But Skinner wavered. His ankle turned for a second time; he
seemed about to fall once more. Then he righted himself, but he
came on hobbling.
The last thirty yards contained the tortures of a lifetime to
Wally Speed. His lungs were bursting, his head was rolling, every
step required a separate and concentrated effort of will. He knew
he was wobbling, and felt his knees ready to buckle beneath him,
but he saw the blue, tight-stretched ribbon just ahead, and
continued to lessen the gap between himself and Skinner until he
felt he must reach out wildly and grasp at the other man's
clothing. Helen's face stood out from the blur, and her lips
cried to him. He plunged forward, his outflung arm tore the
ribbon from its fastening, and he fell. But Skinner was behind
him.
CHAPTER XVIII
The only thing in the world that the victorious Speed wanted was
to lie down and stretch out and allow those glowing coals in his
chest to cool off. But rough hands seized him, and he found
himself astride of Stover's shoulders and gyrating about the Echo
Phonograph in the midst of a war-dance.
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