"Whoop! hurrah! it's snowing!"
Thus shouted Tom one day, as he burst into the library of the Hall, where Dick, Sam and a number of others were perusing books and the latest magazines.
"Hard?" queried Sam, dropping the magazine he held.
"No, but steady. Peleg Snuggers says it is going to be a heavy fall, and he generally knows."
"And he loves snowstorms so," put in Fred, with a laugh. "Do you remember the time we made a big fort and had a regular battle?"
"Indeed I do!" cried Larry. It was great! We ought to have something of that sort this winter."
"I was hoping we'd get skating before it snowed," put in Songbird.
"Well, we can't have all the good things at once," answered Dick. "I think a heavy snowstorm is jolly. Somehow, when it snows I always feel like whistling and singing."
"And I feel like making up verses," murmured the poet of the school, and went on:
"Oh, the snow, the beautiful snow,
Coming down when the wind does blow.
Coming down both day and night,
Leaving the earth a wonderful sight!
Oh, the snow, the heavenly snow!"
"Wetting our feet wherever we go!"
continued Tom, and added:
"Oh, the snow.
When the wind doth blow,
It sets a pace
And hits our face
And we are froze
Down to the toes
And in the slush,
That's just like mush,
We cannot stop,
But go ker-flop!"
"Tom, the first thing you know, you'll be taking Songbird's laurels away from him," observed Larry.
"Perish the thought!" answered the fun-loving Rover, tragically.
"I don't hope you call that poetry," came from Songbird, in deep disgust. "Why, Hans can do better than that; can't you, Dutchy?"
"Sure, I can make up some find boetry," answered Hans. "Chust you listen to dis. I make him ub von night ven I couldn't go to sleep."
"Der vos a leetle pird,
He sits ubon a dree,
Dot leetle pird vos habby
Like von leetle pird could be
A hunter mit a gun
Py dot tree did lay,
He shoot his awful gun,
And dot pird—he fly avay!
"Good for Hans!" cried Dick, and there was a general laugh. Then the gathering in the library broke up and all the cadets went outside to see how the snow looked. Before long there was enough on the ground to make snowballs, and then a battle royal all around ensued. So long as they took care not to break any windows, Captain Putnam did not mind this, and from his office the master of the Hall and George Strong watched the sport.
"Makes one feel young again," remarked the captain to his first assistant.
"I'd half like to go out myself," answered George Strong.
"I remember one year we had a great snowball fight at West Point," went on the captain. "It was carried out in regular army fashion and lasted half a day. Our side was victorious, but we had to fight desperately to win, I was struck in the chin and the ear, and three of the cadets were knocked unconscious. But it was good practice, for it showed us something of what a hand-to-hand struggle meant."
The snow came down all that day and night, and by the following morning covered the ground to the depth of about a foot. It was somewhat moist and first-class for the making of snow men and snowballs.
"Let's make a statue of Captain Putnam," said Fred, and this was done, the statue being nearly ten feet high. It must be confessed it was not a very good likeness, but it looked remarkably fierce with some straws for a moustache, a flat wooden stick for a sword, and an old army cap on the top of the head. When he saw it. Captain Putnam laughed as heartily as anybody. Old as he was getting, he never allowed himself to forget the time when he was a boy.
Some distance from the Hall was a fair-sized hill and this was used by the cadets for coasting. As soon as school was over that day the lads brought out their sleds and bobs, and soon the hill was filled with boys, their merry laughter ringing far and wide. The Rovers had a big bob and this was used by the three and also by several of their friends.
"I'll race you!" shouted Dick, who was in charge of the bob. He addressed another student named Peter Slade. Slade had a big bob and had been boasting that this could beat any other bob on the hill.
"All right," answered Slade. He was a lanky youth, rather lazy, and given to much boasting.
It was soon arranged that each bob should carry six boys, and Fred, Hans and Songbird went with the Rovers. The two bobs lined up side by side, and Larry Colby gave the word to go.
"We're off!" shouted Tom, giving a shove, and leaping on behind.
At first the two bobs kept side by side. The slide was in fine condition, and all the other cadets lined up on either side to watch the outcome of the race.
"Hurrah for the Rovers!"
"Hurrah for Peter Slade!"
"May the best bob win!" cried one student, enthusiastically.
"Here's luck to you, Tom!" shouted George Granbury, and threw a snowball that caught Tom in the neck.
"Thanks!" shouted Tom, shaking his fist. "I'll pay that back with interest when I get the chance."
Half of the course was soon covered and still the bobs kept side by side. But then the Rovers' bob began to drag behind.
"Hurrah, we are going to win!" cried one of the boys on the other bob.
"Said I could beat you!" yelled Peter Slade to Dick.
"The race isn't ended yet," flung back the eldest Rover boy.
On and on went the two bobs, and gradually that belonging to Peter Slade drew a full length ahead. Dick glanced back anxiously.
"Something seems to be catching under the runners," he said. "Look and see if everything is clear."
"The boys behind looked, and then of a sudden Songbird let out a cry.
"It is Hans' tippet! Hans, go and put that tippet end around your neck and don't let it drag under the bob!"
The German youth was wearing an old-fashion tippet around his neck, the loose ends flying behind. One end had gotten under the bob runners and was scratching along in the snow.
"Vell I neffer!" cried Hans, and pulled on the tippet so vigorously that the long bob began to switch around sideways.
"Look out there!" sang out Sam. "Don't throw us off!"
"Wait, I'll loosen the tippet," came from Songbird, and guided the muffler free of the bob. Then Hans took up the ends and tied them around his waist.
The drag had caused the Rovers' bob to get two lengths behind the other, and Peter Slade and his companions felt certain of winning.
"You can't touch us, Dick Rover!" called Slade, triumphantly.
"Good-bye!" called another boy. "We'll tell those at the bottom of the hill that you are coming."
"Are we making better time?" questioned Tom, anxiously. "If we are not I'll get off and shove," he added, jokingly.
"You hold tight now!" yelled Dick, and an instant later the bob went down over a ridge of the hill. Free of the drag, it shot forth like an arrow from a bow, and soon began to crawl up to Peter Slade's turnout.
"The Rovers are crawling up!"
"Yes, but it's too late to win!"
"We've got to win!" called out Sam.
And then both bobs took another ridge and rushed on to the end of the course, less than a hundred yards away.