“There’s a hundred tricks,” Jonas told him. “Every birler has his own pet twists and turns and stops. Why I’ve seen my old man spend hours studying a log before a big match.”
“What for?” Sandy said. “They all look pretty much the same to me.”
“Logs are as different as fingerprints. Pine logs are lighter than spruce, for example, and roll much faster. Cedar logs ride higher in the water. Thin bark is a different proposition than thick spongy bark—” He broke off as the two birlers both sent the log spinning madly in the water. “Here now, watch old Charley go to town.”
Faster and faster the log spun; then with a display of skill that set Jonas to clapping his hands, Charley braked the spin and sent the log twirling in the opposite direction before poor Pete could shift his feet. He flipped over backward into the pond with a loud splash.
The boys joined in the round of applause for Charley, as Pete surfaced and good-naturedly shoved the log in to shore, so the winner wouldn’t get his feet wet.
“I’m out of practice,” Pete puffed, as he waded in, dripping wet.
“No excuses,” Jonas laughed. “Anyway, that saves you taking a bath tonight.”
He turned to Jerry. “Still think it’s easy, young fellow?”
“Well-l-l,” Jerry drawled, “I think with a little practice I could do it.”
“No time like the present,” Jonas declared. “How about it, Sandy? You game to take your pal on?”