It’s about a mile across town to Pierson’s Hill from where we are but that mile disappears in a little over five minutes. Just goes to show how crazy we were about coasting.
“Say, guys, the hill’s in great shape!” calls Pete, who’s beaten us by half a block. “She’s iced!”
Sure enough! There’s walls of snow on both sides the road but the tracks in the center are worn down and frozen where farmer Durgan has driven his heavy sled into town and back. We start climbing the hill, smoothing out a few rough places as we go. It isn’t long before we come in sight of Crabby’s house, setting up there on the bend.
“See,” points out Rod, “he’s gone all right. The blinds are all down.”
“Boy, oh boy!” chuckled Dill. “I’m not wishing his sister any bad luck but...!”
And then we come close to the bend and all the fellows let out a holler at once as they caught a glimpse of the hill.
“Well, what do you know about this?”
“The old skinflint!”
“Sand!”