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Criss-Crossed Skis | |
Author | Harold M. Sherman |
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Published |
1932
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Language | English |
Nationality | American |
Genre | Personal Development, Self-Help |
1932 Short Story
Criss-Crossed Skis
Criss-Crossed Skis is an English Personal Development, Self-Help short story by American writer Harold M. Sherman. It was first published in 1932. Criss-Crossed Skis is featured in Sherman's collection, Down the Ice, and Other Winter Sport Stories, published in 1932. We feature it in our collections, Winter Sports Stories and Children's Stories.
Criss-Crossed Skis
by Harold M. Sherman
Skiing is loads of fun. If you dont believe it, ask Mr. Sylvester B. Turner, who owns the only hill in town worth skiing on. Hell tell you what fun it isand if youre not hit over the head with the nearest thing at hand, youll be lucky. But maybe Mr. Turners cooled down some since last winter. Honest, he was hot enough that time to have melted snow!
Howd it all happen? Well, you see, we fellows used to slide and ski on Randolph Hill before Mr. Turner bought it. After that, he puts up Dont Trespass signs all over the place but even then we dont think he means us. The first time we put our feet on his ground, though, he raises an awful holler. And the worst of it isMr. Turners one and only son, Ronald, tattles on us.
Ronnie, we call him, is a mammas boy if there ever was one. Hes thin and scared looking, if you get what I meanthe sort who wears rubbers if theres a cloud in the sky. You cant point your finger at him without his running home and telling about it. Talk about sensitive! Mack Sleder asked him how come his hair wasnt combed? one morning and Ronnie almost busts out crying. Perhaps he cant help it. But you know how fellows are, if a guy acts that way, they poke a lot of fun at him. Ronnie steers pretty clear of us, though. He knows whats good for him. Besides, Ronnie doesnt go in for sports. He hates to get bumped or dirtied up and then, too, theres always the chance of getting hurt.
Whats the sense in it? he asks us one time. Id much rather sit in a hammock and read a good book.
Arent you afraid the hammock might turn over with you? kids Tommy Fox.
Id never thought of that, says Ronnie, soberly. Thats worth considering, isnt it?
And he sits on the porch steps after that.
Ronnies Dad is as big and blustering as Ronnie is timid and quiet. And talk about dignified! Mr. Sylvester B. Turner expects everyone to bow and scrape before him since hes the richest man in town and owns the biggest factory besides the biggest hill. Everything has to be big with Mr. Turner. Thats his style. The biggest house, the biggest car, the biggest noise … and the biggest boob for a son. Thats how we feel, anyhow, after Mr. Turners high and mighty manner and Ronnies yelling: Dad, look what the fellahs are doing!
Are we downhearted? You can just imagine! Being chased off old Randolph Hill is like having our sleds and skis taken away from us on account of there being no other decent place. We could understand this high hat business if Mr. Turner was using the hill for anything else but it slopes off for over a mile behind his big house, going down on one side to Mitchell Creek and down the other to a meadow thats fenced in with an old rail fence. Weve been sliding and skiing straight down the hill, though, the long way, which carries us across the old Strawtown Pike and up against a bank that finally stops us. Its one grand ride, whether you take it by sled or by skis … only, of course, its lots more exciting on skis. We figured this year that wed grade the bank, too, and use it for a jumping off place. Whether you know it or not, ski jumping is the real sport. You may land on your head or back or some other part of your anatomy but thats half the sport! And here Mr. Turner is so stingy that he closes his estate to the whole neighborhood!
You must remember, James, my father says to me, Mr. Turner has a perfect right to do this. Its his property. Old Mr. Randolph was very nice to let you boys use the hill but you shouldnt feel too hard against Mr. Turner because he refuses. After all, it cant be so enjoyable to have a mob of kids tracking all over. Maybe Mrs. Turner is very high strung. Maybe their boy is nervous and cant stand strenuous exercise or excitement. Maybe thats why Mr. Turner bought the place, so he could be off by himself with his family. You must take this all into consideration.
I still think hes just doing it to be mean, says I. He likes to put on airs. As for his son, if Ronnies mother would let him be himself, wed make a man out of him in no time!
My Dad throws back his head and let loose a laugh.
You fellows had better leave well enough alone, he warns. You ought to know by this time that Ronald has a Dont Trespass sign hanging on him, too. And since Mr. Turner has phoned me and complained about your being on his property, I dont care to have any further trouble with our new neighbor. You mustnt forget, either, that my company does considerable business with Mr. Turners factory. We cant afford to have Mr. Turner down on us.
Youre right, Dad, I agrees. I guess Im still peeved, thats all. Made me feel like I wanted to get even. The other guys feel that way, too. Some of em were going to take it out on Ronniebut Ill have a talk with em and fix it up. I wouldnt want to do anything that would interfere with your business.
I know you wouldnt, Dad replies, then puts a hand on my arm. Im sorry about that hill. If I owned it Id turn it over to the town for a public playground.
Picture Mr. Turner doing a thing like that! I explodes. Hes not interested in this community. Hes just interested in what he can take out of it.
Dad nods. The answer probably is, he says; thoughtfully, that Mr. Turners never learned how to play.
And, do you knowDads explanation all of a sudden soaks in! The more I think it over, the sorrier I commence to feel for Mr. Turner for what hes been missing all his life. And the tough part is that his sons starting out the same way.
Maybe we could return good for evil, it occurs to me. Ill have to get the gang together and see what they think about it.
Talk about a conference! Theres just six of us fellows and each of us has more ideas than we know what to do with … which means that theres usually six leaders and no followers. Some dont want to have anything more to do with the Turners; others claim, if we did try to be nice, it wouldnt be appreciated; and Tommy Fox asks me what I expect to gain for my trouble.
Probably nothing, I rejoins, except the satisfaction of playing missionary to the heathen on the hill!
This brings a laugh.
Okay! seconds Mack Sleder. Its going to be torture for us, but mammas boy Ronnie gets invited to join our gang the next time we see him.
And hell turn us down flatter than a fallen cake, Eddie Hale predicts.
Well, its Jims idea, says Mack. Im for trying anything once.
Getting ahold of Ronnie isnt so easy. Every time he sees us coming he runs around the block or cuts across lots. Were just so much poison to him and he figures, since his fathers laid down the law about our using the hill, that well pretty near scalp him if we get the chance.
But one snowy day we get Ronnie from in front and behind. His arms are full of groceries which he wouldnt have been getting himself only the delivery truck is stuck in a drift and his mother has to have the food for dinner.
Let me go, you guys! he begs. If you dare touch me, my Dadll…!
Listen, you! says Mack, with his hand on Ronnies shoulder. Dont cry before youre hurt. Weve been trying to catch you for some time.
Y-yes, II know, says Ronnie, trembling from head to foot. D-dont make me d-drop these eggs, or youll b-be sorry.
Oh, hes got eggs! says Mack, and winks at the bunch. For a minute I think hes going to change his mind and pull something.
You dont like us, do you? Tommy demands.
WhywhyI certainly do.
Then why do you try to beat it every time you see us?
Ronnie swallows and looks the next thing to miserable.
IIve got to be getting home with these groceries, he says. My mothers waiting….
Answer my question! demands Tommy, looking vicious.
IIve forgotten it, stammers Ronnie. Its storming harder, isnt it?
Yesitll be great weather for skiing after this snow packs down, says Eddie, pointedly.
Ronnie blinks and glances around like hes going to yell for help.
Cut it, says I, pushing the fellows back and taking matters in my own hands. Ronnie, old boy, this must be a pretty lonely life youre living, I begins.
These groceries are getting heavy, Ronnie answers, shifting his packages around. And Im getting snow down the back of my neck.
You shouldnt be alone so much, I keeps on. Its bad for a guy to play by himself all the time. It makes him self-centered and mean. Besides, theres no fun in it. What you need is to get out with the gangto be one of us!
What? Ronnies mouth comes wide open.
There goes the eggs! shouts Mack, making a grab at the sack. He picks it out of a snowbank and looks inside. Okayonly a couple crackednone of em broken.
Yes, Ronnie, I repeats, as I help hold him up. One of us! Wed be proud to count you as a member of our Rough and Ready Club.
Youyou would? Ronnie stares at us suspiciously.
You bet we would! assures Mack. Wed be tickled to initiate you!
Initiate? gulps Ronnie, and tries to get away. No, sir! I dont want to join your club. I want to go home!
Listen, says I, kicking Mack in the shins, were willing to make an extra special exception in your caseand let you join without any initiation.
Well…, considers Ronnie, IId have to ask my Dad first. He doesnt believe much in joining things. He says a man should be able to stand alone.
Hes wrong, speaks up Tommy. Doesnt your Dad know that united we stand, divided we fall?
Ronnie stares. I dont believe he ever heard of that, he says. But Ill tell him.
Dont you tell him a thing! I orders. Cant you decide anything for yourself. Do you have to run home and ask papa or mamma every time you want to blow your nose?
Ronnies face gets red. Not exactly, he says, faint-like. These groceries…!
Well help you carry em home, I volunteers, as far as the bottom of the hill, anyway.
Sure! says Mack, and grabs the sack of eggs. Oh, oh! Theres another one cracked! Manthese eggs are toughyou can crack em but you cant break em.
Mother will throw a fit, Ronnie observes, ruefully. He stares about him, badly worried, because his groceries are divided up between six fellows, and hes probably wondering if hes ever going to get em back.
Were not a bad bunchhonest! I tells him, as we walk along, keeping our heads down against the wind and the snow. Trouble isyou and us havent ever gotten acquainted. We think youre a real guy underneath.
Sayyou ought to see Ronnie warm up! I guess hes been starved for talk like this … someone to take an interest in him. Hes still afraid were going to take a backhanded slap at him, though.
II dont get out much, he confesses. Theres lots of things Id like to do if…!
Fine! busts in Mack. You come with us and you can do em!
Could I learn to ski? Ronnie asks.
Ski? we cry, and now its our turn to gasp for breath. Ski?… Would you really like to learn to ski?
We cant believe our ears. Can you imagine this? It just goes to show that you cant judge any fellow until you get right on the inside of him. If Ronnie was asking us to teach him how to play checkers or blindmans buff … butskiing! Maybe hes spoofing us.
Skiing looks like fun, says Ronnie. Mother thinks its too dangerous, but you fellows dont seem to get hurt.
Naw, of course we dont, I replies. I tell you what you do, Ronnie! You come out with us and well show you how to ski and then, after you know just how to do it, you can surprise your mother! Just imagine the look on her face when she sees you skiing up the hill to the house!
Y-yes, II can imagine! falters Ronnie. Then his face takes on a hopeful expression. I guess shed feel all right about it when she saw how perfectly safe it was, wouldnt she?
Sure! declares Mack, slapping Ronnie on the back and almost dropping the egg sack. Every mothers that way! Too bad, though, that your old manI meanyour fatherkicked us off the hill. Mack nudges me and I try to stop him, but hes got what he thinks is a great idea and he goes on. I guess you werent so crazy to have us on the hill, either. Just the sameits the best place around here to learn to ski.
Were just at the foot of the hill as Mack says this. Its the street side of the hill and were looking up the steps to the big house on top. Somehow it reminds us of a fort thats almost lost in the snow. Were half expecting to hear some words fired out at us from Mr. Turners booming voice but we evidently cant be seen from up above. Ronnie hasnt said anything yet in answer to Macks bold crack about the hill for skiing and Im thinking to myself that hes spoiled everything.
I had the wrong idea about you fellows, Ronnie suddenly blurts out as we return his groceries. Thats why I told Dad. He seldom goes out on the back hill. I dont see how the tracks youd make in the snow would hurt anything. If youd like to meet me out there tomorrow afternoon while Dads downtown…?
Would we? we all shout.
I havent any skis, says Ronnie.
Ill loan you mine! I offers. But what if your Dad should find out? He gave us strict orders…!
Well, considers Ronnie, starting up the steps. I suppose the worst he could do would be to put you off again.
He wouldnt be hard on us if Ronnie was along, encourages Tommy.
Okay! I decides. Well be there, Ronnie! From now onyoure one of the gang!
Ronnies face actually beams. Then he takes an anxious look up the stairs.
If I dont get home with these groceries…! he says, Motherll have the police looking for me.
You leave it to us, I calls after him as he runs up the steps. Well make a skier out of you!
And the second Ronnies disappeared in the house, we all start to dancing jigs in the snow, with Mack patting himself on the chest and declaring: I guess I put it over, eh … what? Got Ronnie to take us back on the old hill! And saymaybe we were wrong. If we give this bird half a chance he may not turn out a mammas boy after all!
The next afternoon we dont feel quite so gay. Its stopped snowing and the skiing ought to be swell but the thoughts of what Mr. Turner might do and say if he ever got wise that we were on the hill again without his permission has made us kind of shy and nervous. Were not so sure that even Ronnies being there will help any in case…! In fact, Eddie suggests that maybe Mr. Turner would blame us for inveigling Ronnie into skiing and using the forbidden hill. Inveigle is a terrible sounding word and, while were crazy to ski, were not wild to ski into any more trouble.
Besides, points out Carl, if Ronnie should get a bump like we all do, once in a while, were the guys wholl have to answer for it.
Its quite a responsibility all right, admits Mack, but I say its worth the risk. We certainly can run as fast as Mr. Turner.
Not if he sees us first, I warns, so wed better keep our eyes peeled. My old pair of skis ought to be good enough for Ronnie to learn on, dont you think?
Sure, rejoins Tommy. Hell probably break em anywayhit a tree or something.
Arent you cheerful? I razzes. Well, thats not going to happen if I have to go down the hill ahead of him and bend the trees out of the way!
Theres a familiar figure sitting on a fallen log and waiting for us when we climb over the fence and sneak up the hill behind the Turner house. Ronnie jumps up when he spies us, as tickled as a kid, whos about to try something hes never done before.
II thought maybe you wouldnt come.
Ronniewe are here! says Mack, officially and solemnly. Your lesson is about to begin!
But first, breaks in Tommy, how many miles is your father from here?
Hes downtown, reassures Ronnie. Hes hardly ever back before five oclock.
Then I guess the coast is clear, says Eddie.
It isstraight down the hill, I replies, meaning something different. But you got to watch out for the creek and the fence on the sides. Heres your skis, Ronnie. You shove your feet into the harness like this.
Ronnie is all eyes. He lifts up his feet and lets me fix them onto the long strips of hardwood.
Youyoure not going to send me down this steep hill first off, are you? he asks, plenty nervous.
No, of course not. Were going to let you ski around on top of the hill here, where its flat … and get used to the thing. Stand up now and see how you feel.
Ronnie straightens up and looks down at the funny contraptions on his feet. He lifts one ski up and tries to take a step forward. It turns sidewise and plops down on top of the other ski. Ronnies legs get crossed and he sits down ker-plunk. We grin and Ronnie looks worried.
Arent these skis a little too long for me? he inquires. Are you sure theyre my size?
Skis dont come in sizes, I informs. You lifted your foot too high. Its a sliding motionlike this. And I demonstrates.
Its easy, isnt it? says Ronnie, and untangles himself.
Sure! encourages Mack, when you get onto itits like falling off a log … or a cliff … or anything….
Ronnie stares at Mack a minute and then glances toward the brink of the hill.
I couldnt get started down hill without wanting to, could I? he questions.
If you did, wed grab you, I tells him. Now try it again. Move your right foot forward. Keep your body inclined just a bit. Thats the way. You look just like a skier now! Doesnt he, fellows?
Exactly! they agree.
Dont move and spoil it! directs Mack who cant help making sport of things.
Ronnie looks kind of bewildered.
Go ahead, says I. Dont mind what that boob says. Hes a bum skier anyway.
I am, am I? challenges Mack.
And down he goes over the hill, making the first tracks in the glistening snow. Its breathless to watch him as he gains speed, whizzes across the old Strawtown Pike and up the embankment where he comes to a stop. Hes a black dot to us now as he turns to wave his hands and then start the long journey back.
Thats wonderful! breathes Ronnie. Oh, if I could only do that!
Youve got to creep before you can ski, I instructs. Dont get impatient. A good skier wasnt built … I meanmadein a day. Well come out again … that is … if your Dad doesnt stop us.
Dads never had any time for sports, explains Ronnie. Hes been too busy. He thinks young men should … er … expend their energies on more worthwhile things….
Well, I … er … dont exactly agree with him, says I. But, of course, we cant all think the same.
All work and no play, recites Tommy, winking at the rest of us, makes Dad a dull boy.
He means any Dad, I hastens to explain. Now you just ski along beside me till you get the hang of this. Then well try a little slope back here which Im sure you can safely … er … negotiate.
Safelywhat? Ronnie asks.
Jim means, defines Tommy, getting back at me, a slope you can safely descend without any untoward incident….
Oh! says Ronnie.
We spend a good hour, Ronnie and me, getting him familiar with having skis on his feet. Meanwhile the rest of the guys are having a swell time skiing down the hill and Im commencing to think that Im the martyr to the cause, being crazy to do some real skiing myself.
How about it? I ask, finally, do you feel like you can go it alone?
Its quite simple now, says Ronnie. Do you mean you think Im ready to ski down the hill?
The question gives me a chill. Skiing on a plane surface and skiing down hill is as different as walking in broad daylight and skating in the dark with roller skates.
Youd better stick to just what youre doing for a couple days, I advises. Youre getting along swell.
I feel quite confident, replies Ronnie. This is mostly a matter of balance … something Ive always been good at. I walked our clothes line once. Everything would have been all right if it hadnt busted.
Yes, says I, Most things would be okay if something didnt happen. But you use your own judgment, Ronnie. If you think youre ready to go down the hill, its up to you. Only dont blame me if you suffer any … er … minor accident.
How could I blame you? Ronnie wants to know. Im awfully grateful for all youve taught me. This is the most fun Ive had in months … maybe years….
Thats fine, I replies. Heres hoping you keep on having fun.
Thats why I want to go down the hill, declares Ronnie. I imagine that would give me a real sensation.
Its the big thrill in skiing, Mack puts in, being eager to see Ronnie make his first attempt. Just follow my tracks, Ronnie, if you decide to go down, and you cant go wrong!
II believe Ill do it, says Ronnie, after taking a deep breath. Its a long ways down. I probably wont be able to ski back up the hill. That looks a lot harder.
Aim for that embankment across the Pike, points out Mack. See if you can beat my mark.
Oh, I couldnt do that first off, returns Ronnie, modestly. Id be satisfied if I could tie it. I imagine my momentum will be about the same so I should travel about as far.
Theres no doubt about ityoull travel! assures Tommy.
If this works out all right, says Ronnie, Ill have my Dad see me do it and maybe hell change his mind about letting you fellows use the hill. Of course he mustnt know that youve taught me. Hes to think that all these tracks are mine.
Ronnie, says I, my hats off to you. Youre a regular sport. And whats moreI admire your nerve.
Oh, this doesnt take nerve, disparages Ronnie. It just takes skill.
Well, have it your own way, says Mack, and we all stand around to watch the take-off.
Feet together, I directs, feeling shaky inside. Lean forward a little more. Thats it!
Goodbye, fellows! calls Ronnie, as he moves toward the spot where the hill slopes down, eyes glued ahead.
Goodbye! we shout.
It sounds to me like were saying goodbye for a long time. Theres a sickening feeling comes in the pit of my stomach as Ronnie suddenly disappears over the brow of the hill and shoots down. Sayhave you ever ridden in a roller coaster? Wellyou zip down a steep hill on skis and tell me which gives you the biggest heart throb. In a coaster you can at least hold onto the rod and sit tight. On skis youve got to hold yourself just so or you may find yourself flying through space and landing hard enough to jar your wisdom teeth.
So far, so good, says Mack, when Ronnies half way down.
I dont care to look, I rejoins, getting panicky. I never should have let him gone!
Hes doing swell! cries Tommy. Ohoh, no! Hes not doing so good now! Hes veering to the right. Hes off the course. Hes heading for the fence!
Good grief! I exclaims, and takes a look. Sit down, Ronnie! I yells, making a megaphone of my hands. Sit downquick!
But Ronnie doesnt hear me. Hes too wrapped up in his own problem.
Oh, my gosh! gasps Eddie, that tree!
How Ronnie missed a big oak, I dont know. He just shaves it and goes on, right through a clump of underbrush and down a steep grade toward the fence, his body weaving back and forth as hes fighting to keep his balance.
Look out! I screams, and then it happens.
Ronnie hits the fence ker-smash and goes right on over, doing the niftiest frontward somersault you ever saw, and landing head first in a snow drift with only his skis sticking out. Were all of us so petrified that we stand there a couple seconds, not knowing what to do or say. Then we see Ronnies feet kick and his head come out of the snow.
Ill bet hes hurt! I cries. Im going down to him!
As Im strapping on my skis, though, the fellows bust out laughing.
Whats so funny? I demands.
Hes waving at us! roars Tommy, he thinks thats great stuff! I dont think hes hurt a bit!
I stand up and stare and we all wave back. Ronnie starts trying to climb the fence with his skis still on but he finds this doesnt work so good, so he takes em off. And when Im sure he isnt hurt, I take to laughing myself. Honest, I havent seen such a funny spill since I can remember. Talk about innocence abroad! The way Ronnie has gone down the hill, so sure he has known all he needed to know about skiing!
So youre laughing at my boy, eh? says a big voice behind us.
Wow! We just about freeze in our tracks! As we turn around, theres Mr. Turner, so mad he can hardly see straight. How long hes been standing there, we dont know, but its probably been plenty long enough. And now were going to catch it!
My wife thought something was up, says the man who owns the hill, so she phoned me and I came home. This is what you do behind my back, is it?
It was your sons idea, explains Tommy, whos scared green. He wanted us to teach him how to ski….
So this is the way you do itstart him down this big hill?
I told him hed better not try it, says I.
When I want my son to know anything, Ill teach him! booms Mr. Turner. You boys arent going to make a laughing stock of him! I used to ski when I was a boy and I….
You? Mack exclaims, unbelievingly.
Yes, me! thunders Mr. Turner. And Ronald could do what I used to do with a little practice. Loan me those skis, young man, and Ill show you a thing or two!
Mack, open-mouthed, passes his skis over. Ronnie, meanwhile, is struggling to get back up the hill. He cant make it on skis and is in snow up to his waist. His dad kneels down and slips his feet into the straps as we gaze at him, darn near paralyzed. What can we say? Mr. Turner is boiling mad … so mad that he gets one ski on backward. He kicks it off and turns it around.
Excuse me, Mr. Turner, breaks in Tommy, but hadnt you better come back here on the hill? Dont put your skis on while youre on the slope. You might start off before youre ready. You know, skis dont have any brakes…!
Are you telling me something about skis, young man? is Mr. Turners rejoinder.
Im trying to, replies Tommy, backing off, but I guess it doesnt matter much. Youll find out soon enough.
Mr. Turner glowers.
Careful, Dad! cries Ronnie, who comes panting up the hill. Its not so easy as it looks!
Stand back, son! orders Mr. Turner, and stands up suddenly. The incline starts him moving and off he goesbefore hes ready.
Dad! yells Ronnie, but theres none of us near enough to catch him.
Mr. Turner gives one anxious glance behind him, and almost falls over backwards as he swoops downward. Whats worsehe hasnt had a chance to steer himself and he shoots off the straight-away at once, going more and more to the left.
Hes heading for the creek! we all cry. Sit down, Mr. Turner! Sit down!
When you sit down it helps slow you up and you can usually manage to stop although you may roll over a few times. But its better than running into something by a whole lot.
Maybe hell jump the creek! speculates Mack. Its only about fifteen feet across!
I dont think my Dad was ever on skis before! says Ronnie, worriedly. He thinks anything a boy does is easy.
We groan at this, though Im willing to believe that Mr. Turner has had some experience with skis which he hasnt thought worth mentioning until this moment. Its even steeper down the left side of the hill than it is down the center where weve made our course, and Mr. Turner is going like the wind when he gets to the bottom. We can tell that he sees the creek and is trying to figure out how he can avoid it. He tries to move his skis to the side and make a turn but nearly upsets. Thirty feet from the creek he lifts one ski off the snow and desperately attempts to swing sidewise. Instead he criss-crosses his skis, tangles up his legs, sits down with a smack, and goes sliding right on, clawing and scraping until he clears the bank of the creek and sails out over the water to land ker-splash in the middle.
Oh, boyand is that water cold! shivers Mack.
He sure showed us something! murmurs Tommy.
Sayif we were to be tanned the next minute we cant help screaming at this. Its twice as funny as Ronnies high dive what with Mr. Turner sitting in the creek, with the water up to his neck and one ski still clamped to his foot. He doesnt stay there long, though. He flounders about till he can stand up and wades ashore, climbing up into the snow which must feel warm to him in comparison to the icy water.
Ha, ha, ha! laughs Ronnie. Dad didnt do as well as I did, did he?
Man, oh man! Is this a surprise? Here weve just begun to feel bad for laughing outright at Ronnies father and Ronnie busts a rib himself. That makes us feel better … but Mr. Turners coming up the hill, leaving the skis behind, so mad the water almost turns to steam on him.
Wed better beat it! advises Mack.
No, fellows! Stay here! pleads Ronnie.
Weve got to stick! I orders. We cant run out on Ronnie now!
So we stand our ground, expecting to get our heads taken off the minute Mr. Turner gets to us. Hes a sorry looking sight as he clambers up the hill, falling down a couple times in the snow when he loses his footing. Mr. Turners hanging onto his dignity, though, for dear life … trying his darnedest to preserve it. Hes been humiliated in the eyes of his son and before a bunch of fellows whove come from the best homes in town, if I do say it. But all I can think of is what my Dad told me about doing business with Mr. Turner, in warning me not to make him sore. And now Ive gone and done it!
Gee, Dad! says Ronnie, when Mr. Turner, puffing hard and teeth chattering, reaches the top of the hill. If you knew how funny you looked!
Im c-c-cold! answers Mr. Turner. This is no l-l-laughing m-m-matter! You b-b-boys had no b-b-business….
Im sorry, Mr. Turner, I apologizes, thinking of my father and hoping to straighten things out.
S-s-sorry, n-n-nothing! stammers Mr. Turner. Youll b-b-be t-t-telling this all over t-t-town…!
Sure they will, says Ronnie. Its too good to keep.
Mr. Turner glares furiously. W-w-when I w-w-want your opinion, son, Ill ask f-for it! he returns.
Have you ever been so nervous that you cant keep your face straight even when youre scared? Thats the way we feel and we commence to snicker again, one fellow starting off the others. Its some comical sight, Mr. Turner, shaking like a wet rag on a clothesline.
Ive g-g-got to be g-g-getting to the h-h-house, he says. B-b-boys, p-p-please d-d-dont s-s-say anything about this! K-k-keep m-m-mum!
Its so funny to hear Mr. Turner trying to talk that Mack laughs right out.
Maybe, suggests Ronnie, taking his fathers arm, if youd let the boys use the hill…?
Yes! takes up Mr. Turner, giving us an appealing glance. If Ill l-l-let you use this h-h-hill for a s-s-slide, w-w-will you b-b-boys keep this quiet?
We look at one another and are we happy? Theres a nodding of heads and I says: Thats a bargain, Mr. Turner! Nobody hears about this if we can play on the hill!
M-m-my w-w-word is my b-b-bond, says Ronnies Dad. C-c-come on, Ronald, b-b-before I s-s-suffer from exposure!
Goodbye, fellows! calls Ronnie, and winks. Ill be seeing you soon!
Goodbye, Ronnie! we shout after him, deciding right then and there that hes a regular guy in the making.
That night, when my Dad finds where Ive been he says, How come? and my answer is: Oh, Mr