“Well, we might as well go down,” remarked Frank, as he took his place. There was a moment’s wait, while their bob filled, the same three pretty girls taking their places. Then they were off, Sid ringing the bell vigorously.
Hardly had they started, however, almost in the wake of Burton’s sled, than Frank gave a cry of alarm.
“What is it?” shouted Tom, getting ready to jam on the brake. “Steering wheel busted?”
“No, but look!” cried Frank. “That chump Burton is headed right for the hollow cut-off! He’ll never make it at that speed, and there’ll be a spill!”
For a moment there was a silence, broken only by the scraping of the runners on the hard snow. Then Frank yelled:
“Keep to the right! Keep to the right, Burton! You can’t make that turn!”
But Burton either did not hear or did not heed. Straight for the perilous cut-off he steered, and then, as the girls saw their danger, they cried shrilly. But it was too late to turn aside now, and Tom and his chums, coming on like the wind behind the new bob, wondered what would happen, and if there was any way of preventing the accident that seemed almost sure to take place.