“Oh, well, turn it on, like a good fellow, now that you’re up,” advised Tom.
“Well, I like your nerve!” ejaculated Frank with a laugh, but, good naturedly, he did as he was asked, and soon the radiator was thumping and pounding away, while the boys waited a few minutes longer before venturing out from under the warm covers.
“There’ll be skating all right!” declared Tom, as he breathed on the frosty window. “We’ll have a last glide on Sunny River. Who’s for a spin before breakfast?”
“Not for mine!” cried Phil, and none of the others showed an inclination to stroll out in the frosty air until necessary. Before chapel, however, several of the lads paid a visit to the stream, coming back with glowing reports of the smooth ice.
“A hockey game this afternoon!” cried Tom, after lectures, and scores of others agreed with him.
“Not until some of you blue-jays do your turn in the gym!” declared Kindlings and Holly Cross, who had constituted themselves a sort of coaching pair, pending the selection of a regular trainer for the track games.
Mr. Lighton, the professional coach was temporarily absent, and it was not known whether he would be back in time to take charge of the various squads or not.
“Do you mean to say you’re going to make us practice, when it may be the last chance for a skate?” asked Tom.
“I sure am,” replied Holly. “But we’ll cut it short. Come on now, fellows, no backing out. We got to the top of the heap at football and baseball, and we don’t want to slump on the track. Randall must be kept to the fore.”
“That’s right!” came the cry, and the lads piled off for the gymnasium, where they indulged in some hard practice.