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of Columbia High; or, The All Around Rivals of the School" will be found many interesting, as well as thrilling, encounters, in which victory was only won after a bitter struggle.

      With the coming of balmy Spring the sports of course took on an outdoor flavor, and consequently the second story had to deal with that truly American National sport, baseball, under the title of "The Boys of Columbia High On the Diamond; or Winning Out By Pluck."

      The arrial of a new eight-oared shell for the boat club of the school brought both delight and ​alarm in its train. If you want to experience all the sensation of being present on the beautiful Harrapin on that Glorious Fourth when the wonderful water carnival was celebrated, and read of the astonishing things that happened to the rival students, then read the third volume of the series, which is called "The Boys of Columbia High On the River; or, The Boat Race Plot That Failed."

      Vacation over, and with the coming of the two hundred and fifty scholars back to the charge of Professor Tyson Parke and his able assistants, of course the tang of the sharp, early Fall air brought one subject forward. What this was you can readily guess by the title of the fourth book in the series, preceding the present volume: "The Boys of Columbia High On the Gridiron; or The Struggle for the Silver Cup."

      Frank Allen was the son of the proprietor of Columbia's great department store. He had one sister, Helen, just a couple of years younger than himself. Lanky Wallace, who had played a prominent part in all the sports through which the school had this year won imperishable renown, was the son of a banker, who was also a lawyer, and meant to follow in his father's footsteps later on.

      When the bend above Columbia had been turned, there lay a pretty straight course up to Rattail Island, which was situated about half way between Frank's ​home town and Clifford. There was not a single skater in sight, as the afternoon had waned, and the lapse of time had caused a gradual retreat to a point nearer home.

      "Hurrah!" shouted Lanky, as he guided the spinning craft along over the even surface of the famous little stream; "isn't this the limit? We own the whole river! How does she compare with the clumsy old Hurricane, Frank?"

      "Not at all," came the quick reply.

      "Why, whatever do you mean?" gasped the disappointed builder, reproachfully.

      "There isn't any comparison," laughed Frank, "she's in a class by herself, Lanky! Given some breeze, and I reckon she'd just hit the high places of the ice. She's like a thistledown floating along. You've sure gone and done it with this dandy craft."

      "Bully for you, old fellow! You make me feel good all over. Say, what's that?" and Lanky stretched his neck in the effort to see ahead.

      "Looks like a sail behind that point. As sure as you live it's moving! There's another ice-boat coming out at a whooping pace!" exclaimed Frank, his voice filled with both satisfaction and wonder.

      "Wow! now, what do you think of that for luck? Why, of course it's Lef Seller and his blessed tub the Harrapin Flier! He beat me every time last year, and he's just been laying for me in that cove, ​meaning to show me a clean pair of heels to-day. It's going to be a race, Frank! There he comes out, and he's got Bill Klemm along with him, as usual!"

      "He's heading up the river, Lanky. That's a challenge for you. Are you going to stand for it?" demanded Frank, who, like the vast majority of boys, never liked to let a plain dare pass by without accepting it.

      "Watch me haul up on him hand over fist! Before we're past Rattail Island this little darling is going to make the Harrapin Flier look like thirty cents. She's a has-been, and belongs to a slow age!" said the skipper, jauntily.

      He shifted his weight and asked Frank to do the same. In so doing the result was immediately shown in an accelerated pace on the part of the ice-boat; either that, or else a slant of fresh wind caught her sail, coming from out behind that same cove where the rival craft had been hidden.

      Up the river they flew like a pair of frightened gulls; only such salt water birds were never seen around the neighborhood of Columbia.

      Both skippers seemed to be jockeying for all the advantage there was to be had in position. The river was well known to Lanky, and he had been over this course so many times in every kind of water craft that he was familiar with each little ​turn; and not only the sweep of the current in summer, but the passages in the wooded shores through which squalls of wind might be expected to swoop down.

      "We're gaining!" declared Frank, almost immediately, when both ice-boats had taken a straightaway course, so that comparisons could be made.

      "Are we? I should say yes, and just creeping up on the duffer so fast that he'll soon look like he's standing still! Why, I could cut circles around that ancient tub. To the woodpile with her, Lef; that's all she's good for!" and he raised his voice in a taunting shout that must have stung the ears of the chagrined owner of the rival boat.

      "They're trying to move around some, I notice; shifting their ballast to coax a little more speed out of the thing," announced Frank, quickly.

      "No good trying. I've got the Injun sign on that boat, as sure as you're born. This pays up for all his joshing last year. Now will you be good, Lef? You had an idea you would show me up, hey? Well, you've got another think coming, that's all."

      They were now so close to the leading ice-boat that even an ordinary call could have been heard. Lef, who was quite a stalwart lad, did not dare look back, for fear lest he lost control of his craft, which was flying along at quite some speed, ​considering the light breeze. But his companion kept tab on all the movements of the pursuer, and posted him constantly.

      "There's the island ahead, Lanky. Which channel are you going to take?" asked the passenger of the Humming Bird.

      "The one to the left of course," came the ready reply. "Think me so green as that, with the breeze coming from the west? A fellow would get blanketed by the trees on the island if he chose the other side. And ten to one Lef knows that too. See, I told you so; he's already heading that way."

      "But that channel is only half as wide as the other, and unless you are mighty careful you'll come to a bad end in there. I hope we don't try to pass Lef before we get up above the island," added Frank, with a suspicion of impending trouble making itself felt in his voice, though as a rule he seldom winced when difficulties arose.

      "We're climbing up on him fast," declared Lanky, grinning, "but I don't think we'll pass him while in the narrow part of the river; so there ain't going to be any mix-up, unless——"

      "Unless what?" asked his chum, instantly.

      "He might be mad enough to want to upset us in a heap, hoping to smash my jolly little new boat. It would be just like Lef Seller, and his rule or ruin policy of running things. All the same I don't ​take that other passage, and let him crow over me; nixy not. Now for it, my hearty!"

      The island was at hand, looming up gloomy and forbidding on the right. At that moment the pursuing boat did not seem to be more than a dozen feet behind the one in the lead, and with every second even this distance was being wiped out.

      "Watch him!" exclaimed Frank, as he felt sure he saw a furtive movement on the part of the tricky skipper of the Harrapin Flier that told of desperation.

      Hardly had the words left his lips than Lanky gave a shout. There was reason for excitement, yes, and even consternation; for Lef Sellers, knowing that his ice-boat could no longer be looked upon as the queen of the river, had deliberately thrown his tiller in such fashion that the craft just ahead swerved from her course and was thrown directly across the bows of the oncoming Humming Bird.

      A crash was inevitable, despite the frantic efforts of Lanky Wallace to avoid a collision that might mean the wrecking of his jaunty little craft even in the moment of her triumph!

      ​

      The Clifford Seven Get a Challenge

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