It sounds to me like we’re saying goodbye for a long time. There’s a sickening feeling comes in the pit of my stomach as Ronnie suddenly disappears over the brow of the hill and shoots down. Say—have you ever ridden in a roller coaster? Well—you zip down a steep hill on skis and tell me which gives you the biggest heart throb. In a coaster you can at least hold onto the rod and sit tight. On skis you’ve got to hold yourself just so or you may find yourself flying through space and landing hard enough to jar your wisdom teeth.
“So far, so good,” says Mack, when Ronnie’s half way down.
“I don’t care to look,” I rejoins, getting panicky. “I never should have let him gone!”
“He’s doing swell!” cries Tommy. “Oh—oh, no! He’s not doing so good now! He’s veering to the right. He’s off the course. He’s heading for the fence!”
“Good grief!” I exclaims, and takes a look. “Sit down, Ronnie!” I yells, making a megaphone of my hands. “Sit down—quick!”
But Ronnie doesn’t hear me. He’s too wrapped up in his own problem.
“Oh, my gosh!” gasps Eddie, “that tree!”
How Ronnie missed a big oak, I don’t know. He just shaves it and goes on, right through a clump of underbrush and down a steep grade toward the fence, his body weaving back and forth as he’s fighting to keep his balance.
“Look out!” I screams, and then it happens.
Ronnie hits the fence ker-smash and goes right on over, doing the niftiest frontward somersault you ever saw, and landing head first in a snow drift with only his skis sticking out. We’re all of us so petrified that we stand there a couple seconds, not knowing what to do or say. Then we see Ronnie’s feet kick and his head come out of the snow.