"The water isn't over ten feet deep," said another.
"Swim hard and then you won't take cold," added a third.
"If you find yourself really drowning, yell for help," put in a fourth.
"I—er—I don't think this is quite fair" commenced poor Carson, and then he was tripped flat on his back and sent downward with a plunge. "Oh!" he screamed, and then continued to go down, with great rapidity, for the slide had been looked over by the boys, and made as smooth as possible. He shut his mouth tightly, expecting every instant to strike the chilling waters, but of a sudden his feet struck a heap of sawdust, and into this he slid up to his knees. Then eager hands seized him, and the bandage was torn from his eyes. In the semi-darkness he saw that he had not come down the slide over the water, but down another, which ended in the sawdust pit of the ice-house. He looked decidedly sheepish.
"Have a fine swim, Carson?" asked one of his tormentors.
"What a sell!" muttered the victim. "But anyway, it's better than the river!" he added, with much satisfaction.
One after another the victims were sent down the wooden slide. Some came down silently, like martyrs, while others yelled in alarm. Nat Poole
