Chet, plump and good-natured, his round face red with cold and shining like a full moon, kicked up his heels in ecstasy and nearly went overboard as the boat swerved to avoid an ice hummock ahead.
“This is real speed!” he declared, scrambling back to safety. “No traffic cops out here, either.”
“Glad to-morrow is Saturday,” said Frank. “We can spend the whole day out here.”
“And the holidays!” exclaimed Joe. “Don’t forget the Christmas holidays. Only another week.”
“I’m glad you reminded me,” Chet called out. “I had clean forgotten about them.”
The others laughed. In his desk at school, Chet had a small calendar, and as each day passed he carefully stroked out the date and hopefully counted the days that remained before vacation.
“What say we go camping when the holidays come?” he suggested.
“Camping!” Frank exclaimed. “Camping is for summer time.”
“Just as much fun in winter. There are lots of shacks and cottages along shore. We could rent one for a couple of weeks. One with a fireplace and a stove. With lots of firewood and blankets and grub we’d be as comfortable as we could wish—and think of the fun we’d have ice-boating.”
“Say, that’s a mighty good idea,” ventured Joe. “Sometimes you do use your head for something besides putting your hat on it. What do you think, Frank?”