When You Were a Boy

by Edwin L. Sabin

What a nuisance mothers are! Oh, dear, won’t supper ever be ready!

“Billy Lunt an’ Chub Thornbury’s got a bob. Let’s us make one,” proposed Hen.

“Let’s,” you agreed.

So, combining equipments, you and he proceeded, in emulation. The two sleds were connected by a board seven feet long, bolted as securely as possible to the rear sled, and fastened to the front one by a single bolt which acted as a pivot—and which, at a sudden jerk, would pull out, and throw the major portion of the bob upon its own resources.

However, the bob was a very good bob, and when cleverly shoved off and expertly steered gallantly maintained itself against all comers; even against Fat Day’s more aristocratic “boughten” bob, which, with its gay paint and varnish and rail “hand-holts,” was the pride of Fat’s heart and the apple of his stingy eye.

Hen steers (for steering is a science) and you shove off (for shoving off is an art). Between you two, pilot and captain of the craft, it packed, on occasion, an inconceivable number of passengers, with always room for one more.

“Gimme a ride. Lemme ride!” beseech friends.

“Aw, you can’t! There ain’t any room!”

“There is, too! I can get on, all right.”