Chapter XXIII: The Lure of the Steel Runners

The lecture was a huge success. Those who were fortunate enough to be present gave a vote of thanks to the committee that had been energetic enough to procure the services of the famous Arctic explorer without any cost to the association.

Even such restless fellows as Nat and Dit sat spellbound while the gentleman told of the wonderful things he had seen amidst the polar ice; and they held their breath with awe when he described the dangers he and his daring comrades had faced at the time they found themselves lost in the frozen wastes.

For several days afterwards it was a matter of congratulation among the boys belonging to the Junior Department that they were given an opportunity to hear such treats through the coming winter season.

Of course, there were other meetings, of a purely religious nature--meetings usually led by strong, vigorous Y. M. C. A. leaders who knew exactly how to talk to boys and influence them for good. These meetings were usually well attended, and often prompted some wayward lad to “get a grip on himself” as Harry Bartlett expressed it, and turn over a new leaf.

“It was a lucky thing for us Mr. Holwell thought up this scheme of his,” Leslie was saying on Saturday morning, as with several other fellows he shied stones on to the new ice that had formed over the big pond where the first skating was always done, to see if it was likely soon to bear a fellow’s weight.

So eager were the boys of Cliffwood to get on their skates that hardly a season went by without a number of minor casualties, when the thin ice gave way, and precipitated the daring leader into the pond.

Once, several years back, a boy had actually been drowned here, but that event was by degrees being forgotten, and some of the fellows once more began to evince the old-time rashness about taking chances.

“Hardly a day passes,” Andy Hale went on to say, “but what some new fellows tell me they are thinking of handing in their names, with the intention of joining the Boys’ Club.”

“First come, first served,” chimed in Peg Fosdick. “Our number has to be limited, because the house can’t hold a great many more than belong now. That’s what I tell everybody.”

“I’ve got a good notion to try that ice!” Fred Bonnicastle told them as he sat on a friendly log and commenced to fit his skates.

Possibly Fred was more passionately fond of skating than any fellow in Cliffwood. He would walk five miles willingly for a chance to spin around, and for several years now had been the first to try the new ice.

“Better go a little slow about that, Freddy,” cautioned Leslie. “Of course, we all know new ice can stand a heap more than when it gets punk and rotten from thaws; but even then unless you skip along pretty fast you’re apt to break through.”

“And the pond is higher than ever this year, don’t forget, which means more room to paddle in if you do break through,” he was warned by Peg.

“You never knew me to get caught yet,” laughed the other, who had a stubborn streak in his makeup. “The secret of my success has been the swallow way I dart around. The new ice will bend like india-rubber, but before it can think of cracking, shucks! I’m away off, and still going.”

“There comes Dick, and from the grin on his face I’d like to wager a cookey he’s just half tickled to death over something,” ventured Leslie, whose quick eye had detected his chum’s approach.

Dick had his skates suspended by a strap over his shoulder. Perhaps he did not really expect to have a chance to use them, but then it always made him feel hopeful to get them out for the first time of a crisp winter morning.

“What’s happened, Dick?” demanded one of the boys, as the other came up.

“You look as happy as pie,” remarked Peg; “has some kind relative gone to a better country, and left you his little fortune?”

“Oh! it only means that a great big load has been lifted from my shoulders, that’s all,” Dick told them.

“I know what he means, fellows!” sang out Leslie. “He’s finished that farce of his at last. Bully for you, Dick; I knew you’d stick everlastingly at it till the thing was done. And I hope you let us hear it from beginning to end.”

“I handed it over to the committee this very morning,” announced Dick. “The time limit expires on Monday, you know. They said all of the entries were in but two, and from what I’ve heard about Toby and Frank I’m afraid they backed out after making a try.”

“But that’s too bad,” expostulated Peg, “because we all hoped to hear you read your farce before the committee decided on the winner.”

Dick laughed, a little harshly it must be confessed.

“Well, as I’ve got a copy of it you may have that great pleasure still,” he told them. “Perhaps it’s the only chance you’ll ever get, for I reckon my effort isn’t going to set the river on fire; and I’ve been hearing wonderful stories about another farce, which I expect will walk around my poor attempt.”

Most of Dick’s chums had heard more or less of the same thing, for Dit Hennesy and Alonzo Crane had taken considerable pleasure in boasting what a “screamer” Nat’s effusion was going to be.

Still Peg and Elmer and the rest of them were loyal to Dick. They had seen him gain the goal many times in races and games, even when the odds were against him; and fully believed he must come again under the line first.

“Talk never wins a race, Dick,” said Leslie.

“And lots of fellows do their shouting before the end,” remarked Peg. “I’m banking on you to cop that prize, no matter what Nat says.”

“And remember,” added Elmer, “you’ve as good as promised to let us hear the sketch from beginning to end at the first favorable opportunity.”

“It’s kind of you to want to hear it, that’s all I’ve got to say,” laughed the author. “Anyhow, a load is lifted off my shoulders. Good or bad, it’s got to stand. I’m through bothering over it. If Nat’s done something that throws mine in the shade, all right. I’ll have to grin and bear it. And now, please let up on that subject. I want to forget it for a while.”

“Well, here goes!” announced Fred Bonnicastle, as he rose to his feet.

“Are you really meaning to make a test of the ice, Fred?” asked Dick, dubiously. “It looks mighty thin to me, and I can see several places where the big rocks that have been dropped on the same have broken through.”

“Oh! I’m a wonder when it comes to skimming over thin ice,” boasted the other, really anxious to keep up to his reputation for recklessness, and once more open the season as the first to try his skates.

“Better keep near the shore, then,” advised Leslie. “If you do break through you will only be up to your waist, and can wade out.”

“Don’t worry!” scoffed Fred, as he balanced himself on one skate at the edge, and took a quick survey of the big pond, as though deciding upon his course, “I can swim if it comes to it, you know. And somebody has got to be the first to do stunts on the new ice.”

With that he suddenly darted away.

“Whee! listen to it crack, will you?” exclaimed Peg.

“Oh! new ice always does that,” asserted Leslie. “I like to hear it snap on a frosty morning like this. But say, you can see it bend like anything under his weight. I don’t believe I care to try it yet awhile. I’m more hefty in weight than Fred, and never could whip along like he does.”

The venturesome skater was going with the speed of the wind, and thus far he had kept within a reasonable distance from the shore. Apparently, he meant to go completely around the pond, leaving the white marks of his sharp runners on the clear ice, to prove himself the first on skates for the season.

“Just as fine as silk, fellows!” he called out as he approached the group. “Some of the rest of you had better take a spin along with me. Not a bit of danger if you keep on the jump.”

No one seemed tempted, however. They had seen how the thin ice gave under Fred as he went on, and knew that it was only the rapidity of his flight that kept him from breaking through. Should one of his skates become loose, so as to delay his progress, the chances were as ten to one he must meet with a catastrophe.

“I’m going to take another round!” called out Fred over his shoulder. “And then watch me cut straight across the middle of the pond.”

“I guess he means that, too!” declared Leslie, uneasily. “Fred gets more reckless every year. I’m afraid something will happen to him yet.”

“It’s a good thing,” observed Dick, who had been looking around meanwhile, “that there’s a heap of old boards lying right close by, taken from that high fence. If he does break through we’ll need the same, you can just believe.”

“Why, it’s ten feet deep out in the middle!” asserted Peg.

“And the further he goes away from the shore the more the sheet of ice is bound to bend under him,” said Elmer. “If he keeps his word every fellow fasten to one of the boards, and be ready to shove it out.”

“He never could climb up on that thin ice, once his clothes get soaked,” Dick continued, “and before he could break his way to shore he’d be exhausted.”

The skater soon came around again, going very fast. He waved a hand flippantly to his friends on the shore, and changing his course suddenly darted directly out toward the middle of the big pond.

The other boys ran to the pile of boards, and each picked one of the planks up. Hardly had they done this than there was a shout of alarm, a crash, and a splash, and reckless Fred Bonnicastle had vanished from sight!