“Everybody out to shovel,” said the driver, snapping off the engine to save fuel.
The boys hurried out into the cold and the girls huddled closer to each other. Margie and Cora, thinly clad for such a night, beat their arms almost steadily and stamped their feet in rhythmic cadence.
Janet and Helen, heavily clothed, were still warm although the cold crept through their gloves to some extent.
“I wonder how cold it is?” asked Helen.
“I haven’t any idea, but it feels like it was almost zero. Let’s not think about it.”
“Try not to think about it,” retorted Helen, and Janet admitted that her companion was right. There was nothing to think about except the cold and the snow. Of course there was the class play, but marooned in the middle of Little Deer valley with a howling blizzard raging was no time to think of class plays.
The driver came back and stepped on the starter. The motor was slow in turning over. It must be bitterly cold, thought Janet. Finally the engine started and they plowed ahead a few feet, then finally churned to a stop.
Outside the shovels clanged against the steel sides of the bus as the boys dug into the snow again. It was chilling, numbing work out there and Jim Barron tumbled through the door to stand up in front and beat his arms steadily. When he went out, Ed Rickey came in and the boys alternated.
Margie whimpered in the cold and Janet felt sorry for her.
“My coat’s large. I’ll come up and sit with you and Cora can come back here with Helen,” said Janet.