Hans Brinker, or the Silver Skates / Серебряные коньки. Книга для чтения на английском языке

“I can’t help that,” was Jacob’s meek reply. “See! they are nearing the turn of the canal.”

“NOW we can see!” cried Ludwig in great excitement.

“Peter will make it first, I know.”

“He can’t – for Ben is ahead!” insisted Carl. “Gunst! That iceboat will run over him. No! He is clear! They’re a couple of geese, anyhow.[302] Hurrah! they’re at the turn. Who’s ahead?”

“Peter!” cried Ludwig joyfully.

“Good for the captain!” shouted Lambert and Jacob.

And Carl condescended to mutter, “It IS Peter after all. I thought, all the time, that head fellow was Ben.”

This turn in the canal had evidently been their goal, for the two racers came to a sudden halt after passing it.

Carl said something about being “glad that they had sense enough to stop and rest,” and the four boys skated on in silence to overtake their companions[303].

All the while Carl was secretly wishing that he had kept on with Peter and Ben, as he felt sure he could easily have come out winner. He was a very rapid, though by no means a graceful, skater.

Ben was looking at Peter with mingled vexation, admiration, and surprise as the boys drew near.

They heard him saying in English, “You’re a perfect bird on the ice, Peter van Holp. The first fellow that ever beat me in a fair race, I can tell you!”

Peter, who understood the language better than he could speak it, returned a laughing bow at Ben’s compliment but made no further reply. Possibly he was scant of breath at the time.

“Now, Penchamin, vat you do mit yourself? Get so hot as a fire brick – dat ish no goot,” was Jacob’s plaintive comment.

“Nonsense!” answered Ben. “This frosty air will cool me soon enough. I am not tired.”

“You are beaten, though, my boy,” said Lambert in English, “and fairly too[304]. How will it be, I wonder, on the day of the grand race?”

Ben flushed and gave a proud, defiant laugh, as if to say, “This was mere pastime. I’m DETERMINED to beat then, come what will!”

Boys and Girls

By the time the boys reached the village of Voorhout, which stands near the grand canal, about halfway between The Hague and Haarlem, they were forced to hold a council. The wind, though moderate at first, had grown stronger and stronger, until at last they could hardly skate against it. The weather-vanes throughout the country had evidently entered into a conspiracy.

“No use trying to face such a blow as this,” said Ludwig. “It cuts its way down a man’s throat like a knife.”

“Keep your mouth shut, then,” grunted the affable Carl, who was as strong-chested as a young ox. “I’m for keeping on.”

“In this case,” interposed Peter, “we must consult the weakest of the party rather than the strongest.”

The captain’s principle was all right, but its application was not flattering to Master Ludwig. Shrugging his shoulders, he retorted, “Who’s weak? Not I, for one, but the wind’s stronger than any of us. I hope you’ll condescend to admit that!”

“Ha, ha!” laughed Van Mounen, who could barely keep his feet. “So it is.”

Just then the weather-vanes telegraphed to each other by a peculiar twitch – and, in an instant, the gust came. It nearly threw the strong-chested Carl; it almost strangled Jacob and quite upset Ludwig.

“This settles the question[305],” shouted Peter. “Off with your skates! We’ll go into Voorhout.”

At Voorhout they found a little inn with a big yard. The yard was well-stocked, and better than all, was provided with a complete set of skittles, so our boys soon turned the detention into a frolic. The wind was troublesome even in that sheltered quarter, but they were on good standing ground and did not mind it.

First a hearty dinner – then the game. With pins as long as their arms and balls as big as their heads, plenty of strength left for rolling, and a clean sweep of sixty yards for the strokes – no wonder they were happy.

That night Captain Peter and his men slept soundly. No prowling robber came to disturb them, and, as they were distributed in separate rooms, they did not even have a bolster battle in the morning.

Such a breakfast as they ate! The landlord looked frightened. When he had asked them where they “belonged,[306]” he made up his mind that the Broek people starved their children. It was a shame. “Such fine young gentlemen too!”

Fortunately the wind had tired itself out and fallen asleep in the great sea cradle beyond the dunes. There were signs of snow; otherwise the weather was fine.

It was mere child’s play for the well-rested boys to skate to Leyden. Here they halted awhile, for Peter had an errand at the Golden Eagle.

He left the city with a lightened heart; Dr. Boekman had been at the hotel, read the note containing Hans’s message, and departed for Broek.

“I cannot say that it was your letter sent him off so soon,” explained the landlord. “Some rich lady in Broek was taken bad very sudden, and he was sent for in haste.”

Peter turned pale.

“What was the name?” he asked.