Part 34 (1/2)
d.i.c.k and Dave were rushed into a room. With so many hands to help, they were soon stripped. Then rough Turkish towels were plied upon them until even their skins began to show the red of blood and life.
”Now, wrap blankets about them, and bring them into a warm room,”
ordered the doctor.
As they entered the other room they espied Fred Ripley, already seated in an arm-chair by the stove, a bowl of something hot in one hand.
The driver of the sleigh now came in.
”You lads will want something warm and dry to put on,” he declared.
”Give me your orders. The distance isn't far. I'll drive to your homes and get the clothes and things that you want.”
”No, thank you,” returned Ripley, stiffly. ”I've already had a telephone message sent, and my father's auto will bring out what I need.”
”But you youngsters will want something?” asked the driver, turning to the plucky freshmen.
d.i.c.k and Dave stated their requests, Prescott adding:
”But please be sure to make our parents understand that we're safe. We don't want them seared to death.”
Fred Ripley took a long swallow of the steaming stuff in his bowl. As he did so he took a furtive glance in the direction of the freshmen.
Was he going to attempt to thank them for having risked their own lives to help him back to safety?
CHAPTER XX
OUT FOR THAT TOBOGGAN!
Ben Badger came to the sh.o.r.e edge of the ice, megaphone in hand announcing in stentorian tones:
”Our friends are safe---even jolly. The sports will now go on!”
First on the card was a free-for-all dash of a half mile, standing start. The trophy was a regulation target revolver.
Badger, of the first cla.s.s, and Purcell, of the soph.o.m.ore, held the lead and all but tied each other at the outset. Third in order came Stearns, the agile little right end of the eleven.
When half the distance had been traveled it was noticed that Stearns was creeping up on the leaders.
”Look out, Ben, or the little fellow will get you!” roared friends.
Stearns continued to gain, slowly. Purcell dropped back to third place. None of the other eight in the race seemed likely to do anything effective.
”A little more steam, Ben!”
”Stearns, you can get it!”
In the last eighth of the distance Stearns made good. Summoning all his football wind and speed the little right end closed and shot ahead. Not once in the remainder of the course did Ben Badger quite catch up with his smaller opponent. Stearns won by some fifteen yards.
The racers came slowly back, breathing harder than usual. As soon as jovial Ben felt equal to the task of further announcing, he picked up the megaphone, shouting: