot belowthe hole? Gee! that was a sure-enough dandy hit of yours, Bristles;closer by six inches than mine. Everybody put your best licks in!"
The hard balls flew thick and furiously, for it happened that the ratherheavy fall of snow was just moist enough to be easily pressed into thefinest of missiles for boyish use.
Many of these swiftly thrown balls missed the tree-trunk entirely.Others splattered here and there against the bark, leaving a tell-talewhite mark. A few came dangerously near the yawning opening; but not asingle one thus far had managed to disappear within the gap.
The boy who had been called Fred Fenton, having manipulated a singlesnowball in his hands, stood there watching the onslaught, andoccasionally speaking words of encouragement to those who were takingpart in the spirited contest.
"That was a corker, Sid Wells, and it would have done the business ifyou'd only put an ounce more of speed in your throw, so as to have raisedit three inches. Good boy, Brad, you left a mark just alongside thehole, so some of it must have spattered in the hollow! Not quite sofierce, Bristles; that one would have landed, if you'd been a little