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!"
Everyone laughed, and poor Harry blushed to the roots of his hair. He
said nothing, for he knew he _could_ ride the Cresta, if only they would
give him the chance, and he determined, inside, that he _would_ manage
to go down, somehow, and show them he could.