sprint.

The two kept on, side by side, neither speaking. The only sound was
the patter of the rain, and the rustle and rattle of Larry's oilskin
suit.

They passed through the deserted summer resort. It was about a mile
now to the telegraph office. Larry recalled that Bailey had told him
there was a short cut by keeping to the railroad track, and he
turned into that highway, followed by Peter, who, it seemed, had
resolved not to lose sight of his rival.

It was now about nine o'clock, though his activity since early
morning made it seem much later to Larry. He knew he had a good
story safe in his pocket, and he was pretty sure Peter had only a
garbled account, for he could not have gotten the facts so quickly.
Nor did he, Larry was sure, have the passenger list, which was the
best part of the story.

On and on the two rivals trudged silently. They must be near the
office now, Larry thought, and he looked ahead through the rain.
They were in the midst of a little settlement of fishermen's
houses--a small village--but it was nearly deserted, as most of the
inhabitants had gone to the wreck. Larry saw a building on which was
a sign informing those who cared to know that it contained a store,
the post-office and a place whence telegrams might be sent and
received. Peter saw it at the same instant.

"Here's where I beat you!" he cried as he sprang forward on the
run.