“Let’s talk about something on the way up,” said Lanny. “It—it’ll sound as though we weren’t scared.”
“Talk about me,” chirped up Kid pertly. “I’m awfully interesting.”
“Talk about the skating races Saturday,” said Lanny. “There’s a race for juniors, you know. Who’s going in for it?”
With that Bert opened the door and the four crossed the hall with a bit of a swagger and mounted the stairs, talking volubly but very much at random.
“It’s a quarter of a mile,” said Lanny, “and I think that’s too short, don’t you?”
“I must have my skates ground,” said Kid.
“Why don’t they have a handicap race?” asked Bert.
“The mile is sure to go to Ben,” said Small. “He’s a peach of a skater.” Small’s voice was unnecessarily loud and Bert turned to him with a frown.
“Quit swiping, Frye,” he hissed, adding in an equally penetrating voice: “I shouldn’t think Holden could skate much; he looks so awkward.”