Ben made a feeble effort, swayed, clung to Bert and shook his head.
“All right, then,” said Bert. “We’ll make this a rescue race and I’ll slide you back.” He laughed and Ben tried to smile.
“N-n-no, wait a m-m-minute,” said Ben. “I’ll b-b-be all right. It’s m-m-my legs, Bryant; they’re like ice.”
“Stamp around, Ben! Stretch them. That’s it. Better? Now see if you can’t skate.”
Ben tried and succeeded in getting started. Very slowly they made the turn around the end of the island and started back. But every movement helped and soon Ben’s blood was stirring again in his chilled body and the color began to creep back into his cheeks.
“That was a fool thing to do,” he said. “But I thought the ice was thick enough to hold anyone. Gee, if you hadn’t been there I’d—I’d been frozen by this time! I could keep afloat all right, but the water was awful!”
“Skate faster,” said Bert, “and don’t talk.”
By the time the starting line was in sight Ben was making good time and to the spectators it looked as though they were to see a wonderfully close finish, for the two boys were side by side. There had been some uneasiness because of the delay and the watchers breathed sighs of relief when the two skaters came into sight again. Caps waved and voices urged them on.
“Come on, Ben! Hit it up! You aren’t half skating!”