JACK USES A FILE.
“Oh, the sea wot flows;
_And_ the ship wot goes,
_And_ the lad wot fears no dan-ger;
_And_ the pleasant gale,
_And_ the swelling sail,
_And_ the lass wot loves a sail-or-r-r-!”
“Ahoy there, lad!” exclaimed the singer, bluff old Captain Hudgins,
“bringing up all standing,” as he would have expressed it, in front of
Rob Blake’s home on the morning of the Bob-sled Carnival.
“What time are them sliding craft due to slip their moorings on Jones’s
Hill?”
“Why, hullo, cap,” exclaimed Rob, hastening down the snowy path to meet
his old friend from Topsail Island. “I thought I knew that song. The
races start this afternoon, but owing to the number of entries the
committee has decided to continue them to-night.”
“Ter-night!” exclaimed the ancient mariner, “you’re a-goin’ ter come
sky-hootin’ down that hill in the black night, boy? Stand by.”
“Not in the black night, exactly,” laughed Rob, amused at the old man’s
bewilderment; “you see, this was decided on some days ago, and they’ve
got incandescents rigged up on both sides of the course. It’s going to
be a pretty sight, and there’ll be a big crowd out to see it.”
“Reckon I’ll have to stay over then,” snorted the captain. “When I was a
boy we thought bob-sledding was good enough, without havin’ races atween
port and starboard craft, with patent steerers, and more opportunities
to break your neck than you can shake a stick at.”
“Oh, it’s not as bad as that,” Rob assured him. “It’s safe enough if the
fellows are careful, and they all are, and besides that, they all know
how to handle a big sled, and that’s a whole lot.”
“Reckon so,” agreed the captain. “Wal, I’ve got to trim my sails and get
afore the wind. I’m setting my course for the post office.”
“I’m going that way, too,” said Rob; “I’ll walk with you.”
Together they set off up the street, which was filled with men and boys,
all discussing the forthcoming bob-sled races. The regular population of
Hampton was already augmented by rooters from other towns, and the
afternoon trains would bring in more. In front of the post office Rob
met Tubby Hopkins, Merritt Crawford, Paul Perkins and Hiram Nelson. They
were to form the team of the “Eagle,” as the Boy Scout’s sled had been
named.
Several other boys had their tobogganing sleds in front of the post
office, which appeared to be quite a gathering place for the prospective
contestants. Among them were Jack Curtiss and his team. The former bully
of the Hampton Academy sneered as the boys came up, but made no other
sign of hostility.
The “Eagle” was painted a bright red with gilt trimmings, and looked
very handsome. Several in the crowd were making admiring comments on her
as Rob approached. Jack Curtiss’ sled, too, came in for a lot of
attention. It fairly glistened with paint and varnish, and being a
store-made affair was naturally better finished off than the Boy Scouts’
craft.
“Curtiss and his bunch will win the cup, hands down,” a man was saying,
as the Boy Scouts moved off on their way to the hill, where already
several boys were practicing.
“Not much doubt of it,” was the response; “they’ve sure got a fine sled
there.”
“Say, young feller, want to bet on yer team?” cried the first speaker
after Rob.
“I don’t bet, thank you,” was the response; “but we’ve got as good a
chance of winning as the next fellow.”
“Well, wouldn’t that jar you?” muttered the man, as the crowd broke into
a laugh at Rob’s retort.
“You want to bet all your money on us,” said Freeman Hunt, and he and
his cronies prepared to follow Rob and his chums.
“How’s that?” asked the man.
“Because we’re going to win. There’s no doubt of it,” was the rejoinder.
“Well, you seem mighty positive about it,” commented the man.
Workmen were busy on either side of the hill stringing up electric
lights, as the boys arrived. Between the rows of tall poles crowds of
lads were scooting down the hill on their sleds, or laboriously hauling
them up again. It was an animated scene, and there were plenty of
lookers-on as the racing sleds glided swiftly over the smooth surface.
It had been watered and packed till it was as hard and smooth as a sheet
of glass. It glistened in the winter sun like polished steel.
“Wow! Won’t we whiz over that!” exclaimed Merritt, as they hastened to
ascend the hill by a path left at one side of the course. Arrived at the
top, an examination of the runners of the sled followed. They were found
to be as smooth as a mirror, which is an important thing, for the
slightest roughness will check a sled’s speed more than would be thought
possible.
“That’s one reason I think we may have a chance over Curtiss and his
bunch,” explained Rob, as they took their seats for a trial trip.
“How’s that?” inquired Tubby, who, on account of his weight, sat in the
middle.
“Why, their runners have hardly had time to wear smooth yet,” went on
Rob. “You know it takes a long time to get them into good shape. We wore
ours down last year, before we lightened the sled and widened it.”
“Ready!” shouted Merritt, from his seat in front.
“Right!” came the reply.
The next instant they were off. How that sled flew down the smooth hill!
The frosty air whipped tinglingly back against their happy faces. The
runners screamed as they rushed over the hard snow. Small boys cheered
as they shot by. Everybody knew that the “Eagle” was one of the
favorites in the big event—the race for the silver cup.
“She’s fast,” grudgingly admitted Jack Curtiss, as the red sled flew by
him on its way down the hill.
“But we can clip a nailparing of a second off her,” rejoined Freeman
Hunt, boastfully.
“Think so?” inquired Lem Lonsdale.
“Oh, sure,” chimed in Bill Bender, confidently.
Both Bill and Jack had been betting pretty freely on their success, and
both felt certain that they would win. But a momentary look of anxiety
had crossed their faces as Rob and his chums flew by. There was no
denying that their pace was tremendous. The Aquebogue team, which had
arrived on an early train, followed the “Eagle” down the hill, but did
not seem to make such good time. Still, it was possible that, as
defenders of the cup, they were not showing all they could do.
“We can beat them with a ton of hay tied on behind,” sneered Jack
Curtiss, as he watched the Aquebogue Wolves make their practice trips.
His words seemed justified by the speed their own sled made. Like a
varnished streak, she shot down the hill again and again, each time
wearing her runners smoother and making better time.
And so the morning wore away. The afternoon was devoted to the small
races, Ernest Thompson and Joe Digby, of the Eagles, winning two prizes
to their great delight. Some of the Hawk boys, too, captured events. But
the feature of the afternoon was Paul Perkins’s winged sled, which
cavorted and flopped about to the huge delight of the crowd, and to the
terror of the lad’s mother, who was among the onlookers. At four o’clock
the minor events were all over and there only remained the silver cup to
be contested for.
The Aquebogue Wolves, all strapping youths, considerably older than the
Hampton boys, strode about the town confidently during the evening,
although the talk of the Hamptonites must have disturbed them a little.
The teams from the other contesting towns also talked big, but that
seemed to be more to keep up appearances than anything else.
“Gee, the time seems as if it would never pass,” said Tubby, as after
supper the lads hastened back to the hill. The electric lights were
glowing now, casting a yellow radiance over the snow. Few people were on
hand as yet, however, as the race was not to start till eight o’clock.
The few that were on hand were warmly muffled up in furs and heavy
overcoats. Of course, there were plenty of small boys about, playing all
manner of tricks on one another to keep warm, and hurling snowballs at
persons they deemed good-natured enough not to resent it—and at others,
too. What boy doesn’t enjoy “a chase”?
The sleds which were to take part in the race were lined up in readiness
near the starting point. While the crews had been at supper various
persons had been left in charge of the sleds. Rob and his chums had
found a youth, who was quite a character in the village, to take care of
theirs. This lad’s name was Sim Bimm.
Whether it was caused by his name—which rhymed, or by natural gift that
way, nobody knew, but Sim Bimm had difficulty in saying anything in
prose. On the contrary, rhyming marked his conversation. He was reputed
to be half-witted, but in some things he was shrewd enough. For lack of
a better guardian the boys had singled Sim Bimm out.
“Now, Sim,” Rob had said impressively, “there’s a dollar coming to you
if you watch our sled carefully. Don’t let anyone come near it or touch
it in any way. Do you understand?”
“Right and true, I’ll watch for you,” responded Sim, giving vent to his
peculiar mode of expression.
“No matter what excuse they give don’t let them lay hands on the sled,
Sim,” added Merritt.
“Not a foot nor a hand, be they ever so grand,” Sim assured the boys,
proudly.
“All right, Sim,” said Tubby, as they moved off; “we trust you,
remember.”
“You’re right Sim to trust; I’ll watch till I bust,” rejoined the
rhyming youth.
Hardly had the lads vanished down the hill, however, before Sim, who in
order to watch more closely, was seated right upon the sleigh, saw two
figures approaching him.
“Here comes William Bender, and Jack Curtiss so slender,” improvised Sim
as they drew closer.
“Hello, Sim,” exclaimed Jack, with great appearance of cordiality, “what
are you doing?”
“Watching this sled, with heart and head,” was the response.
“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Jack, “at your rhyming again, eh, Sam? Want to
earn a little money?”
“Don’t care for money; now isn’t that funny?” firmly replied Sim, taking
a grip on the sled with both hands.
“But you like candy, don’t you?” asked Jack.
“Gee! Mo-lasses candy; wish I had some handy,” wavered Sim, his mouth
beginning to water.
“Well, if you’ll go a little errand for me I’ll give you fifty cents to
buy some with,” Jack promised, taking out a fifty-cent piece and
extending it temptingly. “We’ll watch the sled while you’re gone.”
“I oughtn’t to go; that’s one thing I know,” said Sim; but there was a
sort of undecided quaver in his voice.
“You’ve got him,” whispered Bill. Jack nodded.
“It isn’t very far,” the enemy of the Boy Scouts went on. “It’s just to
get my gloves. I dropped them at the foot of the hill. You can be there
and back in ten minutes.”
“I’ll go like the wind, be back quickly, you’ll find,” promised Sim,
rising to his feet. The thought of molasses candy had proven too much
for him.
“Very well, then; be off. We’ll wait for you here to take care of the
sled.”
“With a dollar and a half, I’ll sing and I’ll laugh,” chuckled Sim to
himself as he dashed off, going as fast as his long legs would carry
him.
“Now, then,” exclaimed Jack as he vanished. Reaching into his pocket he
drew out a file, and while Bill Bender raised the Boy Scouts’ sled he
rapidly filed the runners till they were as rough as newly-molded metal.
“Guess that will fix them,” he said, as Sim came panting back to
announce that he could find no gloves. But as both Jack and Bill Bender
had known all along that there were no gloves there, this information
didn’t seem to interest them as much as Sim had expected when he
exclaimed:
“I looked low and high, but no gloves could I spy.”