“And then use a microscope,” commented Tubby, in spite of Rob’s protests that they ought to use “fair play.”
As Rob had prophesied, Paul managed to build a new winged-sled, and despite an occasional flop, it proved to be a handy sort of contrivance, making short glides and alighting on its spring runners without more than almost dislocating the rider’s vertebrae. However, boy-like, the lads of Hampton regarded it as a wonderful invention, and lauded it to the skies, so much so, that a paragraph concerning “our ingenious young fellow townsman, Paul Perkins,” was inserted in an issue of the Hampton Local.
“Wouldn’t that make you sick,” sneered Jack Curtiss, when he saw the item. “Ingenious indeed—anybody could do things like that if they had a mind to.”
In this saying, Jack came as near to the truth as in anything he had uttered for a long time.
Jones’s Hill became alive now in the gloaming, and on moonlight nights, with sleds of all descriptions, from small, old-fashioned “foot-steerers” to the big, polished, nickel-trimmed, flexible-guiding store varieties. One thing the trials had shown, on comparison with previous records, and this was that the capture of the silver cup probably lay between the big toboggan of the Curtiss faction, and the six-seater manipulated by Rob and his chums.
“If there is no dark horse entered, Hampton gets the cup this year sure,” Rob declared one evening as the happy, tired boys began to retrace their steps to the village, after an evening of exciting practice.
“I don’t see much satisfaction in that if Curtiss and his crowd win it,” mumbled Tubby, which brought down upon his head another lecture from Rob, who, as should all good scouts, did not believe in harboring a grudge.
“Let the best team win,” he said; “that’s all we ask for—that, and fair play.”
On the evening of which we have spoken, Paul and his chums met at his house to discuss final plans for the race and talk over the advisability of showing off the paces of the winged-sled. In the midst of their talk, Rob got up from the table and started for the door with a plate containing sundry apple cores, the remains of the fruit which the deliberators had consumed as an aid to their counsels.
He had opened the portal and was about to chuck them out into the night when he suddenly paused and stood listening sharply. He thought—was sure, in fact—that he had heard a furtive footstep creep away from the house as he flung the door open.