“That’s all right; I’m not standing up for him. Say, Rod, old feller, you’re coming fine. You were falling all over yourself a while ago, but now you can get around pretty well. It won’t take you long to skate first-class.”
“Thanks for the encouragement,” laughed Grant.
“Come out here with us to-morrow night,” urged Spotty, “and we’ll give you another lesson.”
“Sure thing,” agreed Bunk.
“I’ll do it,” promised Rod.
CHAPTER XIV.
A NARROW ESCAPE.
The following morning, not a little to his wonderment, Rod found his legs were lame and his ankles a trifle stiff. Being a fellow of active temperament and athletic mold, and having ridden the range and punched cows, it vexed him to find his efforts at skating, having lasted less than two hours, should have done him up to such an extent.
“I must be getting soft,” he muttered, as, following a sponge bath, he rubbed himself down and massaged the sore muscles of his legs. “I’ll slump out of any sort of condition if I don’t look out.”