"Don't confound it with the icicle," put in the Bellows.
"Oh, I know what an icicle is," said Tom. "It's a spear of ice that hangs from a piazza roof."
"That's what it is at home," said the Poker, "but not here, my lad. Here an icicle is a bicycle with runners instead of wheels."
"But what makes it go?" demanded Tom.
"Pedals, of course," returned the Poker. "You just tread away on the pedals, as if you were riding on a bicycle, and the chain sets a dozen ice picks revolving that shove you over the ice like the wind. Oh, it's great sport!"
Another rush and roar of a passing toboggan caused them to pause in their conversation for a moment, and then Tom turned his attention to the diagram Righty had drawn on the snow.
"Suppose you didn't stop at B and go back—what would happen?" he asked as he considered the possible dangers of this wonderful new sport.
"You'd fall over the edge, of course," said the Poker.