Down the Ice, and Other Winter Sports Stories Page 7
THE PENALTY BOX
"There's no use talking, if you want to win you've got to know all thetricks of the game."
Hoyt Dale, Parker High's sturdy left defense man, had been after histeam mates all season. They were more in the mood to listen to him now,since they had just gone down to a stinging 5 to 2 defeat at the handsof Brinkman Prep.
"This makes three straight losses," snapped Hoyt, "and we're going todrop the big game with Hallstead as sure as shooting, unless...!"
"Unless what?" demanded Rudie Antrim, who played the other defenseposition.
"Unless you guys learn how to give as well as take!" Hoyt finished,defiantly. "Every team that plays us roughs us into the boards andstick handles us all over the ice. They get away with murder becauseCoach has never taught you fellows how to take care of yourselves. Why,where I used to play...!"
"You were brought up on dirty hockey!" accused Rudie, his faceflushing. "We don't play that kind of hockey here. We'd rather losethan...!"
"Oh, yes?" cut in Hoyt, bitingly. "That's the trouble with this school.You've always had the idea that hockey's a parlor game when it's reallyone of the most rugged sports there is. It can be rough without beingdirty ... but you birds can't rough it because you don't know how!"
Team members exchanged consulting glances. There was an element oftruth in Hoyt Dale's accusations. Their coach, Professor Dean Hogart,had admitted that he had never played the game. His knowledge andappreciation of the sport had been developed through observation duringyears that he had spent in Canada. Such a background no doubt left muchto be desired but Parker High had been unable to afford a specialhockey coach since hockey was a new sport for the school and stilllacked sufficient public support.
"Something's wrong with us, that's certain," conceded Walt Lowery,captain and centre. "Either we lack fighting spirit or...!"
"You _can't_ fight," insisted Hoyt, "unless you've got the tools tofight with. That's what I've been hitting at all season."
"Something in that, too," admitted Bud Gray, goalie, glancing aboutcautiously and lowering his voice. "Coach Hogart means all right, gang,but there's certain inside stuff he doesn't know. I think myself we'vegot a much better team than we've shown so far."
"Sure we have!" declared Hoyt. "That's what burns me up. We ought to begiving each team we meet the battle of its life. If you fellows wouldlike me to put you wise to the tricks I know...?"
"Why don't you?" urged Ed Compton, right wing. "You've played morehockey than any of us."
"Well, I-I'd be glad to if Coach wouldn't object."
"Coach wouldn't have to know," suggested Lee Burrell, left wing. "He'dbe for anything that would improve the team, anyway."
"Not if it's dirty playing," countered Rudie, "and that's what Hoyt'ssystem sounds like."
"You've got dirty playing on the brain," charged Hoyt. "You're sorebecause I told you that you weren't body-checking hard enough. If youwant the truth, Rudie--you're one of the weakest spots on the team!"
Hoyt Dale, not long a resident in Parker, believed in speaking hismind. One would have thought, to hear him, that he was captain of theteam. But Hoyt's nature was such he could not keep still for long. Teammates had to give him credit for an aggressive, unrelenting style ofplay. He was always diving into the midst of melees, slashing his stickabout madly and bumping opponents right and left. Occasionally he madetrips to the penalty box as the referee fouled him for tripping,hitting or illegally checking a rival but Hoyt was soon back on the iceas scrappy as ever. His willingness to mix it with the opposition hadestablished him as the most colorful player on Parker's sextet.
"I don't see how it will hurt any for Hoyt to help us out," supportedCaptain Walt Lowery, with a clash between Parker's two defense menimminent. "And you could afford to listen to him, too, since threegoals were scored down your side the ice today!"
"You know why?" flashed Rudie. "It's because Hoyt was grandstanding. Hewasn't back in position where he should have been and I was left toguard both sides the ice."
"Aw, dry up, Rudie!" snapped Walt. "If you can't take a littlecriticism you don't belong on the team. Hoyt's going to teach us a fewnew wrinkles which may come in mighty handy against Hallstead. Andyou'd better pay close attention yourself."
"I'll pay attention all right," rejoined Rudie, and glowered hisdefiance at the fellow who had volunteered to impart his superiorknowledge to the squad.
It was decidedly unpopular, Rudie knew, to oppose a player who hadturned in a spectacular brand of hockey all season but he had not likedHoyt and his methods from the start. In Rudie's estimation, Hoyt was atype who had to have the limelight at all times. If he didn't get it hewould either sulk or assume an indifferent attitude, placing the burdenof responsibility upon someone else. Hoyt liked winners and winning--somuch so, Rudie felt, that he would be inclined, in a pinch, tosacrifice the elements of sportsmanship for it. However, if the fellowswere disposed to give him their ear, it was evident that Rudie wouldplace himself in disfavor by offering further opposition.
"I've already gotten myself in dutch with the gang," Rudie observed."Besides, Hoyt's got it in for me and he'll try to make me look bad ifhe can. Only thing for me to do, from now on, is keep my mouth shut andwatch my step."
Hoyt Dale's secret hockey lesson proved something of a sensation. Itwas Coach Hogart's practice, at the finish of the daily session on theice, to hurry off to attend to his professorial duties, leaving theplayers to take their showers and change back to street togs. Thisparticular afternoon, the squad loitered on the rink until the coachhad departed when Hoyt took charge.
"First thing you guys want to learn," he snapped, importantly, "is howto guard against being spilled. You can't play good hockey flat on yourback and that's where most of you are a good many times each game. Ifyou were onto your business you could spill the other fellow instead ofletting him spill you!"
And Hoyt picked Ralph Randall, substitute wingman, to illustrate how aman could be body-checked and set down heavily upon the ice.
"If he tries this on you, give him the stick," Hoyt advised, anddemonstrated by sending Randall flying through space. "You can bet yourlife that he won't try it a second time," Hoyt concluded, grinning.
"But that's illegal!" Rudie protested, finding it impossible to keepstill.
"The referee won't call it once in a dozen times," Hoyt answered. "It'san old trick that's being used right along. You've got to use it toprotect yourself or you're all out of luck."
"It sure puts a man out of play," observed Ed Compton. "I know nowwhat's happened to me when I've done high dives. That stick betweenyour skates...!"
"Here's another one they're apt to pull on you," said Hoyt, advancingtoward Randall.
"Hey, no you don't!" said the sub. "Pick on somebody else!"
"I won't hurt you," Hoyt reassured. "Not much, anyway. See, we're inclose quarters, both of us after a free puck. We're trying to jockeyeach other out of the way. My opponent comes in and we lock arms. Hetries to give me the elbow in the pit of the stomach but I beat him toit. Result--it gets his wind and he slides out of the picture."
Randall, with a gasp, had relinquished his effort and dropped his stickto the ice.
"You couldn't even see that, could you?" Hoyt asked, of the interestedteam members. "Then how is a referee going to see it?... And thenthere's this one--where you knock a man's feet out from under him witha sidewipe of your skate."
Hoyt picked Hank Tolan, another sub to demonstrate upon. Hank did aflip-flop and struck solidly on his side, skidding along the ice.
"You get the idea?" pointed Hoyt. "These are just a few of the thingsthat you're running into each game. You should be prepared to give youropponents the same medicine ... and to guard against these fast ones.There's an art, too, in riding a person into the boards. Come here,Hank...!"
"No, thanks!"
Hoyt's knowledge of the various methods used to upset rival players andeffectively cut them out of the play was clos
e to awe-inspiring. It wassomething on the order of a police lieutenant demonstrating to a bunchof rookies how to disarm a crook. Hoyt made it look very simple andvery, very impressive.
"Say, I thought most of the falls I took were just the result of bumpsthat couldn't be avoided!" whistled Lee Burrell, "but I can see nowwhere I've been dumped with neatness and dispatch. Do that over again,will you, Hoyt. I want to get the hang of it!"
The entire squad, a scowling Rudie Antrim included, set to work tomaster the various undercover maneuvers.
"This is great!" approved Captain Walt Lowery, at the end of an hour."Now I really feel fortified for the first time. Wish we'd listened toyou earlier in the season, Hoyt. We might have had a better record."
"Well, this ought to give us a chance, at least, to beat Hallstead,"said Hoyt. "And if we can take that veteran outfit who think they knowall there is to be known about this game, it'll be a big enough featherin our caps."
"You said it!" seconded goalie Bud Gray, with enthusiasm. "What do youthink of Hoyt's stuff now, Rudie? Pretty slick, eh?"
Rudie's face flushed. He hated to give this Hoyt Dale person any creditbut he had to admit that there was a science to the things he hadtaught. It had even given him a thrill to send fellow team mates flyingthrough the air, knowing that he had done it intentionally, by using acertain definite system ... a stick between the legs, a knee properlyplaced, an elbow in the right spot, a shoulder brought into play andother sly little tricks designed to disconcert or spill the otherfellow.
"It's all against the rules," Rudie replied, rather lamely, "but I'lladmit it's worth knowing."
"Worth knowing and using at certain times," emphasized Hoyt. "If youhave to choose between letting a man get past you and stopping him fromgetting through for a possible score, these little devices are wortheverything! What diff does it make if you _do_ get sent to the penaltybox for two minutes every once in a while?... That's part of the game."
"I suppose it is," Rudie considered, "but, in this case, you're foulingon purpose ... and the question is...!"
"A foul is a foul!" barked Hoyt. "Why try to distinguish between 'em? Aguy as picayunish as you would find fault with the way they played'drop-the-handkerchief'...!"
Fellow team members laughed and Rudie held his tongue. He had brokenhis resolution to keep silent as it was. What these specialinstructions might lead to was problematical but one thing wascertain--Coach Hogart was due for a surprise the next time he saw histeam in action!
* * * * *
Rivals in every other sport, it was natural that Hallstead should placeParker High on its schedule when the latter school went in for hockey.If the truth be known, Hallstead's domain in other sports had inspiredParker to take up the game. Little hope was entertained, however, thatParker would succeed in downing Hallstead the first year. Parker had ahard enough time downing Hallstead in anything. But, since Hallsteadseemed prouder of its ice hockey six than any other team, Parker Highadherents impatiently awaited the day when their school might put aserious challenger in the field.
"If there's any school we enjoy beating, it's Hallstead," declared aParker fan. "And are they tough losers? Say, they fight you to the lastditch in anything! But that's what I call real spirit. Our school oughtto have more of it!"
* * * * *
Underdogs, and very conscious of it, Parker's hockey squad dressed forthe Hallstead game. There was little talking in the locker room, eachplayer feeling the tension too much to indulge in the usual banter.
"Remember, fellows," whispered Hoyt, just before the team was to leavethe locker room for the ice, "you're just as good as Hallstead. Theycan't do anything to you that you can't do to them."
Fellow players nodded, grimly. They had their hearts set on nothingshort of victory. A great showing against Hallstead would do much toatone for a disappointing season and raise Parker's hockey stock to ahigh level for the year to follow. Perhaps school authorities wouldeven be sufficiently impressed to hire a hockey coach who was an expertat the game.
"I know you're going to give your best," Coach Hogart told them. "Youboys may not feel that you have accomplished much this season but I,personally, think you have done wonders this first year. Hallstead isprimed and ready with a veteran six and years of experience behind it.I understand, too, that Hallstead is noted for a ripping, rushing sortof game. This ought to be a style well suited to you fellows becauseyou play clean-cut hockey. If Hallstead isn't careful, some of herplayers are apt to be spending most of their time in the penalty box.That being the case, you boys can be counted on to make the most ofyour opportunities during the time that Hallstead may be forced to playshort-handed."
Rudie Antrim, listening to Coach Hogart's final words before the game,glanced about uneasily at team mates. The good old professor justdidn't have the power to enthuse or excite team members. His pep talkswere punchless, far too much like classroom lectures. And his advicenow seemed a bit out of place. No suggestion as to how Parker mightcope with Hallstead's rough and tumble attack except by playing cleanhockey and taking advantage of possible Hallstead penalties. In betweentimes, however, Parker was apparently destined to absorb considerablepunishment.
"Coach probably figures, along with everyone else, that we don't standa chance," thought Rudie. "Well, I'll have to hand it to Hoyt for onething--he's actually got the boys pepped up with the idea that they canwin this game. Hallstead may have it all over us but we're not afraidof 'em!"
* * * * *
It was a crisply cold afternoon with a chilling breeze which swept therink and caused a fair-sized crowd to stamp noisily in the stands.
"This'll have to be a hot game to keep us warm!" punned someone.
"It'll be hot all right," promised a Hallstead rooter. "We're going toburn up the ice with Parker!"
Chester Maltby, giant Hallstead centre, and noted as one of the state'sstar players, looked formidable as he moved up and down the ice inpreliminary practice. Hallstead's season's record was marred only bytwo tie games which was scarcely any mar at all. Her players sized theParker squad up mirthfully.
"Easy picking," the great Maltby was heard to remark.
"When we get through with 'em they'll be sorry they ever took uphockey," a fellow player rejoined, and laughed.
* * * * *
At the opening face-off, Hallstead took the puck into Parker territoryimmediately. Her forward wall advanced beautifully, brushed pastParker's wingmen and drove into the defensive zone with Hoyt Dale andRudie Antrim crouching low to stop the onslaught. Hoyt charged in fastand gave one of Hallstead's wingmen a stiff body-check. He went down ina headlong slide across the ice and the fans cheered. Play veered awayfrom Hoyt and swept to Rudie's side of the ice.
"Stop 'em!" Hoyt shrieked, banging his stick on the rink.
Rudie blocked, was struck, whirled around, saw the puck beneath hisfeet, slashed at it, felt a stick jab between his legs, lost hisbalance and was toppled backwards. As he went down the form of ChesterMaltby leaped over him and swung at the puck, now sliding free in thezone directly in front of Parker's cage.
"A goal!" cried the crowd, as Hallstead's great centre smacked the puckpast goalie Bud Gray into a corner of the net.
Hallstead had counted in the first minute of play!
"Hey!" shouted an outraged Hoyt, skating up and shaking his fist atRudie. "What did I tell you the other day? You let them rough you rightout of play. A swell defense man you are! Snap into it! You're playingtoo safe! Cut loose!"
Hallstead team members were grinning. They could make a shambles of thecontest if they wanted. But what was the use? Parker was no oppositionin this sport at all. Might as well tease their rivals along. Puttingon a dazzling exhibition of pass work, Hallstead had her rootershowling with amusement as she forced Parker to chase her all over therink, trying to gain possession of the puck. After five m
inutes of thissuperb team play, Hallstead slipped through with intentions of scoringanother goal. And again the pass went to Chester Maltby who was inposition for a shot. This time, however, Chester was blocked--not onlyblocked but bowled over by a frenzied dive on the part of Hoyt Dale.
"Off the ice!" ruled the referee and the Hallstead crowd boohed.
"Hold 'em!" Hoyt cried as he got to his feet and skated to the penaltybox.
It was a deliberate foul which had obviously saved almost a sure goalas Chester had been on top of the net. The puck was faced-off not farfrom the cage and a furious mix-up resulted. It was now five menagainst Hallstead's six and Parker's entire attention was devoted tothe defense of its goal. Rudie, in the thick of the fight, felt anelbow thud against his stomach and wondered whether it was accidental.That was the trouble ... after Hoyt's reference to these things, afellow was super conscious of everything that was happening to him ...trying to figure out when he was being done dirt or whether it wasunintentional. Hallstead figures loomed on both sides of him and thepuck was down there between a tangle of feet and smashing sticks. Whynot try one or two of Hoyt's pet tricks? He was being roughed plenty.Now, if he could get his stick down ... and shove his foot, just so...!
"Yea!"
The crowd was yelling at Rudie's phenomenal recovery of the puck,emerging from a wildly struggling group near his goal, upsetting twoHallstead men as he did so. Rudie skated around behind his own goal,heart in his mouth, afraid that the referee would call a foul on him.But the official had evidently thought developments the natural outcomeof the hot skirmish. Besides he, Rudie, had the reputation of anextremely clean player.
"I got away with it!" he told himself, as he skimmed down along thesideboards.
The great Maltby cut across the ice with the idea of heading him off.Rudie saw him coming out of the corner of his eye.
"I'll try another Hoyt stunt," he thought. "Maltby's going to try tojam me into the boards. If I can only stop dead and let him shoot past,then shoulder him...!"
Rudie set his skates in the ice; Maltby almost on top of him, hurtledpast, smacked up against the sideboards, rebounded and was hit jokinglyby the man he had pursued. Maltby went down in a thudding heap andRudie recaptured the puck, continuing his dash down the ice with Parkerrooters going crazy.
"This is a cinch!" Rudie told himself, exultantly. "Hoyt was a hundredpercent right ... this knowing how to take care of yourself ...out-roughing the other fellow ... is what counts in this game!"
Hallstead's defense men were rushing back into position, having been inParker's territory, trying to help their team score a second goal.Rudie, seeing them almost upon him, fired a shot at the goal but thepuck was caught by the broad blade of the goalie's stick and shoved tothe side. Here Ed Compton and Lee Burrell, Parker wings, lunged in anddid battle with the defense men for possession of the little blackdisc. As they did so, Hoyt's two minute penalty was up and he cameflashing out of the box to aid team-mates who had been carrying theattack to an astounded Hallstead. Ed got the puck away from a Hallsteadman behind the Hallstead cage, and made a perfect pass-out to Rudie whohad roamed in the front area. Rudie blazed away at once and sent thepuck whizzing past Hallstead's goal tender, waist high, for the goalthat tied the score, 1 to 1.
"Good boy!" shouted Hoyt, skating up to slap Rudie on the back. "Nowyou're getting the idea! That was great stuff the way you fought yourway down the ice!"
Rudie nodded as he skated back into position with the crowd cheeringhim. If a fellow didn't care what he did, just played with abandon, itwas surprising what he could accomplish. "Cut loose!" as Hoyt had said.Rudie had done this for the first time. Result--one of the few goals hehad ever made in actual play.
"A referee overlooks an awful lot," Rudie decided, "and maybe I was toostrict on what I thought constituted a foul anyhow."
With things breaking one's way, it was easy to salve one's conscience.And now his team members were plunging in as the next face-off occurredat centre, using what Hoyt had taught them as the occasion demanded. Aspectacular game materialized as this sort of play kept up with membersof both teams crashing into the sideboards or taking dizzy spills.There were processions to the penalty box, about evenly divided up asfirst one individual, then another, was ruled out for two minuteperiods. And still Rudie led a charmed life; hurling himself into thefray at every opportunity but escaping without penalty. Several times,no less a personage that the great Maltby was sent to the sidelines forfouling Rudie who had fouled him likewise.
"You've got it wrong, umps!" Maltby had protested on the last trip. "Heshould have come along with me! That guy...!"
The first period ended in a tie score and the Parker team, havingsuddenly found itself, skated from the rink to the roars of the crowd.This might prove to be a real contest after all!
"Boys, you're simply splendid!" Coach Hogart greeted them. "A littlerougher than I've ever seen you--but perfectly splendid!"
The old professor was greatly excited. He did not observe Hoyt's wisewink behind his back, nor the amused grins on several faces. But, bythe end of the furiously contested second period, when Hallstead andParker players almost came to blows over alleged bits of unnecessaryroughness, Coach Hogart sensed definitely that a change had come overhis boys ... a change which disturbed him not a little....
"Watch yourselves," he warned. "You've held Hallstead to a tie scorethus far but you've made more trips to the penalty box than in anythree other games this year. It's going to be your downfall if you keepit up ... mark my words!"
"Mark his words!" laughed Hoyt, as the team took the ice for the thirdand last period. "Professor Hogart means well but he's no coach! and henever will be. I guess you guys realize now how this game should beplayed."
Fellow players nodded.
"We've got the fighting spirit today," said Rudie. "That's what's doingmore for us than anything else!"
"We've got more than that," rejoined Hoyt. "We've got what Hallsteaddoesn't like--an answer for everything they pull on us! We've spilledold Maltby so much that it's slowed his whole game up. The same stuff,gang--and we'll worry the life out of this outfit!"
* * * * *
Hallstead, surprised and miffed at the unusually stiff brand ofopposition Parker was putting up, took the ice at the start of thethird period resolved to go out in front and stay there. But Parker metthe new attack with increased resistance and the crowd sat breathlessas formation after formation was broken up by one side or the other,the puck changing hands with bewildering rapidity. Hallstead, Rudie nowdecided, was playing rough but fair hockey. Parker, however, wasemploying the practices taught by Hoyt when play came to closequarters. As the pressure of the contest grew hotter and hotter, theselittle devices became more obvious.
"Careful, fellows!" Rudie couldn't help warning, during a time-out."You're going too far in a minute. I've never felt right about this ...we've got a chance for the game if...!"
"You're okay!" broke in Hoyt. "Going great guns! Keep it up!"
Hoyt looked to Captain Walt Lowery for support and got it, in anapproving nod. Victory over Hallstead was the bait--an unbelievablevictory! There were just six more minutes of play. The game might gointo overtime...!
Mustering his forces, Chester Maltby, great Hallstead centre, sallieddeterminedly into Parker territory, determined to crack her defensewide open. With wingmen on either side of him and a defense man joiningin the attack, forming a four-man forward wall, the advance began.
"Look out, gang!" shouted Hoyt, and braced himself for the impact.
Maltby feinted a pass as he raced down upon Hoyt with the puck ridingalong at the end of his stick, then veered at the last moment andattempted to get around Parker's left defense. Hoyt, thrown off guard,could not apply his usual body-check and had only time to ram his stickout. The stick caught Maltby between the legs and catapulted him.
"Booh!" roared Hallstead fans. "Take him out!"
"A major penalty for you!" shril
led the referee, skating over andpushing Hoyt to the sidelines. "Five minutes for this man!" he calledto the timers.
"What for?" demanded Hoyt, registering innocence. "I only tried to getthe puck. I...!"
"I've been watching you the whole game," flashed the referee. "You'vepulled that stunt once too often!"
"Wow--maybe that penalty doesn't hurt!" moaned a Parker rooter, asHoyt, still protesting, slid into the penalty box. "He's out forpractically the rest of the game which shoots our defense and breaks upour attack."
Parker team members glanced concernedly at one another as a fightingHallstead lined up close to Parker's goal for a face-off.
"You see--it doesn't pay!" cried Rudie.
"Shut up!" blazed Captain Lowery, who was on edge. "Get in there! Don'tlet 'em score!"
The referee dropped the puck to ice. It was lost almost at once in themad turmoil which followed. Goalie Bud Gray did heroic work in wardingoff a rain of vicious shots. But still Hallstead kept battering withParker fighting the harder to atone for the loss of their defense men.A cry went up as two Hallstead players were bumped to the ice in frontof the net.
"Off the ice--you and you!" barked the referee, and slapped two Parkerplayers on the back--Left Wing Lee Burrell and Captain Walt Lowery!
"It's three against six now!" gasped a spectator. "What's the matterwith Parker? I've never seen so much fouling!"
A scowling Hoyt Dale moved over to make room for his two team-mates inthe penalty box.
"This is not so good," were Captain Lowery's first words.
"The ref's got it in for us because I kicked when he put me out," Hoytrejoined.
"You're wrong!" returned Walt, remorsefully. "He's just gotten wise tous, that's all! We put up a game like this and then have to lose iton...!"
"... fouls!" finished Lee, feelingly. "Swell advice you gave us,Hoyt!... We ought to have known better!"
"We're not licked yet," retorted Parker's left defense, hopefully, andmade a megaphone of his hands. "Stay with 'em, Rudie--big boy--carefulin there--don't let 'em put you in the penalty box!"
Rudie, who had been conferring with his two remaining team-mates, rightwing Ed Compton and goalie Bud Gray, looked toward the three deposedplayers in astonishment.
"What did he say?" he asked of Ed.
"They're all shouting now," said Ed. "Telling us to play it safe so wewon't make any fouls ... and hold 'em till they get back in the game!"
"Can you beat it?" exclaimed Rudie, and grinned.
But the referee was calling another face-off not far from Parker's netand Hallstead had all five men down the ice--five actually againsttwo--in an effort to jam the puck home while Parker was so severelyhandicapped.
"Listen, fellows!" pleaded Rudie, of Ed and Bud. "Hoyt's had his saynow and you see where it's gotten us. Here's our chance to show whatcan be done--on the square. Are you with me?"
"Sure we're with you!" cried Bud, crouching in the mouth of the cage.
"All the way!" seconded Ed.
And the battle was on! Rudie was knocked off his feet, stepped on, hitwith sticks and swarmed over as five Hallstead men sought to get thepuck from under him. He finally recovered his feet and sent the puckwhizzing up the ice out of danger. Hallstead chased it, took on anotherformation, and came dashing back on the attack, five men abreast, withonly two Parker men to face the charge. This time it was Ed who wentdown under flashing Hallstead heels and only Rudie was left to battlethe invaders. He was shoved into the cage in a furious assault, wedgedin alongside goalie Bud Gray, but--between them--they kicked the puckfree.
"What hockey!" Hoyt was screaming. "That's holding 'em, you guys!"
"They can't keep this up much longer!" said Captain Lowery, nervously."How many seconds are we out of play yet?"
"Fifty!" informed Lee, who sat next the timer, biting finger nailsalready chewed to the quick. "Gee, this last minute's been an hour!"
Once more, led by Chester Maltby, Hallstead rallied to the attack. Andonce more two valiant Parker men, fighting with a frenzy equal to five,met the rush head-on. But both went down under jolting impacts andgoalie Bud Gray was left to face the onslaught alone. He was met,however, by a wave of blue-jerseyed men and was pulled to the side onblocking a shot so that the puck was whizzed past him on the rebound.
"Goal disallowed!" shrieked the referee, tearing into the mix-up infront of the net and tapping Chester Maltby on the shoulder. "Penaltybox for you," he signified, "and you...!" referring to the Hallsteadright defense. A great clamor went up as the two Hallstead playersjoined an already crowded penalty box. Out on the ice, Ed and Rudiesolemnly shook hands. They were still in the thick of the fight and nowthe competition was almost even again ... three against two. But Leeand Walt were due back on the ice now, any second, which would swingthe advantage in Parker's favor. And less than two minutes of theregular playing time remained!
A new face-off with Rudie opposing the Hallstead right wing. He managedto get his stick on the puck and hook it away. As he skated to the sidewith Hallstead players in pursuit, he saw Lee and Walt tumbling out ofthe penalty box and rushing back into play. Changing his defensivetactics at once, Rudie suddenly raced up the ice toward Hallstead'sgoal, leaving two frantic Hallstead men behind him. The third, playingback on defense, took his station in front of the goalie and awaitedRudie's attack. Lee and Walt, however, were joining Rudie from theside, spanking their sticks on the ice. The puck skimmed across to themand all three swung into formation, sweeping in upon the under-guardedHallstead goal. Ed to Rudie to Walt was the course the puck took as thetrio neared the cage. Rudie was violently body-checked by the lonedefense man but Walt was left free to skate in upon the goalie and sentthe puck hurtling into the net.
"A goal!" scored the referee.
Hallstead sat thunderstruck; Parker supporters made the air warm withlusty shouts. In another minute a dope bucket would be violently upset.Hoyt Dale now leaned forward in the penalty box, his five minutesuspension almost up. In another three seconds he was back on the ice,Parker's full strength returned, with Hallstead still shy her tworegulars.
"No monkey business!" warned Captain Lowery.
"Don't worry!" a chastened Hoyt assured. "They don't get me in thatpenalty box again!"
And the next instant the game was over.
"Rudie, old timer!" cried the fellow who had thought he knew more thanthe coach. "I take back everything I ever said against you. Thatdefense you put up was simply immense ... and it was me who put you inthat hole...!"
"It's okay now," said Rudie, as he glanced at the scoreboard.
"Oh, no it's not," replied Hoyt, as guilty looking team membersgathered around. "I owe all you guys an apology. All we've needed ismore fight. And speaking of fair play--say, after my starting you offon the wrong foot, Rudie and Lee had me scared stiff. I was afraidthey'd join us in the penalty box and leave only poor Bud out there todefend the goal! Did I suffer torture?... I threw my ideas overboardright then. They're all wet!"
"I'll say they are!" agreed Captain Walt Lowery, with a supportingchorus. "You can get by with this stuff just so long and afterthat--you're out of luck!"
It was here that an elated Coach Hogart burst in upon them. "Your playwas magnificent!" he cried. "Everyone of you fairly outdid himself.You're all to be congratulated!"
Parker High's victorious team members grinned, looked a bit sheepishlyat one another and decided to say nothing. What the old professor, whohad loyally volunteered to coach them, didn't know, wouldn't hurt him,because it was never going to happen again.
CRISS-CROSSED SKIS
Skiing is loads of fun. If you don't believe it, ask Mr. Sylvester B.Turner, who owns the only hill in town worth skiing on. He'll tell youwhat fun it is--and if you're not hit over the head with the nearestthing at hand, you'll be lucky. But maybe Mr. Turner's cooled down somesince last winter. Honest, he was hot enough that time to have meltedsnow!
How'd it all happen? Well, you see, we fellows used to
slide and ski onRandolph Hill before Mr. Turner bought it. After that, he puts up"Don't Trespass" signs all over the place but even then we don't thinkhe means us. The first time we put our feet on his ground, though, heraises an awful holler. And the worst of it is--Mr. Turner's one andonly son, Ronald, tattles on us.
Ronnie, we call him, is a mamma's boy if there ever was one. He's thinand scared looking, if you get what I mean--the sort who wears rubbersif there's a cloud in the sky. You can't point your finger at himwithout his running home and telling about it. Talk about sensitive!Mack Sleder asked him "how come his hair wasn't combed?" one morningand Ronnie almost busts out crying. Perhaps he can't help it. But youknow how fellows are, if a guy acts that way, they poke a lot of fun athim. Ronnie steers pretty clear of us, though. He knows what's good forhim. Besides, Ronnie doesn't go in for sports. He hates to get bumpedor dirtied up and then, too, there's always the chance of getting hurt.
"What's the sense in it?" he asks us one time. "I'd much rather sit ina hammock and read a good book."
"Aren't you afraid the hammock might turn over with you?" kids TommyFox.
"I'd never thought of that," says Ronnie, soberly. "That's worthconsidering, isn't it?"
And he sits on the porch steps after that.
* * * * *
Ronnie's Dad is as big and blustering as Ronnie is timid and quiet. Andtalk about dignified! Mr. Sylvester B. Turner expects everyone to bowand scrape before him since he's the richest man in town and owns thebiggest factory besides the biggest hill. Everything has to be big withMr. Turner. That's his style. The biggest house, the biggest car, thebiggest noise ... and the biggest boob for a son. That's how we feel,anyhow, after Mr. Turner's high and mighty manner and Ronnie's yelling:"Dad, look what the fellahs are doing!"
Are we downhearted? You can just imagine! Being chased off old RandolphHill is like having our sleds and skis taken away from us on account ofthere being no other decent place. We could understand this high hatbusiness if Mr. Turner was using the hill for anything else but itslopes off for over a mile behind his big house, going down on one sideto Mitchell Creek and down the other to a meadow that's fenced in withan old rail fence. We've been sliding and skiing straight down thehill, though, the long way, which carries us across the old StrawtownPike and up against a bank that finally stops us. It's one grand ride,whether you take it by sled or by skis ... only, of course, it's lotsmore exciting on skis. We figured this year that we'd grade the bank,too, and use it for a jumping off place. Whether you know it or not,ski jumping is the real sport. You may land on your head or back orsome other part of your anatomy but that's half the sport! And here Mr.Turner is so stingy that he closes his estate to the whole neighborhood!
"You must remember, James," my father says to me, "Mr. Turner has aperfect right to do this. It's his property. Old Mr. Randolph was verynice to let you boys use the hill but you shouldn't feel too hardagainst Mr. Turner because he refuses. After all, it can't be soenjoyable to have a mob of kids tracking all over. Maybe Mrs. Turner isvery high strung. Maybe their boy is nervous and can't stand strenuousexercise or excitement. Maybe that's why Mr. Turner bought the place,so he could be off by himself with his family. You must take this allinto consideration."
"I still think he's just doing it to be mean," says I. "He likes to puton airs. As for his son, if Ronnie's mother would let him be himself,we'd make a man out of him in no time!"
My Dad throws back his head and let loose a laugh.
"You fellows had better leave well enough alone," he warns. "You oughtto know by this time that Ronald has a 'Don't Trespass' sign hanging onhim, too. And since Mr. Turner has phoned me and complained about yourbeing on his property, I don't care to have any further trouble withour new neighbor. You mustn't forget, either, that my company doesconsiderable business with Mr. Turner's factory. We can't afford tohave Mr. Turner down on us."
"You're right, Dad," I agrees. "I guess I'm still peeved, that's all.Made me feel like I wanted to get even. The other guys feel that way,too. Some of 'em were going to take it out on Ronnie--but I'll have atalk with 'em and fix it up. I wouldn't want to do anything that wouldinterfere with your business."
"I know you wouldn't," Dad replies, then puts a hand on my arm. "I'msorry about that hill. If I owned it I'd turn it over to the town for apublic playground."
"Picture Mr. Turner doing a thing like that!" I explodes. "He's notinterested in this community. He's just interested in what he can takeout of it."
Dad nods. "The answer probably is," he says; thoughtfully, "that Mr.Turner's never learned how to play."
And, do you know--Dad's explanation all of a sudden soaks in! The moreI think it over, the sorrier I commence to feel for Mr. Turner for whathe's been missing all his life. And the tough part is that his son'sstarting out the same way.
"Maybe we could return good for evil," it occurs to me. "I'll have toget the gang together and see what they think about it."
* * * * *
Talk about a conference! There's just six of us fellows and each of ushas more ideas than we know what to do with ... which means thatthere's usually six leaders and no followers. Some don't want to haveanything more to do with the Turners; others claim, if we did try to benice, it wouldn't be appreciated; and Tommy Fox asks me what I expectto gain for my trouble.
"Probably nothing," I rejoins, "except the satisfaction of playingmissionary to the heathen on the hill!"
This brings a laugh.
"Okay!" seconds Mack Sleder. "It's going to be torture for us, butmamma's boy Ronnie gets invited to join our gang the next time we seehim."
"And he'll turn us down flatter than a fallen cake," Eddie Halepredicts.
"Well, it's Jim's idea," says Mack. "I'm for trying anything once."
Getting ahold of Ronnie isn't so easy. Every time he sees us coming heruns around the block or cuts across lots. We're just so much poison tohim and he figures, since his father's laid down the law about ourusing the hill, that we'll pretty near scalp him if we get the chance.
But one snowy day we get Ronnie from in front and behind. His arms arefull of groceries which he wouldn't have been getting himself only thedelivery truck is stuck in a drift and his mother has to have the foodfor dinner.
"Let me go, you guys!" he begs. "If you dare touch me, my Dad'll...!"
"Listen, you!" says Mack, with his hand on Ronnie's shoulder. "Don'tcry before you're hurt. We've been trying to catch you for some time."
"Y-yes, I--I know," says Ronnie, trembling from head to foot. "D-don'tmake me d-drop these eggs, or you'll b-be sorry."
"Oh, he's got eggs!" says Mack, and winks at the bunch. For a minute Ithink he's going to change his mind and pull something.
"You don't like us, do you?" Tommy demands.
"Why--why--I certainly do."
"Then why do you try to beat it every time you see us?"
Ronnie swallows and looks the next thing to miserable.
"I--I've got to be getting home with these groceries," he says. "Mymother's waiting...."
"Answer my question!" demands Tommy, looking vicious.
"I--I've forgotten it," stammers Ronnie. "It's storming harder, isn'tit?"
"Yes--it'll be great weather for skiing after this snow packs down,"says Eddie, pointedly.
Ronnie blinks and glances around like he's going to yell for help.
"Cut it," says I, pushing the fellows back and taking matters in my ownhands. "Ronnie, old boy, this must be a pretty lonely life you'reliving," I begins.
"These groceries are getting heavy," Ronnie answers, shifting hispackages around. "And I'm getting snow down the back of my neck."
"You shouldn't be alone so much," I keeps on. "It's bad for a guy toplay by himself all the time. It makes him self-centered and mean.Besides, there's no fun in it. What you need is to get out with thegang--to be one of us!"
"_What?_" Ronnie's mouth comes wide open.
"Yes, Ronnie," I repeats, as I help hold him up. "One of us! We'd beproud to count you as a member of our Rough and Ready Club."
"You--you _would_?" Ronnie stares at us suspiciously.
"You bet we would!" assures Mack. "We'd be tickled to initiate you!"
"Initiate?" gulps Ronnie, and tries to get away. "No, sir! I don't wantto join your club. I want to go home!"
"Listen," says I, kicking Mack in the shins, "we're willing to make anextra special exception in your case--and let you join without anyinitiation."
"Well...," considers Ronnie, "I--I'd have to ask my Dad first. Hedoesn't believe much in joining things. He says a man should be able tostand alone."
"He's wrong," speaks up Tommy. "Doesn't your Dad know that 'united westand, divided we fall'?"
Ronnie stares. "I don't believe he ever heard of that," he says. "ButI'll tell him."
"Don't you tell him a thing!" I orders. "Can't you decide anything foryourself. Do you have to run home and ask papa or mamma every time youwant to blow your nose?"
Ronnie's face gets red. "Not exactly," he says, faint-like. "Thesegroceries...!"
"We'll help you carry 'em home," I volunteers, "as far as the bottom ofthe hill, anyway."
"Sure!" says Mack, and grabs the sack of eggs. "Oh, oh! There's anotherone cracked! Man--these eggs are tough--you can crack 'em but you can'tbreak 'em."
"Mother will throw a fit," Ronnie observes, ruefully. He stares abouthim, badly worried, because his groceries are divided up between sixfellows, and he's probably wondering if he's ever going to get 'em back.
"We're not a bad bunch--honest!" I tells him, as we walk along, keepingour heads down against the wind and the snow. "Trouble is--you and ushaven't ever gotten acquainted. We think you're a real guy underneath."
Say--you ought to see Ronnie warm up! I guess he's been starved fortalk like this ... someone to take an interest in him. He's stillafraid we're going to take a backhanded slap at him, though.
"I--I _don't_ get out much," he confesses. "There's lots of things I'dlike to do if...!"
"Fine!" busts in Mack. "You come with us and you can do 'em!"
"Could I learn to ski?" Ronnie asks.
"Ski?" we cry, and now it's our turn to gasp for breath. "Ski?... Wouldyou really like to learn to ski?"
We can't believe our ears. Can you imagine this? It just goes to showthat you can't judge any fellow until you get right on the inside ofhim. If Ronnie was asking us to teach him how to play checkers orblindman's buff ... but--skiing! Maybe he's spoofing us.
"Skiing looks like fun," says Ronnie. "Mother thinks it's toodangerous, but you fellows don't seem to get hurt."
"Naw, of course we don't," I replies. "I tell you what you do, Ronnie!You come out with us and we'll show you how to ski and then, after youknow just how to do it, you can surprise your mother! Just imagine thelook on her face when she sees you skiing up the hill to the house!"
"Y-yes, I--I can imagine!" falters Ronnie. Then his face takes on ahopeful expression. "I guess she'd feel all right about it when she sawhow perfectly safe it was, wouldn't she?"
"Sure!" declares Mack, slapping Ronnie on the back and almost droppingthe egg sack. "Every mother's that way! Too bad, though, that your oldman--I mean--your father--kicked us off the hill." Mack nudges me and Itry to stop him, but he's got what he thinks is a great idea and hegoes on. "I guess you weren't so crazy to have us on the hill, either.Just the same--it's the best place around here to learn to ski."
We're just at the foot of the hill as Mack says this. It's the streetside of the hill and we're looking up the steps to the big house ontop. Somehow it reminds us of a fort that's almost lost in the snow.We're half expecting to hear some words fired out at us from Mr.Turner's booming voice but we evidently can't be seen from up above.Ronnie hasn't said anything yet in answer to Mack's bold crack aboutthe hill for skiing and I'm thinking to myself that he's spoiledeverything.
"I had the wrong idea about you fellows," Ronnie suddenly blurts out aswe return his groceries. "That's why I told Dad. He seldom goes out onthe back hill. I don't see how the tracks you'd make in the snow wouldhurt anything. If you'd like to meet me out there tomorrow afternoonwhile Dad's downtown...?"
"_Would_ we?" we all shout.
"I haven't any skis," says Ronnie.
"I'll loan you mine!" I offers. "But what if your Dad should find out?He gave us strict orders...!"
"Well," considers Ronnie, starting up the steps. "I suppose the worsthe could do would be to put you off again."
"He wouldn't be hard on us if Ronnie was along," encourages Tommy.
"Okay!" I decides. "We'll be there, Ronnie! From now on--you're one ofthe gang!"
Ronnie's face actually beams. Then he takes an anxious look up thestairs.
"If I don't get home with these groceries...!" he says, "Mother'll havethe police looking for me."
"You leave it to us," I calls after him as he runs up the steps. "We'llmake a skier out of you!"
And the second Ronnie's disappeared in the house, we all start todancing jigs in the snow, with Mack patting himself on the chest anddeclaring: "I guess I put it over, eh ... what? Got Ronnie to take usback on the old hill! And say--maybe we were wrong. If we give thisbird half a chance he may not turn out a mamma's boy after all!"
The next afternoon we don't feel quite so gay. It's stopped snowing andthe skiing ought to be swell but the thoughts of what Mr. Turner mightdo and say if he ever got wise that we were on the hill again withouthis permission has made us kind of shy and nervous. We're not so surethat even Ronnie's being there will help any in case...! In fact, Eddiesuggests that maybe Mr. Turner would blame us for inveigling Ronnieinto skiing and using the forbidden hill. Inveigle is a terriblesounding word and, while we're crazy to ski, we're not wild to ski intoany more trouble.
"Besides," points out Carl, "if Ronnie should get a bump like we alldo, once in a while, we're the guys who'll have to answer for it."
"It's quite a responsibility all right," admits Mack, "but I say it'sworth the risk. We certainly can run as fast as Mr. Turner."
"Not if he sees us first," I warns, "so we'd better keep our eyespeeled. My old pair of skis ought to be good enough for Ronnie to learnon, don't you think?"
"Sure," rejoins Tommy. "He'll probably break 'em anyway--hit a tree orsomething."
"Aren't you cheerful?" I razzes. "Well, that's not going to happen if Ihave to go down the hill ahead of him and bend the trees out of theway!"
There's a familiar figure sitting on a fallen log and waiting for uswhen we climb over the fence and sneak up the hill behind the Turnerhouse. Ronnie jumps up when he spies us, as tickled as a kid, who'sabout to try something he's never done before.
"I--I thought maybe you wouldn't come."
"Ronnie--we are here!" says Mack, officially and solemnly. "Your lessonis about to begin!"
"But first," breaks in Tommy, "how many miles is your father from here?"
"He's downtown," reassures Ronnie. "He's hardly ever back before fiveo'clock."
"Then I guess the coast is clear," says Eddie.
"It is--straight down the hill," I replies, meaning somethingdifferent. "But you got to watch out for the creek and the fence on thesides. Here's your skis, Ronnie. You shove your feet into the harnesslike this."
Ronnie is all eyes. He lifts up his feet and lets me fix them onto thelong strips of hardwood.
"You--you're not going to send me down this steep hill first off, areyou?" he asks, plenty nervous.
"No, of course not. We're going to let you ski around on top of thehill here, where it's flat ... and get used to the thing. Stand up nowand see how you feel."
Ronnie straightens up and looks down at the funny contraptions on hisfeet. He lifts one ski up and tries to take a step forward. It turnssidewise and plops do
wn on top of the other ski. Ronnie's legs getcrossed and he sits down ker-plunk. We grin and Ronnie looks worried.
"Aren't these skis a little too long for me?" he inquires. "Are yousure they're my size?"
"Skis don't come in sizes," I informs. "You lifted your foot too high.It's a sliding motion--like this." And I demonstrates.
"It's easy, isn't it?" says Ronnie, and untangles himself.
"Sure!" encourages Mack, "when you get onto it--it's like falling off alog ... or a cliff ... or anything...."
Ronnie stares at Mack a minute and then glances toward the brink of thehill.
"I couldn't get started down hill without wanting to, could I?" hequestions.
"If you did, we'd grab you," I tells him. "Now try it again. Move yourright foot forward. Keep your body inclined just a bit. That's the way.You look just like a skier now! Doesn't he, fellows?"
"Exactly!" they agree.
"Don't move and spoil it!" directs Mack who can't help making sport ofthings.
Ronnie looks kind of bewildered.
"Go ahead," says I. "Don't mind what that boob says. He's a bum skieranyway."
"I am, am I?" challenges Mack.
And down he goes over the hill, making the first tracks in theglistening snow. It's breathless to watch him as he gains speed,whizzes across the old Strawtown Pike and up the embankment where hecomes to a stop. He's a black dot to us now as he turns to wave hishands and then start the long journey back.
"That's wonderful!" breathes Ronnie. "Oh, if I could only do that!"
"You've got to creep before you can ski," I instructs. "Don't getimpatient. A good skier wasn't built ... I mean--made--in a day. We'llcome out again ... that is ... if your Dad doesn't stop us."
"Dad's never had any time for sports," explains Ronnie. "He's been toobusy. He thinks young men should ... er ... expend their energies onmore worthwhile things...."
"Well, I ... er ... don't exactly agree with him," says I. "But, ofcourse, we can't all think the same."
"All work and no play," recites Tommy, winking at the rest of us,"makes Dad a dull boy."
"He means 'any Dad'," I hastens to explain. "Now you just ski alongbeside me till you get the hang of this. Then we'll try a little slopeback here which I'm sure you can safely ... er ... negotiate."
"Safely--_what_?" Ronnie asks.
"Jim means," defines Tommy, getting back at me, "a slope you can safelydescend without any _untoward incident_...."
"Oh!" says Ronnie.
* * * * *
We spend a good hour, Ronnie and me, getting him familiar with havingskis on his feet. Meanwhile the rest of the guys are having a swelltime skiing down the hill and I'm commencing to think that I'm themartyr to the cause, being crazy to do some real skiing myself.
"How about it?" I ask, finally, "do you feel like you can go it alone?"
"It's quite simple now," says Ronnie. "Do you mean you think I'm readyto ski down the hill?"
The question gives me a chill. Skiing on a plane surface and skiingdown hill is as different as walking in broad daylight and skating inthe dark with roller skates.
"You'd better stick to just what you're doing for a couple days," Iadvises. "You're getting along swell."
"I feel quite confident," replies Ronnie. "This is mostly a matter ofbalance ... something I've always been good at. I walked our clothesline once. Everything would have been all right if it hadn't busted."
"Yes," says I, "Most things would be okay if something didn't happen.But you use your own judgment, Ronnie. If you think you're ready to godown the hill, it's up to you. Only don't blame me if you suffer any... er ... minor accident."
"How could I blame you?" Ronnie wants to know. "I'm awfully gratefulfor all you've taught me. This is the most fun I've had in months ...maybe years...."
"That's fine," I replies. "Here's hoping you keep on having fun."
"That's why I want to go down the hill," declares Ronnie. "I imaginethat would give me a real sensation."
"It's the big thrill in skiing," Mack puts in, being eager to seeRonnie make his first attempt. "Just follow my tracks, Ronnie, if youdecide to go down, and you can't go wrong!"
"I--I believe I'll do it," says Ronnie, after taking a deep breath."It's a long ways down. I probably won't be able to ski back up thehill. That looks a lot harder."
"Aim for that embankment across the Pike," points out Mack. "See if youcan beat my mark."
"Oh, I couldn't do that first off," returns Ronnie, modestly. "I'd besatisfied if I could tie it. I imagine my momentum will be about thesame so I should travel about as far."
"There's no doubt about it--you'll travel!" assures Tommy.
"If this works out all right," says Ronnie, "I'll have my Dad see me doit and maybe he'll change his mind about letting you fellows use thehill. Of course he mustn't know that you've taught me. He's to thinkthat all these tracks are mine."
"Ronnie," says I, "my hat's off to you. You're a regular sport. Andwhat's more--I admire your nerve."
"Oh, this doesn't take nerve," disparages Ronnie. "It just takes skill."
"Well, have it your own way," says Mack, and we all stand around towatch the take-off.
"Feet together," I directs, feeling shaky inside. "Lean forward alittle more. That's it!"
"Goodbye, fellows!" calls Ronnie, as he moves toward the spot where thehill slopes down, eyes glued ahead.
"Goodbye!" we shout.
It sounds to me like we're saying goodbye for a long time. There's asickening feeling comes in the pit of my stomach as Ronnie suddenlydisappears over the brow of the hill and shoots down. Say--have youever ridden in a roller coaster? Well--you zip down a steep hill onskis and tell me which gives you the biggest heart throb. In a coasteryou can at least hold onto the rod and sit tight. On skis you've got tohold yourself just so or you may find yourself flying through space andlanding hard enough to jar your wisdom teeth.
"So far, so good," says Mack, when Ronnie's half way down.
"I don't care to look," I rejoins, getting panicky. "I never shouldhave let him gone!"
"He's doing swell!" cries Tommy. "Oh--oh, no! He's not doing so goodnow! He's veering to the right. He's off the course. He's heading forthe fence!"
"Good grief!" I exclaims, and takes a look. "Sit down, Ronnie!" Iyells, making a megaphone of my hands. "Sit down--quick!"
But Ronnie doesn't hear me. He's too wrapped up in his own problem.
"Oh, my gosh!" gasps Eddie, "that tree!"
How Ronnie missed a big oak, I don't know. He just shaves it and goeson, right through a clump of underbrush and down a steep grade towardthe fence, his body weaving back and forth as he's fighting to keep hisbalance.
"Look out!" I screams, and then it happens.
Ronnie hits the fence ker-smash and goes right on over, doing theniftiest frontward somersault you ever saw, and landing head first in asnow drift with only his skis sticking out. We're all of us sopetrified that we stand there a couple seconds, not knowing what to door say. Then we see Ronnie's feet kick and his head come out of thesnow.
"I'll bet he's hurt!" I cries. "I'm going down to him!"
As I'm strapping on my skis, though, the fellows bust out laughing.
"What's so funny?" I demands.
"He's waving at us!" roars Tommy, "he thinks that's great stuff! Idon't think he's hurt a bit!"
I stand up and stare and we all wave back. Ronnie starts trying toclimb the fence with his skis still on but he finds this doesn't workso good, so he takes 'em off. And when I'm sure he isn't hurt, I taketo laughing myself. Honest, I haven't seen such a funny spill since Ican remember. Talk about innocence abroad! The way Ronnie has gone downthe hill, so sure he has known all he needed to know about skiing!
"So you're laughing at my boy, eh?" says a big voice behind us.
Wow! We just about freeze in our tracks! As we turn around, there's Mr.Turner, so mad he can hardly see straight. How long he's been standingt
here, we don't know, but it's probably been plenty long enough. Andnow we're going to catch it!
"My wife thought something was up," says the man who owns the hill, "soshe phoned me and I came home. This is what you do behind my back, isit?"
"It was your son's idea," explains Tommy, who's scared green. "Hewanted us to teach him how to ski...."
"So this is the way you do it--start him down this big hill?"
"I told him he'd better not try it," says I.
"When I want my son to know anything, I'll teach him!" booms Mr.Turner. "You boys aren't going to make a laughing stock of him! I usedto ski when I was a boy and I...."
"_You?_" Mack exclaims, unbelievingly.
"Yes, _me_!" thunders Mr. Turner. "And Ronald could do what I used todo with a little practice. Loan me those skis, young man, and I'll showyou a thing or two!"
Mack, open-mouthed, passes his skis over. Ronnie, meanwhile, isstruggling to get back up the hill. He can't make it on skis and is insnow up to his waist. His dad kneels down and slips his feet into thestraps as we gaze at him, darn near paralyzed. What can we say? Mr.Turner is boiling mad ... so mad that he gets one ski on backward. Hekicks it off and turns it around.
"Excuse me, Mr. Turner," breaks in Tommy, "but hadn't you better comeback here on the hill? Don't put your skis on while you're on theslope. You might start off before you're ready. You know, skis don'thave any brakes...!"
"Are you telling me something about skis, young man?" is Mr. Turner'srejoinder.
"I'm trying to," replies Tommy, backing off, "but I guess it doesn'tmatter much. You'll find out soon enough."
Mr. Turner glowers.
"Careful, Dad!" cries Ronnie, who comes panting up the hill. "It's notso easy as it looks!"
"Stand back, son!" orders Mr. Turner, and stands up suddenly. Theincline starts him moving and off he goes--before he's ready.
"Dad!" yells Ronnie, but there's none of us near enough to catch him.
Mr. Turner gives one anxious glance behind him, and almost falls overbackwards as he swoops downward. What's worse--he hasn't had a chanceto steer himself and he shoots off the straight-away at once, goingmore and more to the left.
"He's heading for the creek!" we all cry. "Sit down, Mr. Turner! Sitdown!"
When you sit down it helps slow you up and you can usually manage tostop although you may roll over a few times. But it's better thanrunning into something by a whole lot.
"Maybe he'll jump the creek!" speculates Mack. "It's only about fifteenfeet across!"
"I don't think my Dad was ever on skis before!" says Ronnie, worriedly."He thinks anything a boy does is easy."
We groan at this, though I'm willing to believe that Mr. Turner has hadsome experience with skis which he hasn't thought worth mentioninguntil this moment. It's even steeper down the left side of the hillthan it is down the center where we've made our course, and Mr. Turneris going like the wind when he gets to the bottom. We can tell that hesees the creek and is trying to figure out how he can avoid it. Hetries to move his skis to the side and make a turn but nearly upsets.Thirty feet from the creek he lifts one ski off the snow anddesperately attempts to swing sidewise. Instead he criss-crosses hisskis, tangles up his legs, sits down with a smack, and goes slidingright on, clawing and scraping until he clears the bank of the creekand sails out over the water to land ker-splash in the middle.
"Oh, boy--and is that water cold!" shivers Mack.
"He sure showed us something!" murmurs Tommy.
Say--if we were to be tanned the next minute we can't help screaming atthis. It's twice as funny as Ronnie's high dive what with Mr. Turnersitting in the creek, with the water up to his neck and one ski stillclamped to his foot. He doesn't stay there long, though. He floundersabout till he can stand up and wades ashore, climbing up into the snowwhich must feel warm to him in comparison to the icy water.
"Ha, ha, ha!" laughs Ronnie. "Dad didn't do as well as I did, did he?"
Man, oh man! Is _this_ a surprise? Here we've just begun to feel badfor laughing outright at Ronnie's father and Ronnie busts a ribhimself. That makes us feel better ... but Mr. Turner's coming up thehill, leaving the skis behind, so mad the water almost turns to steamon him.
"We'd better beat it!" advises Mack.
"No, fellows! Stay here!" pleads Ronnie.
"We've got to stick!" I orders. "We can't run out on Ronnie now!"
So we stand our ground, expecting to get our heads taken off the minuteMr. Turner gets to us. He's a sorry looking sight as he clambers up thehill, falling down a couple times in the snow when he loses hisfooting. Mr. Turner's hanging onto his dignity, though, for dear life... trying his darnedest to preserve it. He's been humiliated in theeyes of his son and before a bunch of fellows who've come from the besthomes in town, if I do say it. But all I can think of is what my Dadtold me about doing business with Mr. Turner, in warning me not to makehim sore. And now I've gone and done it!
"Gee, Dad!" says Ronnie, when Mr. Turner, puffing hard and teethchattering, reaches the top of the hill. "If you knew how funny youlooked!"
"I'm c-c-cold!" answers Mr. Turner. "This is no l-l-laughingm-m-matter! You b-b-boys had no b-b-business...."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Turner," I apologizes, thinking of my father and hopingto straighten things out.
"S-s-sorry, n-n-nothing!" stammers Mr. Turner. "You'll b-b-bet-t-telling this all over t-t-town...!"
"Sure they will," says Ronnie. "It's too good to keep."
Mr. Turner glares furiously. "W-w-when I w-w-want your opinion, son,I'll ask f-for it!" he returns.
Have you ever been so nervous that you can't keep your face straighteven when you're scared? That's the way we feel and we commence tosnicker again, one fellow starting off the others. It's some comicalsight, Mr. Turner, shaking like a wet rag on a clothesline.
"I've g-g-got to be g-g-getting to the h-h-house," he says. "B-b-boys,p-p-please d-d-don't s-s-say anything about this! K-k-keep m-m-mum!"
It's so funny to hear Mr. Turner trying to talk that Mack laughs rightout.
"Maybe," suggests Ronnie, taking his father's arm, "if you'd let theboys use the hill...?"
"Yes!" takes up Mr. Turner, giving us an appealing glance. "If I'lll-l-let you use this h-h-hill for a s-s-slide, w-w-will you b-b-boyskeep this quiet?"
We look at one another and are we happy? There's a nodding of heads andI says: "That's a bargain, Mr. Turner! Nobody hears about this if wecan play on the hill!"
"M-m-my w-w-word is my b-b-bond," says Ronnie's Dad. "C-c-come on,Ronald, b-b-before I s-s-suffer from exposure!"
"Goodbye, fellows!" calls Ronnie, and winks. "I'll be seeing you soon!"
"Goodbye, Ronnie!" we shout after him, deciding right then and therethat he's a regular guy in the making.
That night, when my Dad finds where I've been he says, "How come?" andmy answer is: "Oh, Mr. Turner just decided, if he didn't let us use thehill, that everybody in town would think he was all _wet_...."
"I don't quite understand," my Dad replies, but that's nothing--becauseno one, outside of our bunch, understands to this day.
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YOUNG FRANKLIN ROOSEVELT By WAYNE WHIPPLE
A story to fascinate boys and girls of today must be realistic andtrue. Mr. Whipple was so eminently capable of writing this interestingnarrative of our president because he is personally acquainted with thefamily, and has visited the White House on many occasions.
The story, although it deals with facts, is so worked up as to insureits being extremely interesting not only to children but to grown-upsas well.
Other Books in This Series Are:
Young George Washington Young Benjamin Franklin Young Abraham Lincoln
* * *
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THE STORY OF YOUNG BENJAMIN FRANKLIN By WAYNE WHIPPLE
This story of the mischievous Philadelphia boy who became one of thegreatest statesmen of his time is so vividly written that the readercannot help feeling well acquainted with the versatile BenjaminFranklin, his family and friends, and the stirring events in which hewas involved.
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ALWAYS UP TO SOMETHING By HAROLD M. SHERMAN
Have you ever heard a boy laugh while reading? I'm sure you haven'tuntil you hear some youngster laughing at the harmless pranks he isgoing to read about in these books!
Remember the old "Best Seller" PECK'S BAD BOY? We sincerely believethat these two new books in the FUN LOVING GANG series will equal andperhaps surpass the record of those old books.
Harold Sherman is particularly adapted to write this type of story, andwhen we gave him the assignment, he just cut loose and gave us his twobest!
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TOM SAWYER By SAMUEL L. CLEMENS
A masterpiece for boys and girls between the ages of six and sixty. Itis so loved by parents that they will certainly want their own boys andgirls to read it, and we strongly urge your having this book properlydisplayed at all times.
THE GOLDSMITH PUBLISHING CO. CHICAGO