"I leave that entirely to Mr. Yates," said Frank, quietly.
"Oh, I'll go you--and I'll do you!" exclaimed Yates, as he tore off both coat and vest and flung them at Flemming, who caught them.
That started Rattleton, who excitedly cried:
"I'll tet you ben dollars--I mean I'll bet you ten dollars you don't do it!"
Yates paid no attention to this, but Flemming said:
"I'll have to go you, Rattleton. Put up the tenner."
The money was quickly posted, and then the rivals stood side by side, with their coats and vests removed, ready for the word.
Merriwell seemed quiet and indifferent, as if it were an event of no particular moment; while on Yates' face there was a look that plainly showed he was determined to settle all dispute by winning the dash to the station.
One of the committee had been chosen to give the word, and he stepped out, sharply calling:
The lads leaned forward over the scratch in the dirt, which had been drawn by somebody's heel.
Away shot the rivals like leaping fawns. They seemed like two foxes, and the crowd of lads who broke away in pursuit resembled a pack of hounds.
It was a hot dash, and, for some time, the boys were running side by side, neither seeming to have an advantage.
"Wait a bit," panted Emery, at Diamond's side; "you'll soon see Yates spurt and leave Merriwell."
"What do you think Merriwell will be doing while Yates is spurting?" asked Jack, sarcastically.
The rivals were drawing near the station, and still it seemed that they were keeping side by side.
Yes, they were spurting for the finish, but, to the amazement of Yates' friends, a single bound had seemed to carry Frank Merriwell two yards in advance of the other runner, and this advantage Merriwell maintained.
In another moment the station would be reached, and the race must end. Seeing this, Andy Emery was bitterly grinding out an exclamation of rage and disgust.
Suddenly Yates seemed to trip and fall heavily. He tried to spring up, but seemed to be hurt, and he was struggling to rise when Flemming reached the spot and lifted him to his feet.
"Are you hurt?" asked several, as they gathered around Duncan.
"Not much," he answered, rather thickly; "but I lost the dash by that fall."
"Rats!" muttered Harry Rattleton. "He had lost it before he fell."