Sandy grinned. “Sure thing. I don’t care if I do fall in. It’s so darned hot.”
Jonas brought the log in closer to the bank and braced it with his pole. “Okay, boys, climb aboard.”
Sandy bowed with a flourish to the dark-haired boy. “After you, my dear Alphonse.”
Stepping out on the log as cautiously as a tightrope walker on the high wire, Jerry planted his feet firmly, crouching very low.
“Why don’t you sit down and straddle it,” Quiz heckled him.
“No remarks from the gallery,” Jerry grunted. “I’m just getting the feel of it.”
Sandy took his place a trifle more confidently, and Jonas shoved the log into the middle of the pond. Jerry tottered and flailed his arms wildly in the air as the log started to roll beneath him.
“Hey, cut that out! We didn’t get the signal to start yet,” he protested to Sandy.
“I’m not doing a thing.” Sandy was concentrating on keeping his feet moving rhythmically with the motion of the log. In spite of his efforts to slow it down, it kept picking up momentum, largely because of Jerry’s frenzied footwork.
On shore, Quiz, Russ Steele and the loggers were doubled up with laughter. Jonas gasped, “He looks like a clown I saw at a circus running on a treadmill with a dog hanging onto the seat of his pants.”