“Ter-night!” exclaimed the ancient mariner, “you’re a-goin’ ter come sky-hootin’ down that hill in the black night, boy? Stand by.”
“Not in the black night, exactly,” laughed Rob, amused at the old man’s bewilderment; “you see, this was decided on some days ago, and they’ve got incandescents rigged up on both sides of the course. It’s going to be a pretty sight, and there’ll be a big crowd out to see it.”
“Reckon I’ll have to stay over then,” snorted the captain. “When I was a boy we thought bob-sledding was good enough, without havin’ races atween port and starboard craft, with patent steerers, and more opportunities to break your neck than you can shake a stick at.”
“Oh, it’s not as bad as that,” Rob assured him. “It’s safe enough if the fellows are careful, and they all are, and besides that, they all know how to handle a big sled, and that’s a whole lot.”
“Reckon so,” agreed the captain. “Wal, I’ve got to trim my sails and get afore the wind. I’m setting my course for the post office.”
“I’m going that way, too,” said Rob; “I’ll walk with you.”
Together they set off up the street, which was filled with men and boys, all discussing the forthcoming bob-sled races. The regular population of Hampton was already augmented by rooters from other towns, and the afternoon trains would bring in more. In front of the post office Rob met Tubby Hopkins, Merritt Crawford, Paul Perkins and Hiram Nelson. They were to form the team of the “Eagle,” as the Boy Scout’s sled had been named.
Several other boys had their tobogganing sleds in front of the post office, which appeared to be quite a gathering place for the prospective contestants. Among them were Jack Curtiss and his team. The former bully of the Hampton Academy sneered as the boys came up, but made no other sign of hostility.
The “Eagle” was painted a bright red with gilt trimmings, and looked very handsome. Several in the crowd were making admiring comments on her as Rob approached. Jack Curtiss’ sled, too, came in for a lot of attention. It fairly glistened with paint and varnish, and being a store-made affair was naturally better finished off than the Boy Scouts’ craft.
“Curtiss and his bunch will win the cup, hands down,” a man was saying, as the Boy Scouts moved off on their way to the hill, where already several boys were practicing.