“Is—is that the way you always steer?” asked Phil sarcastically, “or was this just a special method, invented for our amusement?”
“This is his regular way,” declared Tom, rubbing his elbows. “It must be.”
“I—er—I turned too short,” stammered Dutch. “I can do better next time. Let’s right the boat.”
“Don’t have any ‘next time,’” urged Frank. “Just sail straight away, if it’s all the same to you. Hold on there!” he cried as the boat showed an inclination to go off by herself. “Whoa!”
“That’s no way to talk to an ice boat,” insisted Sid. “You should say ‘Gee-haw!’”
“Say, I know how to manage her all right,” declared Dutch. “Come on now, get on, and we’ll go on up the river.”
Somewhat less confident of their friend’s ability than at first, the boys piled on, and once more they were off. For a time all went well. The ice was smooth and hard, and the breeze powerful enough to send them along at a kiting pace. Then, as they came opposite Fairview institute, Tom had an idea.
“Let’s take a chance, and call for the girls,” he said. “The ogress can’t do more than turn us down, and she may let them come out for a spin.”
“Come on,” agreed Phil and the others.
“Can you stop this shebang?” asked Frank, of Dutch.