Reed Markham’s entry in the ski jumping contest proved the biggest sensation in the history of the school. Students just couldn’t bring themselves to believe it although reports, the last week prior to the Annual Winter Carnival, told of Reed’s going down the slide. While none of the school fellows were eye witnesses, some of the townspeople had paused in their day’s occupations to watch Coach Turner and his lone pupil. They had seen the pupil take three successive tumbles—two at the take-off. “Nasty spills,” as one townsman had characterized it. “If I’d taken any one of ’em I’d have stacked my skis and called it quits. But this kid picks himself up and crawls back up the hill to begin all over again. He listens pretty close to what his Coach has to say and watches this man Turner take a couple of jumps. Then down he goes again. You say he’s a Southerner and he’s been practicing skiing less than a month? Well, you’d never know it!”
Sam Hartley, meeting Reed after his name had been posted on the bulletin board as a competitor in the feature event, could not resist a crack. He noticed as he spoke that Reed was limping.
“Well, so you took my tip and tried out jumping? How’d you like it?”
“Nothing much to it,” was Reed’s laconic reply.
His superior way again.
“What do you mean, there’s nothing much to it?” rejoined Sam, a bit peeved.
“Not after gliding,” Reed explained, “it’s rather tame.”
“Gliding?” repeated a crowd of interested fellows. “Where did you ever do gliding?”
“Where do you suppose?” Reed asked, his soft eyes burning.
Later, through Coach Turner, who had gained a degree of Reed’s confidence, astounded Seldon Prep schoolmates learned that this quiet mannered, self-effacing youth, had won the Southern States Gliding Contest with a flight of six hours and fourteen minutes ... and with a glider he had built himself. Sam Hartley, when he heard this, spent some uncomfortable moments running a finger underneath a tight collar band.