Of a sudden the seven victims were blindfolded. Several protested weakly, but the others kept silent, for they knew it would do no good to attempt to hold back; indeed, it might make matters worse. Yet nobody in that crowd wanted a ducking, for the water was cold, and they were quite a distance from the school.
Some narrow stairs led to the upper portion of the ice-houses, and blindfolded as they were, the victims were forced to mount these and were then taken to a room in the back of one of the buildings.
"Now for Number One!" sang out Buster, and one of the victims was rushed forward to a slide.
"Hope you can swim, Carson!" said one of the hazers.
"The water isn't over ten feet deep," said another.
"Swim hard and then you won't take cold," added a third.
"If you find yourself really drowning, yell for help," put in a fourth.
"I—er—I don't think this is quite fair——" commenced poor Carson, and then he was tripped flat on his back and sent downward with a plunge. "Oh!" he screamed, and then continued to go down, with great rapidity, for the slide had been looked over by the boys, and made as smooth as possible. He shut his mouth tightly, expecting every instant to strike the chilling waters, but of a sudden his feet struck a heap of sawdust, and into this he slid up to his knees. Then eager hands seized him, and the bandage was torn from his eyes. In the semi-darkness he saw that he had not come down the slide over the water, but down another, which ended in the sawdust pit of the ice-house. He looked decidedly sheepish.
"Have a fine swim, Carson?" asked one of his tormentors.
"What a sell!" muttered the victim. "But anyway, it's better than the river!" he added, with much satisfaction.