For the Honor of Randall Part 3

It was a risky plan, but none other would serve to prevent the big, new bob from shooting toward the smaller hill, with the certainty of overturning.

"Steer to the right--more to the right!" yelled Frank to Burton. "I'm coming up on your left!"

"I--I can't!" was the answer. "My steering wheel is jammed!"

"You can never make it, Frank," called Phil. "There isn't room between that bob and the turn to get in. You'll upset us!"

"No, I won't! Just sit still! I'm going to do it!"

There was a quiet determination in the voice of the Big Californian, a comparatively newcomer at Randall.

With a rushing whizz Frank steered his bob up alongside of the other.

It was just this side of the dangerous turn, toward which Burton was headed. He was unable to do anything toward guiding his sled, and the brake, though jammed on full, only served partly to slacken the speed.

But this slackening was enough to permit the faster bob from Randall to creep up, and just in time.

Steering with the utmost skill, Frank sent his bob as close as he dared to the other. It was on his right, while on his left, dipping down with dizzying suddenness, was the turning slope that might lead to danger, or even death.

Frank thrust out his foot, and planted it firmly on the foremost sled of the new bob. At the same time he twisted his steering wheel to the right, so as to gain all the leverage he could toward forcing Burton's bob away from the turn.

For a moment matters hung in the balance. An inch or two to the left would send both bobs crashing down the dangerous slope. There was a shower of ice splinters in the moonlight, a chorus of frightened gasps from the girls, and sharp breathing by the boys. Then the weight, and true steering qualities, of the Randall bob told. Slowly but surely she forced the other away, and, a moment later, as the defective steering gear on Burton's sled gave way, there was a mix-up, and both craft overturned, while there came shrieks of dismay from all the girls.

[Ill.u.s.tration: FOR A MOMENT MATTERS HUNG IN THE BALANCE.]

But the upset had occurred in a soft bank of snow, and, aside from the discomfort, no one was hurt.

"If it had happened ten feet back though--well, there'd been a different story to tell," mused Tom, as he and his companions helped the girls out of the conglomeration of sleds and drifts.

"What did you want to try anything like that for?" asked Phil of Burton, when there was some semblance of calmness.

"Well, a fellow dared me to coast into the hollow, and I said I would."

"You won't do it again--with _my_ sister aboard," growled Phil.

"No, indeed!" cried Madge Tyler. "If we'd known he was going to do that we wouldn't have ridden with him."

"Oh, no harm's done," spoke Burton with a laugh. "I can soon fix that steering gear, and we'll have some fun yet."

"No, thank you," replied Miss Harrison. "I think we have had enough for one night."

"Come on our bob," invited Tom eagerly. "It's early yet."

"Shall we?" asked Ruth, a sparkle of mischief in her eyes. "We're not really hurt, you know, and--well----"

"Oh, yes, let's do it," begged Miss Newton, and so, leaving Burton to his damaged bob, the girls went with Tom and his chums. They had several glorious coasts, under the silver moon, which shone with undiminished splendor.

Hal Burton got his bob in shape again, and begged the girls to try a ride, but they would not, and he was forced to content himself with others.

"Maybe he'll be unpleasant toward you, going back to Fairview in the horse sled," suggested Phil, to his sister.

"He didn't hire that," retorted Ruth. "We girls clubbed together and got that, and invited the boys. But I think we'd better be going; it's getting late."

There was one more last, jolly coast, and then the college girls and boys wended their way from the hill, calling good-nights to each other.

"When are you coming over, Phil?" asked his sister, as she and the others climbed in the big horse-drawn sleigh.

"Do you mean our _crowd_?" asked her brother, laughingly.

"Yes--_everybody_!" added Miss Tyler.

"To-morrow," answered Tom promptly.

"Don't!" retorted Miss Harrison. "We have an exam. the next day. Make it Friday, and we'll have a little dance."

"Done!" shouted Sid.

"And he's the old misogynist who used to hate the ladies!" chaffed Tom, at his chum's ready acceptance. There was a laugh, and then the four inseparables, in the midst of groups of their friends, trudged on toward Randall.

"There was some cla.s.s to your steering, Frank, old man," complimented Tom, after some talk of the near-accident.

"That's right," agreed Phil. "I never thought he'd make it."

"I just _had_ to," was the response. "There'd have been a bad time, if that chump had gone down into the hollow."

"Of course," put in Sid. "I wonder how he came to get in with our girls, anyhow?"

"_Our_ girls!" cried Tom. "How many do you own, anyhow?"

"Oh, you know what I mean," said Sid. Then the students fell to discussing the matter, speculating as to what sort of a chap Hal Burton might turn out to be.

"Well, we had a good time," remarked Tom, a little later, as the four entered the room they shared in common. "h.e.l.lo!" he cried, "the clock has stopped."

He caught up a nickel-plated alarm timepiece, and began shaking it vigorously.

"What are you trying to do?" gasped Phil indignantly, as he s.n.a.t.c.hed the clock from Tom. "Do you want to ruin it?"

"I was trying to make it go."

"Yes, and get the hair-spring caught up so she'll do two hours in the time of one. Handle it gently, you vandal!" and he rocked the clock easily to and fro, until a loud ticking indicated that it had started again.

"And now for boning," remarked Frank, as he sank into one of the twin armchairs that adorned the room. One was a relic--an heirloom--and the other had come to the boys in a peculiar manner. Both were old and worn, but the personification of comfort--so much so that once you had gotten into one you did not want to get out. Also it was hard work to arise una.s.sisted, because of the depth.

Tom took the other chair, and Sid and Phil shared the dilapidated sofa between them. It creaked and groaned with their weight.

"I guess we'll have to be investing in a new one, soon," remarked Phil, as he tenderly felt of the sofa's 'bones'. "This won't last much longer."

"It will serve our time," spoke Sid. "Don't you dare suggest a new one.

It would be sacrilege."