Ezra did not slide as far as Ephraim had done. Ephraim watched anxiously lest he should. “That sled of yours ain't no good,” he panted, when Ezra had stopped several yards from where he stood.
“Guess it ain't quite so fast as yours,” admitted Ezra. “That's your brother's, ain't it?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that sled can't be beat in town. Mine's 'bout as good as any, 'cept that. I've always heard my brother say that your brother's sled was the best one he ever see.”
Ephraim stood looking at his brother's old battered but distinguished sled as if it had been a blood-horse. “Guess it can't be beat,” he chuckled.
“No sir, it can't,” said Ezra. He started off past Ephraim down the road, with his sled trailing at his heels.
“Hullo!” called Ephraim, “ain't you goin' up again?”
“Can't, got to go home.”
“Less try it jest once more, an' see if you can't go further.”
“No, I can't, nohow. Mother won't like it as 'tis.”