“Some crowd on the hill,” observed Tom. “I told you there’d be sport.”
“Right you are, my hearty,” agreed Phil. “Whew! I should say there was a mob!” for by this time they had come out on top of the long slope that led down the country road, forming the coasting place, known as Ridge Hill.
While most of the crowd consisted of students from Randall College, there were not a few lads and girls from the neighboring town of Haddonfield, and the shrill voices of the lassies and the hoarser shouts of the boys, mingled musically that moonlit night. The clang of bells on the bobs was constant.
“Come on now, get ready!” called Tom. “Let’s take a crowd down.”
“Who’s going to steer?” asked Phil.
“Let Frank,” advised Sid. “He’s got the most muscle, and he needs exercise.”
“I like your nerve,” retorted the Big Californian. But he took his place at the steering wheel, while Tom got on the rear to work the brake, and Sid acted as bell-ringer.
“Get aboard!” invited Tom, and several of his friends among the students piled on.
“May we have a ride?” asked three pretty girls from the town. None of our friends knew them, but it was a common custom to give all a ride for whom there was room, introductions being dispensed with.
“Pile on!” invited Tom.