“Oh, let her rip. What’s the difference whether we get killed here or farther up? Pull open the throttle, Carl!”
“Look out for your heads, then; I’m going to swing her across to the other side.”
Carl moved the tiller to starboard, and the yacht tacked toward the farther shore at a truly alarming speed.
“She’s going awful fast, Carl,” gasped Dick.
“Pshaw! this is nothing. If there was only a decent wind——”
“Wow, Carl, she’s keeling over!” yelled Trevor.
The starboard runner was a whole foot above the ice. The sensation was distinctly unpleasant, and even Carl seemed not to relish it.
“Let’s see,” he muttered. “Oh, yes.” He moved the tiller cautiously, and the flighty runner settled down upon the surface once more.
“That’s better,” gasped Dick. “Let’s turn here and go back, fellows,” he suggested with a fine semblance of carelessness. Carl grinned.