“Aim for that embankment across the Pike,” points out Mack. “See if you can beat my mark.”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that first off,” returns Ronnie, modestly. “I’d be satisfied if I could tie it. I imagine my momentum will be about the same so I should travel about as far.”
“There’s no doubt about it—you’ll travel!” assures Tommy.
“If this works out all right,” says Ronnie, “I’ll have my Dad see me do it and maybe he’ll change his mind about letting you fellows use the hill. Of course he mustn’t know that you’ve taught me. He’s to think that all these tracks are mine.”
“Ronnie,” says I, “my hat’s off to you. You’re a regular sport. And what’s more—I admire your nerve.”
“Oh, this doesn’t take nerve,” disparages Ronnie. “It just takes skill.”
“Well, have it your own way,” says Mack, and we all stand around to watch the take-off.
“Feet together,” I directs, feeling shaky inside. “Lean forward a little more. That’s it!”
“Goodbye, fellows!” calls Ronnie, as he moves toward the spot where the hill slopes down, eyes glued ahead.
“Goodbye!” we shout.