Altogether, it had been one of the greatest days and nights that Rally Hall had ever known. Fred had won his spurs and established his footing firmly in the school. He had been popular from the first in his own dormitory, but now he was known and liked by all the boys at the Hall.
Except, of course, by Andy Shanks, Sid Wilton, and a few of their stripe. Andy, if possible, hated him now worse than ever. It had been gall and wormwood for him when Fred had made the touchdown.
He, himself, had had an ambition to play on the team. He was big and heavy enough for a place in the line. But he was stupid in getting the signals and slow in running down under kicks. Besides, he was a trouble maker on the team, disobeying the captain and quarreling with the other members. They had tried him for a while, but he was of no use, and both Granger and Professor Raymond had ruled him out.
So that he was doubly angered at Fred for having made a brilliant success where he had scored a dismal failure. He had hoped to put Fred in bad repute with the boys by giving him a beating. But since that day on the campus when Fred had defied him and dared him to come on, he had lost all ambition in that direction.
But he was more determined than ever to crush him by hook or by crook, and he cudgeled his slow brain to find a way that would be safe for himself and disastrous to Fred.
As the weeks went by, however, and nothing occurred to him, he began almost to despair.
But the Evil One is said to “look after his own,” and as the Christmas holidays drew nearer, Andy had an inspiration.
The winter weather set in unusually early, and the air was sharp and stinging. A score or more of the boys were down in the gymnasium, chinning the bar and swinging in the rings.
“If this kind of weather keeps up,” said Melvin, “it won’t be long before we have skating. There’s ice forming on the lake now, down near the edges.”
“Over the ice-bound lake we fly,
Swift as the wind and free,”