THROUGH THE ICE
“Shove over, Tom.”
“Say, what do you want, the whole sofa?”
“No, but give a fellow his share, can’t you?” and Phil looked down on
his chum, who was sprawled over a goodly part of the ancient and
honorable article of furniture. “Sid has one armchair, and Frank the
other, and I want some place to rest my weary bones,” declared Phil.
“I’ve been out with the natural history class after bugs, and other
specimens, and I’ll wager we walked ten miles. Give me a place to rest.”
“Try the floor,” grunted Tom, who was too comfortable to move. “What do
you want to come in for raising a row, just as we’re nice and cozy?”
“Say, haven’t I a right here?” demanded Phil. “Who helped fix that old
sofa, I’d like to know, when all its bones were showing? Give me a whack
at it, Tom.”
But Tom refused to budge, and presently, in the room of the four
inseparables, there was a scuffling sound, and the tall pitcher felt
himself being suddenly slewed around by the feet, until there was room
enough for another on the sofa. But Phil did the gymnastic act too well,
for he shoved Tom a bit too far, and, a moment later one hundred and
fifty pounds more or less, slumped to the floor with a jar.
“There, now you have done it!” cried Sid, as he sprang from one of the
easy chairs, and made a grab for the fussy little alarm clock, that had
been jarred from its place on the table by the concussion of Tom’s fall.
“Grab it!” yelled Frank.
“Safe!” ejaculated Sid, holding it up. “But it was a close call. The
next time you fellows want to do the catch-as-catch-can, go out in the
hall. This is a gentleman’s resort, mind.”
“I’ll punch your head--if I think of it to-morrow,” grumbled Tom, who
had been half asleep when Phil so unceremoniously awakened him. “Remind
me of it--somebody.”
“On your peril,” laughed Phil, as he grabbed up some of the cushions
which had fallen under his chum, and made an easy place for himself on
the now vacant sofa. Tom continued to lie on the floor.
“Anything doing outside when you came in?” asked Frank.
“Not much. I stopped in the gym, and a lot of the fellows were talking
track athletics, and Grasshopper was jumping.”
“It looks as if there’d be something doing this Spring,” commented
Frank. “I was talking to Holly Cross, Kindlings and some of the others,
and there’s a good show for the new league. All the other teams are hot
for it. We’ve got to have several more meetings though, and see if we
can get enough cash to buy the prizes, and arrange for the meet.”
“Would it be held here on our grounds?” asked Tom, showing a sudden
interest.
“Well, some of the fellows want it here, and Boxer Hall is going to make
a strong bid for it,” said Sid. “I think, and so does Kindlings, that it
ought to be on some neutral field.”
“I agree with Dan Woodhouse,” remarked Frank, giving “Kindlings” his
right name. “A neutral field will be fair to all. Well, if this weather
keeps on we’ll be out practicing in a few weeks.”
But, though the weather did not bear out the promise of the first few
warm days of Spring, there was still plenty of practice. The enthusiasm
over a track meet grew, and many more lads than were expected put in an
appearance at the gymnasium, to try out their skill over the hurdles,
vaulting the bar, in hundred yard dashes, putting the weight, shot and
hammer, while any number said they were going to try to qualify for the
mile run, and the broad and high jumps.
Meanwhile, more or less correspondence went on among the athletic
committees of the four institutions that naturally would form the new
league, if matters came to a head. Exter was comparatively a new
college, but she stood well to the fore in athletics.
The end of the Winter was at hand, when one night there came an
unprecedented freeze. Tom and his chums awakened shivering in their
quarters, for the window had been left open, and the thermometer was
away down.
“Wow! Somebody turn on the heat!” cried Tom, poking his nose out from
under the covers.
“It’s Phil’s turn,” declared Sid.
“It is not,” was the answer.
“I’ll toss you for it, Sid,” put in Frank, leaping out of bed, and
reaching for his trousers to get a coin. “Call!”
“Heads!” shouted Sid.
“It’s tails,” declared the big Californian.
“Oh, well, turn it on, like a good fellow, now that you’re up,” advised
Tom.
“Well, I like your nerve!” ejaculated Frank with a laugh, but, good
naturedly, he did as he was asked, and soon the radiator was thumping
and pounding away, while the boys waited a few minutes longer before
venturing out from under the warm covers.
“There’ll be skating all right!” declared Tom, as he breathed on the
frosty window. “We’ll have a last glide on Sunny River. Who’s for a spin
before breakfast?”
“Not for mine!” cried Phil, and none of the others showed an inclination
to stroll out in the frosty air until necessary. Before chapel, however,
several of the lads paid a visit to the stream, coming back with glowing
reports of the smooth ice.
“A hockey game this afternoon!” cried Tom, after lectures, and scores of
others agreed with him.
“Not until some of you blue-jays do your turn in the gym!” declared
Kindlings and Holly Cross, who had constituted themselves a sort of
coaching pair, pending the selection of a regular trainer for the track
games.
Mr. Lighton, the professional coach was temporarily absent, and it was
not known whether he would be back in time to take charge of the various
squads or not.
“Do you mean to say you’re going to make us practice, when it may be the
last chance for a skate?” asked Tom.
“I sure am,” replied Holly. “But we’ll cut it short. Come on now,
fellows, no backing out. We got to the top of the heap at football and
baseball, and we don’t want to slump on the track. Randall must be kept
to the fore.”
“That’s right!” came the cry, and the lads piled off for the gymnasium,
where they indulged in some hard practice.
“That new fellow, Shambler, seems to be doing some good jumping,”
remarked Phil to Tom, as the two were doing a little jog around the
track.
“Yes, I wonder where’s he from, anyhow? I never heard much about him
while he was at Harkness--I wonder if he really is from that college?”
“Give it up. What difference does it make, anyhow? Harkness was a small
college, and her records didn’t count. But Shambler sure can jump. He’s
as good at the high as he is at the broad. There he goes for another
try, and they’ve got it up to the four-foot-ten mark I guess.”
“Four eleven,” remarked Phil, who could read the marks on the standards.
“If he does that he’s a good one. The record is five feet seven.”
“There--he did it and a couple of inches over,” cried Tom, as Shambler
made a magnificent leap. “Say, we need him all right.”
“That’s so. I only wish he was a little more companionable. He trains
too much in with that Boxer Hall sporting set, to suit me.”
“Yes, too bad. But it can’t be helped. Now he’s going to try the broad.
Let’s watch him.”
Shambler came up to the take-off on the run, and shot into the air.
Forward like a stone from a catapult he went and unable to recover
himself he crashed full into Tom, who was standing watching.
“Look out!” cried Shambler, as he hung on to Tom to avoid falling. “What
are you trying to do, anyhow? Queer my jump? I’d have broken my record,
only for you!” He spoke in angry tones.
“I’m sorry,” began Tom, “I didn’t----”
“Looks as though you got there on purpose,” interrupted the jumper,
flashing a black look at Tom. “Isn’t the gym big enough for you?”
“Look here!” cried Tom, nettled at the tone. “I said I was sorry for
what I couldn’t help, and that ought to be enough. I didn’t mean to get
in your way, and if I spoiled your jump----”
“You spoiled it all right,” broke out Shambler. “Now I’ve got to try
over again. Get back out of the way!” he ordered to Tom and Phil, as
though they were the veriest freshmen, instead of being upper-classmen.
“You----” spluttered Tom, but Phil caught him by the sleeve.
“Don’t say it,” he advised. “Let the cad alone. If he’s like that, the
sooner Randall knows it the better.”
“All right,” answered Tom in a low voice, swallowing his just wrath,
and he swung aside. Shambler tried the jump again, and, though he did
exceedingly well there was little applause for him from the watching
throng, for many of the lads had heard what he said to Tom.
“There, I guess we’ve done our share!” exclaimed Tom, after a bit. “Come
on out on the ice now, Phil, Sid and Frank have gone, and we don’t want
to get left on a hockey game.”
Sunny River was thronged with students, and soon several games were in
progress. A number of the girls and boys from Fairview Institute skated
down, and among them was Phil’s sister Ruth, and her three girl chums.
Naturally Tom and his three friends soon deserted the hockey game to
skate with the girls, not heeding the entreaties of their companions.
“Let the lady killers go!” sneered Shambler, who had taken his place in
one of the games. “We want sports in our crowd.”
“We must go home early,” said Ruth after a bit. “We are to have a class
meeting to-night, and I’m one of the hostesses.”
“Strictly a girls’ party?” asked Tom.
“No boys allowed,” was the laughing answer, and after some pleasantries
the four girls started up the frozen surface of the stream, their
escorts going down. The hockey games were over, and many of the players
had taken off their skates. Turning to wave a farewell to Ruth and the
others, Tom saw a solitary lad skating near them.
“There’s Shambler,” he thought. “I guess he’d like to do some
lady-killing on his own account. I hope the girls don’t get skating with
him.”
Tom, who had lingered a few moments, now spurted ahead to catch up to
his companions, who were some distance in advance. He had almost reached
them when he was aware of some one skating rapidly up behind him. He
wheeled about to behold Shambler, with a white, set face, coming on like
the wind. And, a second later, Tom heard the screams of the girls and
saw but two where, a moment before, there had been four.
“What--what happened?” he gasped.
“They--they went through the ice I guess!” panted Shambler. “They were
near me, and I heard it crack. I--I skated away--I wanted to get help.
I--I----”
“You skated away!” thundered Tom. “Sid--Phil--fellows! The girls are
through the ice--an air hole I guess--come on back! Shambler--Shambler
skated away!” he murmured under his breath as he looked unutterable
things at the new lad. “Come on, boys!”
There was a ring of steel on ice. Four figures turned and like the wind
shot up the river, while Tom, in the lead, shouted:
“We’re coming--we’re coming. To the rescue! Keep away from the edge,
girls!” He wanted to warn back the two who had not fallen in.
“I--I can’t swim,” murmured the white-faced Shambler, as he kept on down
the river. “I--I’ll get a doctor.”