The valley, and the village, and the river, and the East Hill would be in the way, to be sure, and that was something; but the hill road was as slippery as ice, and the new ripper looked more and more like a shark when Court Hoffman lifted it to show them how bright and smooth the runner irons were.
He showed them also how the wheel worked, and declared that he could steer that ripper all around a house. That was what made Jim Delany ask,
"Could ye stheer it round a wood-sleigh, wid three yoke of oxen, av ye met 'em in the sthrate yonder?"
"I'll show you. Now, boys, who's going with me? Hurrah! The more the merrier."
"I'm wid ye," shouted Jim Delany. "It'll be bad luck for any horned baste we run into."
One after another the larger boys followed Jim, and Court never stopped to count.
"Keep your feet on the foot-rests," he shouted. "Hold on hard. Hold steady as rocks. We'll be off in a minute. Ready, all? Go, then."
And go it was, with nearly a mile of sloping road before them, and beyond that the long glittering reach of the level.
There was time for a cheer or two, and they gave one, and nearly half of another; but that second cheer seemed to be cut in two by something.
Court Hoffman grasped his wheel tiller with all the strength he had in him, and looked straight ahead. He had ridden on that sort of machine before, and he knew what was coming the moment she got her speed on.
Dan Varick's grip on Jim Delany would have brought a yell from him if he had dared to open his mouth. Jim was thinking, too, but he and all the rest were thinking the same thought.
"Fences? They're nothing but two black streaks at the side of the road. Oh dear! we'll go clean through the village. What if we should run into something!"
They held on like good fellows, and made that ripper-load of boys as nearly as possible one solid mass, so that it was easier for Court Hoffman to steer. Even he, though, was beginning to have his doubts as to where they would bring up, and whether he could steer safely around the curve where the road from the West Hill crossed the main street, and met the road from the East that led over the bridge.
The speed was awful! No express train ever went faster, and a race-horse would have been passed as if he were standing still.