Up the ascent the sled plunged on its way, then down the hillside on the farther side, then up again on its way to the last of the rises in the ground before they approached the school buildings.
But the upward movement now began to tell even on the swiftly flying bob and its speed visibly slackened. Slowly and still more slowly it moved, and when at last it had gained the high ground on which West Hall stood it came to a standstill.
With a heavy sigh the boys leaped off and stood together facing Jack, who was holding the ropes by which he had steered, in his hand.
"Whew!" said Jack enthusiastically. "That's what I call coasting, fellows!"
"Coasting!" said Ward. "That isn't any name for it. That's flying, that's what it is--just flying. I feel as if we'd been shot through the air and didn't, even touch the ground. I say, Jack, I've got a name for your bob."
"What is it?"
"'The Arrow.' ,'Swift as an arrow cleaves the air,' you know. You can't improve on that name if you try ten years. Call her 'The Arrow,' Jack."
"All right," said Jack laughingly in reply. "'The Arrow' it is then. I'll have her all painted up in colors in a day or two. Come on, fellows, and we'll try it again."
The boys turned to follow Jack up West Hill again; but no one spoke for a time, as the excitement following the swift ride had not yet disappeared.
Ward was walking by Jack's side assisting in dragging the sled, and when they were half-way up the hillside they quickly called to their companions to "look out," and then swiftly darted to one side of the road drawing the long sled with them. Just before them they could see the other bob coming swiftly on its way, and as it swept past them they discovered that Tim Pickard was steering it. Doubtless it was his bob, and the party consisted of his boon companions.