“I told him he’d better not try it,” says I.
“When I want my son to know anything, I’ll teach him!” booms Mr. Turner. “You boys aren’t going to make a laughing stock of him! I used to ski when I was a boy and I....”
“You?” Mack exclaims, unbelievingly.
“Yes, me!” thunders Mr. Turner. “And Ronald could do what I used to do with a little practice. Loan me those skis, young man, and I’ll show you a thing or two!”
Mack, open-mouthed, passes his skis over. Ronnie, meanwhile, is struggling to get back up the hill. He can’t make it on skis and is in snow up to his waist. His dad kneels down and slips his feet into the straps as we gaze at him, darn near paralyzed. What can we say? Mr. Turner is boiling mad ... so mad that he gets one ski on backward. He kicks it off and turns it around.
“Excuse me, Mr. Turner,” breaks in Tommy, “but hadn’t you better come back here on the hill? Don’t put your skis on while you’re on the slope. You might start off before you’re ready. You know, skis don’t have any brakes...!”
“Are you telling me something about skis, young man?” is Mr. Turner’s rejoinder.
“I’m trying to,” replies Tommy, backing off, “but I guess it doesn’t matter much. You’ll find out soon enough.”
Mr. Turner glowers.
“Careful, Dad!” cries Ronnie, who comes panting up the hill. “It’s not so easy as it looks!”