“Yes. If you go, I could give you some letters of introduction to a lot of fellows who would show you some sport, that is, if you care for snow-shoeing, toboganning, and the like of that.”
“I never went in much for athletics,” said Staples.
“I don’t care much for exertion myself,” answered Brown. “I come up here every winter for some ice-yachting. That’s my idea of sport. I own one of the fastest ice-boats on the bay. Ever been out?”
“No, I haven’t. I’ve seen them at it a good deal. Pretty cold work such weather as we’ve been having, isn’t it?”
“I don’t think so. Better come out with me tomorrow?”
“Well, I don’t care if I do.”
The next day and the next they spun around the bay on the ice-boat. Even Staples, who seemed to be tired of almost everything, liked the swiftness and exhilaration of the iceboat.
One afternoon, Brown walked into the bar of the hotel, where he found Staples standing.
“See here, Armstrong.” he cried, slapping that gentleman on the shoulder. “Are you in for a bit of sport? It’s a nice moonlight night, and I’m going to take a spin down to Hamilton to meet some chaps, and we can come back on the iceboat, or if you think it too late, you can stay over, and come back on the train.”
“Hamilton? That’s up the lake, isn’t it?”