SPRING PRACTICE
“Well, what do you think of her?”
Jerry asked the question of his two chums a little later as they stood
looking at the odd craft.
“She’s big enough,” commented Ned, gazing up at the tall mast.
“Can she go?” asked Bob.
“You ought to see her! She’s won more races than any boat of her class
on this lake,” said the owner, a Mr. Brown, who was going to move away
and wanted to sell the craft.
“May we give it a trial?” asked Jerry.
“Certainly. I’ll take you out in it to-morrow and show you how to run
it.”
“I’ll be glad of that,” Jerry said. “I’ve handled one a few times, but
I’m not an expert.”
Satisfactory terms for the purchase of the _Petrel_ were made should
she prove satisfactory on trial, and the next day Ned, Bob and Jerry
went to Mr. Brown’s place. There was a good wind blowing, not enough,
the owner of the _Petrel_ explained, to get any real speed out of her,
but enough to show of what she was capable.
“And if I’m going to learn I’d rather do it in a wind that isn’t a
gale,” Jerry remarked.
The ice-boat had a sort of open cockpit, in which five or six might
sit, or sprawl over the side if necessary, when it was desired to keep
the weight well out on one runner, to prevent the boat from capsizing.
“Say, this is great!” cried Bob, as they went skimming over the ice.
“Do you like it?” asked Jerry.
“I sure do!”
“I’m in for it, too,” added Ned. “Show me how to steer and manage the
sail.”
Mr. Brown proved to be an adept instructor, and the boys soon caught on
to the knack of handling the swift craft, though they needed practice.
“Here comes the _Jack Frost_,” said Mr. Brown, nodding toward another
ice-boat down the lake. “We’ll have a little race with her. Mr. Carson
owns her, and he beat me the last time, though I think I can win now,
for my boat is better in a light wind than his.”
A friendly challenge was at once accepted by Mr. Carson, and the two
graceful craft lined up for a race. They were on a part of the lake
where there were no skaters and no other boats.
Then came a pretty exhibition. Even at first with her rival, the
_Petrel_ soon forged ahead, and then Mr. Brown let the boys take turns
at the tiller.
They did well, too, and at the finish line the _Petrel_ was several
lengths in advance.
“Well, you had the edge on me this time!” called Mr. Carson
good-naturedly, as he came up in the wind. “But I’ll beat you next.”
“We’ll take you up!” called Jerry. “It’s going to be our boat from now
on.”
“Then you’ll take her?” asked Mr. Brown.
“Sure!” Jerry answered, his chums echoing an assent.
The arrangements were completed the following day, and the motor boys
became possessed of a new craft. Though once, years before, they had
made an ice-boat for use on the river at home, which was not much of a
success, however.
In the days that followed Ned, Bob and Jerry spent as much time as they
could on the ice, either in the boat or on skates. But the ease of
gliding along without any exertion, the swiftness of the motion and the
sport of it caused them to use the _Petrel_ oftener than they did their
skates.
And so the winter wore on.
There had been a thaw, a rain and a freeze, and there were indications
that an early spring was on the way.
“Which, being the case,” remarked Ned, as he and his chums sat in
Jerry’s room one day, “I think I will get out my baseball glove, and
see if it needs sewing.”
“It’s too soon to do that,” remarked Jerry. “Come on down to the ice.
Let’s take out the _Petrel_. We may not have another chance.”
“I’m with you,” agreed Ned.
“Same here,” echoed Bob.
On the way to the lake the three chums met Frank, Bart and Bill.
“Where are you going?” asked Bart, who, with Bill, was becoming more
and more friendly with our heroes.
“Out in the ice-boat,” answered Jerry, and then, seeing an eager look
on Bart’s face, the tall lad added: “Come along. It may be the last
ride of the winter.”
“I’m with you!” Bart exclaimed. “Do you mean all of us?”
Jerry did not hesitate a moment in answering:
“Yes, sure!”
“I’ll come,” said Bill.
Frank, with a sneer on his face, turned aside.
“You freshmen with your boats and things make me tired!” he complained
as he walked away.
“Don’t be a chump,” advised Bart in a low voice.
“You mind your own business!” snapped Frank.
His two friends paused a moment, as though undecided, and then walked
along with Jerry and the others.
“He’s as pig-headed as they make ’em,” commented Bart. “I never saw his
beat!”
“Um!” grunted Ned, but what he thought he did not say.
Up and down the lake sailed the _Petrel_, and as the sun was declining,
Bob called to Jerry:
“Head her down to Simpson’s and we’ll have something to eat.”
“That listens good,” laughed Bart.
“Oh, eating is my strong point!” Chunky confessed.
The ice-boat was skimming down the lake, when there suddenly sounded a
boom like the report of a cannon.
“What was that?” called Ned.
“The ice cracked,” Jerry answered. “It often does that after a thaw. I
guess----”
“Look out!” yelled Bill. “There’s open water just ahead!”
A big crack had opened in the ice, just in front of the ice-boat, and
before Jerry could steer to one side the _Petrel_ plunged in.
“Jump!” yelled Jerry, casting aside the mainsheet.
As the boat splashed into the cold water the boys, leaping free of
her, went in also, but on either side.
Jerry saw his two chums and Bill strike out as they hit the water, but
he also had a glimpse of Bart throwing up his hands with a gesture of
despair, and in a flash it came to Jerry.
“Bart can’t swim!”
The lad had so confessed some time ago, admitting he had a terror of
being in the water, though not afraid to go out in a boat.
Jerry launched himself through the ice-cold element and grasped Bart by
the collar. Holding him up with one hand, he swam toward the ice-boat,
which had turned over on one side. It was floating and would support
them all for a time.
Ned, Bob and Bill had already reached the craft, but Bart was
struggling frantically.
“I--I can’t swim!” he gasped, spluttering the words as water got in his
mouth.
“Keep still!” cried Jerry. “I’ll save you!”
This he did. By dint of hard work he managed to get Bart to the
ice-boat and put his arms over it.
“Hold on!” panted Jerry. “Help’s coming.”
Another ice-boat and several skaters who had seen the accident were
hurrying to the rescue. Help was given promptly, fence rails and ropes
from the other boat being secured to assist the boys out of the water.
Then, dripping wet, and shivering with cold, they were hurried to
Simpson’s, where hot blankets and hot drinks promptly administered were
used to prevent pneumonia.
“You--you saved my life, Jerry,” said Bart, earnestly, when they were
sitting before a warm fire, waiting for a conveyance to take them back
to Boxwood Hall. “I--I won’t forget it.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” said Jerry, sincerely. “I’m glad I saw you in
time, and I remembered you said you couldn’t swim. You’d better learn
this summer.”
“I’m going to!” was the fervent response.
No ill effects, save slight colds for Ned and Bart, followed the
immersion. The ice-boat was recovered and put away for the season, as
the ice broke up the next day and a long spring thaw set in.
Ned, Bob and Jerry buckled down to hard work, or at least fancied they
did, and occasionally they played some trick or joke, but were not
caught again.
Ned kept on the “typewriter trail,” as he called it, but with no
success, and he was not able to fasten any guilt on Frank. After the
ice-boat accident Bart and Bill were more than ever friendly with the
three chums, Bart especially, and when Frank remonstrated, Bart said:
“What would you do to the fellow who saved your life, or the life of
some one you cared for?”
Frank could not answer, and turned aside. But he did not make friends.
The winter, not necessarily of discontent, passed and spring came.
There had been practice of a sort in the indoor baseball cage when one
day a notice was posted on the gymnasium bulletin board to this effect:
_Candidates for the varsity nine will report on the field this
afternoon for spring practice._
“Hurrah! That’s the ticket!” cried Jerry.
“That means us all right,” added Bob.
“It’ll feel good to get a bat in your hands out in the open,” commented
Ned.
There were days of hard practice, and Ned, Bob and Jerry were assured
by several of their chums that they stood a good chance to make the
first team.
“How about it, Frank?” asked Jerry one day, after sharp work, in which
the team on which our heroes played won from the tentative varsity,
mainly by the skillful playing of the three motor chums. Jerry resolved
to take the bull by the horns. “How about it? Have we a chance on the
varsity?”
“Not in a hundred years while I’m captain!” was the cutting reply.