A vision of a fleet ice boat skimming up the river at express train speed
swam before our eyes. But the next moment, as we turned the corner into
River Street, we were surprised by the sight of our old scow just off the
pier at anchor, and in open water. It was rigged up with a jib and
mainsail, which were flapping idly in the wind. It had also been altered
by decking over the top, with the exception of a small cockpit, evidently
for the purpose of keeping out the water when she heeled over under the
wind. We were disappointed and quite annoyed at not finding the ice boat
on hand; furthermore, our annoyance was considerably heightened by
Dutchy's broad grin of evident delight at our discomfiture. "The river
wasn't all frozen over," he explained, "and we couldn't bring the ice boat
down, so we rigged up the scow and she came down splendidly."
A Sail in the Scow.
There was nothing to do but to jump in, though I, for one, would have
taken the train in preference had there been one inside of two hours.
Dutchy, however, seemed to be in a surprisingly good humor, and kept up a
lively chatter about things that the club had made in our absence. The
skis, which have already been described on page 42, had been built under
Reddy's guidance, and they had already used them on Willard's Hill,
coasting down like a streak and shooting way up into the air off a hump at
the bottom.
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