“Good idea!” declared Biff. “I’d like to meet the old chap.”
Chet said nothing. He was already struggling into his coat. The prospect of a jaunt in the ice-boats appealed to the boys strongly, for it was a bright, sunny morning and the air was keen.
In a short time, the lads were ready, and went scrambling down the slope toward the little cove where the ice-boats were sheltered. Chet, who was anxious to learn how to manage the craft, seated himself at the tiller of Biff’s boat.
“Guess I’d better take out some insurance, if you’re going to steer,” said Biff.
“Don’t worry about me, my lad,” Chet advised. “Hang on to your cap, for you’re in for a swift ride, with plenty of fancy twists and curves.”
The Hardy boys got into their own boat, the sails flapped in the wind, then filled out, and the boats sped out of the cove into the open bay.
Chet soon found that steering was not the simple thing it had seemed. He was in difficulties before he was more than a few hundred yards away from the island. Then, essaying a sharp turn, he almost upset the boat.
Frank and Joe could see Biff remonstrating with him, but Chet evidently refused to give up the tiller.
“He means to learn how!” laughed Frank. “I’ll bet Biff is sweating. He’s afraid Chet will wreck the boat.”
“I’m just as glad I’m not riding with them, myself,” returned Joe.