“It is possible!” murmured Grant.
CHAPTER XIII.
A BOND OF SYMPATHY.
With their assistance and advice, Rod finally found himself making some progress at learning to skate. Slow progress it seemed, indeed, yet he was genuinely elated when he finally found himself able to stand on the irons and stroke a little in an awkward way; for this was the promise of better things to come, and, despite black-and-blue spots and wearied, wobbly ankles, he was determined to acquire skill at that winter pastime which all the boys seemed to enjoy. At intervals, having labored back to the shore, he sat down to rest, watching his two companions skimming hither and thither over the surface of the frozen cove. Once they joined him.
“Pegged out?” questioned Spotty kindly.
“Not a bit of it,” replied Rod, with a touch of pride. “I’ve busted bronchos in my day, and learning to skate is a parlor pastime compared with that job. I’m going at it again directly.”
“You’ll learn all right,” assured Lander. “Every feller gets his bumps when he first tries it. Boo! it’s cold to-night. Wish we had a nip of something to warm us up.”
“Hot coffee wouldn’t be bad,” said Rod.
“Coffee!” laughed Bunk derisively. “I’d like something stronger than that, but you can’t get much of anything around this old town. Tell you what, I know where to find some slick old cider, and that would be better than nothing. ’Tain’t so easy to get it, though. My grandfather put it up, and he’s got it bottled and stowed away in his cellar. Guards it like a hawk, too.”