Down the Ice, and Other Winter Sports Stories

by Harold M. Sherman

  THE SKI BATTLE

  To begin with, Reed Markham of the Georgia Markhams, had never seen itsnow until his _Pappy_ sent him north to a finishing school. He came ofwhat has been described as "warm Southern blood" which perhapspartially explained his feeling that northern schoolmates at SeldonPrep were "cold" to him.

  "No wonder you people have to have steam radiators in your homes!" hehad been reported as saying once, when provoked at Yankee coolness.

  But if Reed, fresh from a land rich in the lore of good old-fashionedhospitality, had felt his sensitive nature react to the more reservedattitudes of those new to him, he had only to remain long enough forcold weather to set in to know that the climate was even icier than thepeople.

  "Brrr!" he murmured, teeth chattering, on the first stinging day offall. "Why did Pop ever send me to this part of the country? This isterrible! I suppose I'll have to go out and get some heavy underwearand a ... what's that word?... yes--a _winter_ overcoat!"

  Soft spoken, soft acting, with soft brown eyes and softer black hair,Reed Markham had slid softly into Seldon at the start of the schoolterm. A naturally diffident youth, possessing none too much inclinationto make advances, Reed had resented the failure of fellow schoolmatesto approach him. On the few occasions that they had, his white teethhad shown, the soft eyes had warmed with a grateful smile and he haddone his best to make friends. But a certain self-conscioussomething--a feeling that he was among fellows who thought differentlyand acted differently than himself--had always erected a barrier.Sadly, more often bewilderedly, Reed had realized, even as he wasspeaking to a northern schoolmate, that the youth was not opening up tohim. He wondered not a little about this Mason and Dixon line business.Why should fellows be humanly different just because they lived indifferent parts of the country? Weren't they all Americans? Reedcontrolled a hot-tempered tongue with difficulty. His softness was amatter of breeding; his temper a matter of inheritance. A fellow mustbe the gentleman at all times--according to the best traditions of theMarkham family. What Reed unfortunately could not know was that hisSouthern drawl and his obvious culture had been mistaken by his newacquaintances for a sense of superiority.

  "Thinks he's too good for us!" Sam Hartley, star athlete of the schoolhad declared, after sizing Reed up. "If this is a sample of Georgiacrackers...!"

  But Reed had merely felt, in his retiring way, that he--astranger--should be welcomed by the residents of the north and made tofeel at home. Down South, these same fellows would be greeted withunmistakable signs of hospitality, having only to reflect this warmthin return to be accepted in the community. For him, however, to makethe first advances in this northern atmosphere, would be a breach of... well ... call it 'etiquette'...!

  The first snowfall Reed had ever witnessed commenced one frigid morningwhile he was in school. Great, crystal-shaped wet flakes began driftingdown, much to his amazement and interest as he gazed from his desk outthe window. Yes, he had heard of snow. He had even learned thedictionary definition for it--'ice in the form of white or transparentcrystals or flakes congealed in the air from particles of water, andfalling or fallen to the earth.' And here it was--in the process of_falling_! A quite strange and beautiful sight, Reed thought, recallingpictures he had seen in news reels of snow-covered country, snowbattles and snow slides. There was something cotton-like in the flakeswhich nestled on the window sill and fluffily covered it. Reed felt atwinge in his throat that he knew to be homesickness.

  At recess that day, the two hundred other fellows in Seldon Prep made amad dash for the out-of-doors, plunging into the thickly falling snowand scooping up handfuls of it to pack into snowballs. Reed, standingtimidly in the shelter of the doorway, watched a merry battle beingwaged, numerous snowballs landing with eye-smacking accuracy. He sawSam Hartley, who seemed to be the ringleader, single-handedly stand offa concerted attempt to roll him in the snow, tripping up hisadversaries, stopping them with whizzing snowballs and dodging back andforth across the campus, laughing the while.

  "It looks like real sport," Reed admitted to himself.

  He was not, however, invited to take part. In fact the fellows appearedoblivious that he was even looking on, having relegated him to thesidelines in their activities weeks before. To voluntarily enter intothe fun, Reed could never do. Reaching down he caught up a bit of thesnow and crushed it beneath his fingers, watching it melt against thewarmth of his hand.

  "Funny stuff!" he said.

  At that moment the boisterously engaged Sam detected him and becamesuddenly inspired.

  "Hey, fellows!" he shouted. "Look at Reed! He's not used to snow. Let'sinitiate him!"

  And, before the lad from the South could retreat, the Northern army wasupon him. Protesting, Reed was dragged out to the center of the campuswhere grinning youths grabbed up the wet snow and applied it none toogently to his face.

  "That's the way--give him the old face wash!" laughed Sam. "How's thatsnow feel, Reed? Must be pretty dull down South in the winter time, eh?"

  Reed's brown eyes flashed as he renewed his struggles to get free, snowin his hair and nostrils.

  "And now some down his neck!" someone cried.

  Reed felt his collar roughly pulled from the neck and a chilling,spine-tingling sensation as a cold, wet lump went sliding down.

  "You guys let me go!" he gasped. "I can't stand this!... Oh!"

  "You'll get accustomed to it!" Sam reassured. "This snow is just astarter. It usually gets three and four feet deep here."

  Reed groaned inwardly. Snow might have been nice to look at but it wasfar from attractive or pleasant rubbed on his face and shoved down hisback. If the fellows thought this was sport ... and intended to handout such treatment through the winter ... well, he'd pack up his dudsand beat it for home. He just didn't fit in this atmosphere anyway. Hisfather should have known better than to send him to such a place.

  "If Pop knew what I have to put up with!" Reed moaned to himself. "I'llhave to write him about it. When he understands...!"

  The letter of complaint to the elder Markham was dispatched specialdelivery that same night, after Reed had made a complete change ofclothes and taken a hot bath for fear of possible consequences. To hisrelief, he contracted no cold, which indicated that he was hardier thanhe had supposed, having apparently stood the exposure to snow as wellas his northern schoolmates.

  "That's something, anyhow," he said, with a measure of satisfaction.

  His father's reply, also by special delivery, proved disconcertinglyunsatisfactory. Rather than sympathizing with his son's growingpredicament and distaste for the north, the senior Markham wrote inpart:

  "I'm frankly ashamed of you, Reed. I spent three of the happiest years of my late boyhood in the north. Did you ever stop to think that it might not be the other fellows--but you?... Analyze yourself, my boy, and see if you can discover what's wrong.

  "What's a ducking or two in the snow? Haven't I seen you dive unflinchingly into iced swimming pools? Give me a few dabs of snow every time.

  "I'm afraid the fellows are apt to put you down as a poor sport. I must tell you, that is the main reason I insisted on your going north to school ... you were becoming too self-centered. Your boy friends here knew you too well. They were humoring your weaknesses. Don't write me, son, unless it's about your triumphs. After all, you know, you're a Markham ... and, while a Markham may have his faults, he doesn't quit...."

  Reed read and re-read what he considered to be an amazing letter. Hisapparently easygoing, soft-spoken father had suddenly spit fire. Nomincing of words here--straight from the shoulder stuff. Even theSouth, it seemed, could be cold and unfeeling on occasion. Reed bit hislips and slipped the letter in a drawer of his desk.

  "I won't write Pop at all," he said, with a flare of hurt Southernpride. "But I'll stick this out, somehow ... or die trying!"

  * * * * *

  Sam Hartley, of all the fellows Reed had so much as a spea
kingacquaintance with, became the most detested. As the winter tightenedits grip and ice and snow sports were more and more indulged in, thetaunting Sam seemed to personify the aggravation of the entire schoolin its relation to the student from the South.

  "If he doesn't leave me alone pretty soon, something's going tohappen!" Reed decided one day after submitting to considerable torment.Among other things he had been caught and forced to dive head firstinto a five foot drift, being first compelled to climb to the top of afence post as the diving point. Such stunts as this but increasedReed's hatred for snow and further outraged his estimate of northernfellows.

  "They're nothing but a bunch of roughnecks!" Reed denounced in private,"who take most of their delight in making me miserable! How I'd like toget even with the crowd of them!"

  If wishes had been the father of thoughts, Reed would have been giventhe power to douse each of the two hundred fellows in the ice-cakedwater fountain which graced the campus. He would have shouted infiendish delight at their discomfiture, quite willingly forgetting thesupposed propensities of the gentleman. Even a gentleman, Reed hadabout made up his mind, could give vent, under due provocation, to anexpression of righteous indignation. To make the instance moreconcrete, his patience was being tried to the point of exasperation.

  "I wonder what I might be able to do to turn the tables?" Reedcommenced to ask himself.

  * * * * *

  There is an old saying that "he who asks a question must find theanswer" or, with equal aptness: "the answer must find him who asks thequestion." In this case the answer found Reed in the form of Seldon'sAnnual Winter Carnival.

  "As you boys all know," announced the dean in chapel one morning, "thisCarnival attracts the populace of the town and surrounding countryside.It has become an occasion to be anticipated. Particularly thespectacular ski jumping event down the now famous slide of Seldon Hill.This season, Sam Hartley, our ski jumping champion has assured me thathe will be out to break his former record jump of one hundred and ninefeet...."

  The rest of Dean Hogart's announcement suddenly meant nothing to oneReed Markham who had been listening, up to this time, with lukewarminterest. Sam Hartley!... Sam Hartley!... Sam Hartley!... There didn'tappear to be an activity worthwhile in which he did not prominentlyfigure. Reed was sick of hearing the name mentioned. It was about timethat Mr. Hartley was taken down a few pegs. He had the other fellowsunder his thumb. A suggestion from him and they'd all but tear theschool down ... or turn upon the only student from the South toperpetrate further hazings. How they loved to pick on him! And how thisSam Hartley person enjoyed his leadership!

  "I've dived from a sixty foot perch and I've sailed gliders," Reedconsidered, quietly. "I wonder if that's anything like the sensation ofshooting through the air on skis?"

  With the Carnival but one month away, the majority of the two hundredstudents went into training for the various sporting events to be runoff. The slide, thanks to abundant snow, was in excellent conditionand, the first night of practice, Reed waited in the clearing below theincline to watch a group of schoolmates, led by the one and only SamHartley, take the jumps.

  "Wow!" cried a townsman as Hartley was seen to be whizzing down theslide, first to take-off from long-established precedent. "What formthat baby has! Look at his forward crouch ... watch him straightenafter he leaves the incline ... there he goes--soaring like a bird!Isn't that beautiful? Oh! Oh! He spoiled his landing ... took aheader...."

  "Yes, I see he did!" commented Reed, with a surge of satisfaction.

  But Reed's blood had tingled at the sight of this magnificently builtyouth skimming down the slide. Whatever he might think of Hartleypersonally, he was forced now to concede that the fellow had a naturalathletic grace which approached perfection. This was the second sportReed had seen him in, the first sport having been football.

  "This looks like his star event," he estimated. "And it looks likesomething I could do if I just had a chance to get in some practicewithout the fellows being wise...!"

  Skiing, as the boy from the land of no snow was to discover, was notthe easy sport he had imagined. Old Steve Turner, recreational directorof Seldon Prep, had smiled as he had listened to Reed's "confidential"proposal.

  "But why do you want to learn how to ski when the other fellows aren'taround?"

  The Southerner's face flushed. "Because I've been laughed at enough,"he retorted, and felt sorry that he had even brought himself to speakto the Coach. Northerners were all alike--old or young.

  "Perhaps," suggested Old Steve, observing the youth closely, "if youlearned how to laugh at yourself before you tried to learn how to ski,you'd get along better."

  "I guess," was Reed's rejoinder, "you folks up here have a differentsense of humor than I have."

  But the upshot of Reed's request that he be taught how to ski inprivate, was the granting of a concession by Coach Turner wherein Reedwas to be excused from his last two study hours for skiing practice onthe promise that he would make them up out of school.

  "Winter sports are all new to me," Reed explained, his heart warming tothe Coach's unexpected kindness. "The other fellows are takingadvantage of it. But I've stood just about as much as I'm going to!"

  "That's the spirit!" Coach Turner encouraged.

  Reed Markham had always been a conundrum to Seldon's recreationaldirector, he was secretly glad to see the boy venturing from his shell.

  "You get some skis," the Coach proposed, "and I'll meet you for an hourevery day on the old ball field." Then the Coach's face widened in agrin. "But, remember, son--you're setting out to learn a strictlynorthern sport. You can't take this skiing knowledge back to Georgiawith you and do anything with it!"

  "I know that!" flashed Reed, in a revelation of pent-up feeling. "Butyou Northerners think you're so darn good in everything ... I'd like toshow you what I can do at your own sport!"

  "Go to it!" Coach Turner invited, good-naturedly. "I'll help all I can!"

  * * * * *

  Curiosity of fellow students was aroused with Reed Markham's continuedabsence from the study periods at school and this curiosity wasintensified when it was rumored around by townspeople that theSoutherner had been seen in the company of Coach Turner, both with skisunder their arms, hurrying for the enclosure of the ball field. As thegates were locked, it was impossible to see what was taking placewithin but the inference was evident.

  "So Softy's going in for skiing!" Sam Hartley taunted one day as heencountered Reed on the campus.

  The Southerner glanced coldly at the fellow whom he so thoroughlydetested.

  "Well, what of it?" he asked, controlling his smoldering temper withdifficulty. This "Softy" nom de plume was a new one.

  "Doesn't Softy know that skiing is a he-man's sport?" was Sam's kiddinginquiry. "Softy doesn't like snow ... he hates to be rolled in it.What's he going to do when he gets his skis crossed going down hill? Oris he just going to ski on the level?"

  "None of your business!" Reed retorted.

  Sam laughed and the other fellows with him laughed. The idea of aSoutherner ... this Southerner, anyway, taking up the manly sport ofskiing! Of course the use of the snow was free.

  "When you think you're good," Sam continued, "come over on the slidesome night and I'll give you a few lessons on ski jumping."

  The fellows winked at one another. If they could ever get Reed Markhamon the slide it would be the greatest sport ever. There was no doubtabout it--he would be a riot. They could just see him now, his firsttime down the snow chute, speeding up the incline and floundering offinto space! What a howl!

  "Yes," urged Tom Carrow, one of Sam's friends and closest rival in theski jump. "Or, better yet--perhaps you can show _us_ something?"

  "I doubt that," said Reed, bitingly, "you fellows know all that's to beknown!"

  And when he walked off, it was Sam who, looking after him, remarked:"There goes the queerest duck I've ever met. He's got spun
k, though.Now what the deuce do you suppose he's taking up skiing for? With thatsuperior attitude of his, I should think he'd consider skiing beneathhim just because we go in for it!"

  Efforts to discover Reed's possible intentions from Coach Turner provedunavailing.

  "Reed is preparing for a climactic change which he expects is going toeffect Georgia in the next half century," the recreational directorexplained, in all apparent seriousness. "When Georgia's first big snowcomes, Reed hopes to lead his oppressed people from the wilderness...!"

  "Applesauce!" branded the inquisitive group about the Coach.

  "What if it is?" grinned the director. "I like _applesauce_."

  * * * * *

  Reed Markham's entry in the ski jumping contest proved the biggestsensation in the history of the school. Students just couldn't bringthemselves to believe it although reports, the last week prior to theAnnual Winter Carnival, told of Reed's going down the slide. While noneof the school fellows were eye witnesses, some of the townspeople hadpaused in their day's occupations to watch Coach Turner and his lonepupil. They had seen the pupil take three successive tumbles--two atthe take-off. "Nasty spills," as one townsman had characterized it. "IfI'd taken any one of 'em I'd have stacked my skis and called it quits.But this kid picks himself up and crawls back up the hill to begin allover again. He listens pretty close to what his Coach has to say andwatches this man Turner take a couple of jumps. Then down he goesagain. You say he's a Southerner and he's been practicing skiing lessthan a month? Well, you'd never know it!"

  Sam Hartley, meeting Reed after his name had been posted on thebulletin board as a competitor in the feature event, could not resist acrack. He noticed as he spoke that Reed was limping.

  "Well, so you took my tip and tried out jumping? How'd you like it?"

  "Nothing much to it," was Reed's laconic reply.

  His superior way again.

  "What do you mean, there's nothing much to it?" rejoined Sam, a bitpeeved.

  "Not after gliding," Reed explained, "it's rather tame."

  "_Gliding?_" repeated a crowd of interested fellows. "Where did youever do gliding?"

  "Where do you suppose?" Reed asked, his soft eyes burning.

  Later, through Coach Turner, who had gained a degree of Reed'sconfidence, astounded Seldon Prep schoolmates learned that this quietmannered, self-effacing youth, had won the Southern States GlidingContest with a flight of six hours and fourteen minutes ... and with aglider he had built himself. Sam Hartley, when he heard this, spentsome uncomfortable moments running a finger underneath a tight collarband.

  "How far has this _Softy_ ski jumped?" he asked the Coach, finally.

  Upon this point, however, Coach Turner was non-communicative.

  "You'll find out the day of the meet," he said.

  * * * * *

  Seventeen of an enrollment of two hundred were entrants in the famedski jump which was the event responsible for the big turn-out ofspectators. Seldon Prep was one of the few northern schools givingattention to ski jumping and the fact was recognized by news reelcamera men who stationed themselves below the incline with camerascommanding a range of the landing area. With ice skating and bob-sledraces out of the way, the course along the ski slide and beyond it waslined with a colorful winter crowd. The sky was overcast with just asuggestion of snow in the air. Newspapers, having gotten wind of theSouthern boy's participation in the meet, had advertised Reed Markhamas the "dark horse" so that spectators were discussing him and tryingto pick him out.

  Seldon's method of operating the ski jump was a system of her own. SamHartley, as defending champion, was entitled to jump last. The othercompetitors were required to draw lots for places and a sober-facedReed winced as he found that he had drawn number "one."

  "So I've got to start the meet," Reed murmured to himself. "Here's atough break right off."

  "Remember," warned Coach Turner, who was the official in charge, "fordistance to be counted on your jumps, you must land clean, on yourskis, and continue. What happens after that, of course, is of noconsequence. But no jumps will be recognized if the jumper falls inlanding. Is that clear?"

  The contestants nodded and looked to their skis. All were atop the hillwhich provided a fine view of the surrounding country ... the SeldonPrep school buildings and grounds on the right ... straight ahead andprecipitately down in the valley--the town of Seldon. The Rapid Riverseparated the town from the school property. The clearing in which theskiers were to land was a park on the Seldon Prep end of the bridge.Skiers completing the jump successfully would carry on, passing overthe bridge and coming to a stop on the other side the river. Eitherthat or turn their skis sidewise and bring up short, risking a tumbleinto the banked snow on the sides around the clearing. To the left,looking from the top of the hill, was open country. The landscape todaylooked particularly attractive since a thin coating of additional snowhad fallen the night before. The sliding lane was dotted black withhumanity ... the dots merging into a blotter-like area below where theskiers were to finish.

  "Suppose you're all ready to _take_ us?" queried Sam as he skied overbeside Reed who had knelt to be sure his feet were firmly fastened tothe skis.

  Reed gave no answer. In truth, his heart was pounding like mad. He didnot dare venture a comment for fear his voice would quaver. This thingof demonstrating before a crowd he felt to be hostile; schoolmateswaiting to ridicule, and in a sport he had attempted to master within ashort, concentrated period, had all tended to affect Reed's nerves.Thousands had watched the glider contest and he had not cared. Butnever had he wanted so much to make good ... to give these swell-headedNortherners a Southern spanking--where it hurt the worst--in their ownsport.

  "Each contestant gets three qualifying jumps," announced DirectorTurner. "And three chances to better the marks of his opponents. If hefails he, of course, drops out. Are you ready, Reed Markham?"

  "Yes, sir!" said Reed, and wondered in a flashing thought, what hisfather would say if he could see him now.

  "Course clear!" came the shout from below and the small figure of anofficial, looking up, waved a green flag at him.

  Conscious that every eye was on him, the fellow from down Southprepared to take-off. He surveyed the incline up which he must shootand calculated the breeze which was blowing, taking these factors intoaccount as though he were about to leave the ground in a glider.

  "Well, here goes!" he said, and caught his breath as he whizzed downthe slide.

  A white ribbon of snow passed him with almost express train speed; hesaw a kaleidoscopic sea of faces, crazily distorted as he shotdownward; heard the excited murmur of the crowd which broke into a wild"Ah!" as he crouched and took the air. Below him a rough horseshoe ofhumanity, blurred trees, houses, the river ... and down, down, down ...swooping low ready for the landing ... he was wavering, losing hisbalance ... something wasn't quite right....

  "A great take-off!" breathed champion Sam Hartley, following theSoutherner's flight. "But he's going to crash!... Too bad!..."

  Striking on one ski, Reed desperately tried to keep his feet but wascatapulted instead, landing head first in a mound of snow and narrowlymissing a rim of spectators. Willing hands reached for him and pulledhim out, shaken and gasping.

  "You all right?" asked the official who had waved him down.

  "Yes," Reed reassured, recovering his skis.

  "Too bad, kid!" sympathized an onlooker. "That first jump of yoursmight have been a record if you'd kept your feet."

  Reed glanced at once at his landing place. He had come down beyond thehundred foot mark.

  "Well," was his comment, "all I can do is try again!"

  "The boy's got nerve!" somebody nearby remarked.

  * * * * *

  Champion Sam Hartley's first jump gave early evidence of his superbform when he broke his own record with a leap of one hundred and elevenfeet. He mounted the
hill, grinning jubilantly and eyeing the fellowfrom down South who was about to take off on his second try, as much asto say, "Beat that, if you can, you _beginner_!"

  "He's good all right," Reed conceded. "This gliding through the air andkeeping your balance without wings of any kind is no small trick. Whenyou land it's usually harder, too."

  Setting himself grimly, Reed leaned forward.

  "He's off!" cried the crowd.

  Hurtling off the incline, body perfectly poised, the only contestantfrom the South carried well over the landing field and came down asgracefully as a bird. This time there was no wavering, his return toearth was as beautifully maneuvered as a pilot's three point landing.There followed a mighty cheer from the crowd!

  "Holy smoke!" gasped Sam, staring. "I believe he's ... yes, sir--thatGeorgia riddle has topped my mark. The question is--how much?"

  A few seconds later the crowd thrilled at the megaphoned announcementthat Reed Markham, number one, had been credited with a jump of onehundred and thirteen feet, six inches!

  "Hey, Sam!" kidded Tom Carrow who was now third with a jump ofninety-eight feet. "You've got your work cut out for you!"

  "Don't I know it?" Seldon's champion returned. "I can't let that babybeat me. I'd never hear the last of it--after all the razzing I'vehanded him."

  For the first time since he had come to Seldon Prep, Reed Markham wassupremely happy as, with the plaudits of the crowd resounding in hisears, he toiled up the ice-coated hill to the starting place. Let thisSam Hartley person top this mark if he could. Now the ski wasdistinctly on the other foot! Sam had broken his own mark and he, Reed,who had taken up skiing but a month before, had topped that! Prettygood for a Southern boy who apparently wasn't considered much good atall!

  "Great stuff!" greeted Sam, considerably to Reed's surprise. "That'sthe greatest jump I ever saw!"

  "Thanks," said Reed, and scowled. "What else can Hartley say?" he askedhimself, trying to explain the champion's gesture of sportsmanship."But I'll bet those Northerners are really burning up!"

  Trying desperately, the defending champion failed to equal even hisprevious distance on the next two jumps. Reed, meanwhile, reserving hisright as the leading jumper, did not take his turns. And, when each ofthe other rivals failed in their third tries to better the mark, Reedfelt his nerves tingling as the fellow he detested strapped on his skisfor his last attempt.

  "He can't beat it!" something told Reed. "I'm going to win! I'm just anovice ... a rank amateur ... but I'm going to beat this cocksureNortherner. They will laugh at a Southerner, will they? This'll fix'em, and maybe I won't have something to write Dad!"

  Reed was still exultant as a breathless crowd, pulling for the localfavorite to come through, cheered mightily with Sam Hartley'sall-important take-off. Reed followed Sam's form as it sweptmajestically off the incline and sailed outward over the clearing. Hiseyes strained with sudden concern as he noted that Sam had made aprodigious leap and was coming down close to his own record distance.Sam struck the slope, wavered, thrashed his arms violently to keep hisfeet, succeeded and continued on down over the bridge amid a mad tumult.

  "He did it! He topped that Markham fellow's distance!" shouted aspectator. "What ski jumping! Records being broken right and left!"

  Reed felt nervous perspiration ooze out upon him. Now he had it all todo over again. This was hair-raising, blood-chilling competition.Reduced now, just to the two of them, it would be a bitter fight to thefinish ... a battle with no quarter asked and no quarter given ...between North and South.

  A tickled Sam Hartley, accepting congratulatory pats on the back,stationed himself below to await his Southern rival's next jump. Hewaved his defiance at the figure on top of the hill. Reed Markham wouldhave to surpass one hundred and fifteen feet to take the lead from thechamp.

  "I guess that finishes him!" Sam said in a low tone to overjoyedschoolmates. "But, boy--he's made me do some tall jumping!"

  * * * * *

  Racing down the slide, determined to best his previous jumps, Reedfairly shot out into space.

  "Good night!" exclaimed Sam, face sobering. "That guy's a regularkangaroo!... Hey! Look out, kid!... Look out the way!"

  It happened quickly--a couple of playful kids chasing each other acrossthe snow and one of them directly in the path of the descending skijumper. Reed, looking down, saw that his landing was to be fraught withperil for himself as well as the youngster. There was only one thing todo. With complete disregard for himself he twisted his body in air,hurled himself forward and, just clearing the startled kid, struck theground on the tips of his skis, upended and rolled and slid for somefeet, finally colliding with a tree, where he lay, stunned. Even so,the point of his landing was in excess of the distance Sam had made,indicating that, had he been able to come to earth without incident,Sam's record might once more have been eclipsed.

  "How are you, fellow?" asked Sam, the first one to him, sitting thedazed Reed Markham up and looking him over, anxiously.

  "I--I'm all right, I guess. I--I missed the kid, didn't I?"

  "Yeah, that scamp's okay," Sam reassured. "That was a nervy thing youjust did. Too bad it had to spoil your jump. You're too shaken up. We'dbetter call this a day. I'm awfully sorry--really!"

  Sam helped Reed to his feet. Director Turner came hurrying up; thecrowd commenced gathering around.

  "Give me just a minute," Reed pleaded. "I've got two more jumps coming.I...!"

  "_Two_ more?" exclaimed Sam. "You've got _three_. We're not countingthat one."

  "Thanks," said Reed, and gave the fellow he detested a questioningglance. These Northerners were more chivalrous than he had thought.

  "You've jumped enough," declared Coach Turner, taking Reed's arm."You've done wonders as it is...."

  "No!" insisted Reed, his soft eyes taking on a look of grimdetermination. "Whenever a fellow crashes, he's got to go up andtake-off again. That's an old glider rule. I'm all right. Make way forme, will you please?"

  "Well, I'll be dogged!" cried Sam, in sheer admiration, as the fellowhe had pestered brought an ovation from the crowd by starting the longclimb up the hill.

  "A Markham never quits!" Reed was repeating to himself as he wenttoward the top.

  And he was repeating it after he had failed in two more jumps, thefirst of which resulted in another tumble and the second falling shortby half a foot.

  "You've still another jump if you feel like it!" Sam offered.

  "No," said Reed, extending his hand in token of surrender. "You win!"

  "I'll never feel quite right about this," said Sam, as he gripped thehand of the fellow he had dubbed "Softy." "You're some guy, Reed! Youmade me break my own record twice to top you. I'm sorry it's taken usfellows so long to get to know you ... but I'm glad of one thing...!"He paused, grinning.

  "What's that?" asked Reed, feeling his heart suddenly go out to thisNorthern foeman.

  "I'm glad," said Sam, "that you didn't have snow in Georgia! Man--a guywho can jump like you did in a month's time...!"

  Coldness--imaginary and otherwise--vanished quickly after that asfellow schoolmates gathered around for the privilege of shaking theSoutherner by the hand ... and, as if to prove that the Northern warmthwas to remain--the next day brought a heavy thaw!