One day some men he knew at the hotel said he tobogganed so well that they would take him with them on a real, proper toboggan run, all made of ice, called the Dimson Run. Harry was delighted. Tobogganing, here, really was some sport, and rather dangerous too, for the run was very steep, and you went at a tremendous rate. Though he was the youngest rider on the run, he won a silver cup in one of the races!
III
It was during Harry’s last week at St. Moritz that a great adventure befell him.
His best pal at the Kulm Hotel was his uncle, a very cheery young man, much admired by everyone, for he was the champion of the Cresta Run—the greatest toboggan run in the world. Tobogganing on the Cresta is serious work. Not very many people belong to the Cresta Club, and are allowed to do it. The run is wonderfully made. It is nearly a mile long, and full of dips and twists and turns. It is all made of the smoothest, most shining ice; and the riders, lying face downwards on their heavy, steel toboggans, go down at the speed of an express train. The smallest mistake in leaning the wrong way, or taking a corner too fast, and they would be thrown over the banks, and perhaps killed! To round the corners at such a high speed they have to run round right up on the curved wall of ice, which is made the right shape on purpose. These corners are given different names. The two biggest banks, on a part of the run which looks like a big “S,” are called “Battledore” and “Shuttlecock,” because the rider seems to be thrown across from one bank to the other, rather like a shuttlecock in the game. If they are not very careful, “Battledore” throws them right out over the side, and they fall down about twelve feet into a pile of snow! There are very exciting races on the Cresta. The biggest one is called the Grand National. Crowds and crowds of people come to watch it, and the winner is quite a hero.
When Harry was not tobogganing himself on the smaller runs, his great delight was to come and watch Uncle Hugh practising. He would watch him pass like a flash, his runners making a roaring sound on the ice. Then he would ask the timekeeper how many seconds Uncle Hugh had taken—for each rider is “timed” each time he goes down, to the tenth of a second—and he would run down and tell Uncle Hugh his time (fifty-nine seconds, perhaps), and walk up with him, while an old Italian followed behind, pulling up his “bus” as he called his toboggan.
At last the great day of the Grand National had come. Harry, standing in a huge crowd, watched the different riders tear past. Oh, how he hoped Uncle Hugh would win! The riders had to go down three times. Each time one got to the bottom a man with a megaphone (or speaking trumpet) called out his time. They had all gone down three times, and the great moment came for the winner to be called out. Harry’s heart beat fast. Hooray! It was Uncle Hugh. He felt very proud to be the nephew of the hero; and he rushed down the snowy path to meet him. It was then that he suddenly felt quite sure that if only he were allowed to, he could ride the Cresta!
That evening, in the hotel, he asked Uncle Hugh if he would get leave for him to go down just once. Hugh laughed kindly.
“You’re too young, kid,” he said. “Why you’re only twelve! It’s not very easy, you know. You’d probably have a bad crash and kill yourself.”
Some people standing near had heard. They burst out laughing.
“Do you hear that?” said one of the ladies, “Harry thinks he can ride the Cresta on the strength of his uncle having won the Grand National!”