Half a Dozen Boys/Chapter 8
CHAPTER VIII.
KING WINTER.
If Fred had been the hero of one of the stories of good little boys, whose pages our mothers and grandmothers used to bedew with salt tears, from the hour of his midnight talk with Bess his whole character would have undergone a sudden and miraculous change. But he was only a natural boy, just starting to fight his own way against heavy odds, and his progress was slow and tiresome. Though he forced himself to go out with Bess, and to see the boys when they came to the house, he still had the old longing to avoid them, and the old quick temper would flash out at Rob now and then. But Bess, watching him closely, could see his struggle, and often rejoiced over some victory too slight to attract the attention of any one else. With a quiet word of suggestion or encouragement she helped the boy onward when he was cross and discouraged, or let fall some expression of approval to show that she appreciated his efforts to live well, as a hero should do.
The first meeting with the boys was a trying one on both sides. Sam, in particular, was so anxious to make the most soothing remarks, that he well-nigh overwhelmed Fred by his expressions of sympathy and solicitude. But just as Fred felt he could endure it no longer, and must beat a retreat, Bert came to the rescue with some well-timed question that turned the conversation to less personal subjects. It was by no means the first time that Bess had been grateful to Bert for his quick perception of danger signals in the conversation, and she hastily followed his lead. But the hour the boys spent together was rather a stiff one, for Fred was silent and shy, and the boys had not the courage to approach him, as they felt, more strongly than ever, the sad difference between them. It was with a sigh of relief that Fred heard the door close behind them; and, returning to the parlor, he threw himself wearily into a chair, while Fuzz climbed on his knee and licked his face. A moment afterwards Bessie’s hand was laid on his shoulder.
“In a brown study, Fred?” she asked gayly.
“Yes—no—I don’t know,” was the somewhat vague response.
“What is it now?” she inquired, as she bent over the fireplace to pile up the scattered embers.
“Nothing, only I didn’t enjoy the boys much,” said Fred candidly. “And I don’t think they enjoyed me. Do you think we shall ever have any more fun together, Miss Bess?”
“Yes, indeed, Fred! It will take a little while to make up for the year you have lost. But be patient; the time will come, and come soon. Was it as bad as you expected?”
“I am afraid it was,” confessed Fred. “Sam was the worst of all.”
“And yet he had no idea of it,” said Bess. “He meant to say something very kind, and we ought to find out what people really mean, before we judge them. I don’t believe that, except for Rob, one of the boys would give up as much for your sake as Sam, in spite of his 
“‘What is it now?’ she inquired, as she bent over the fireplace””—Page 134.
January and February had come and gone with but little snow, and no cold weather. But from the very first day March seemed determined to make amends for this neglect. A week of cold, clear weather brought glorious skating, and the boys revelled in it. After a day or two of the sport, Rob, Ted, and Phil put their heads together, and, as a result of their planning, one fine moonlight evening the trio appeared to Bess, who was comfortably toasting her toes and holding Fuzz, while she read aloud to Fred.
“Cousin Bess!” exclaimed Rob, breaking in on this cosy scene, “just drop that old book and come with us! Fred doesn’t want you half as much as we do.”
“Do come,” echoed Phil persuasively. “It is splendid skating, and we want you to come, too.”
“But I don’t know how to skate,” demurred Bess, with an affectionate glance at the fire.
“It’s high time you did, at your age,” said Rob saucily. “And it’s no use to beg off, ma’am, for I know you have some skates, even if you don’t know how to use them.”
“Yes, we’ll teach you,” added Ted. “It’s fine to-night, and we want you to go like thunder—oh!” And he had the grace to blush over his last word.
“But my skates are dull,” pleaded Bessie.
“We’ve had them sharpened,” said Phil, triumphantly dangling them before her eyes. “Sha’n’t she go, Fred? ”
Now Fred did want to hear the rest of the story, instead of passing a lonely evening. For a moment his face clouded, but a sudden thought came to him, that such a feeling was unworthy the hero he was trying to be, and he said bravely,—
“Please go, Miss Bess. I truly wish you would, and you can tell me how many times you fall down.”
Bess had seen his struggle, and more than ever longed to stay with him; but the boys were clamorous, so she yielded, and went with them.
She had told the truth when she had said she could not skate, for, although she had owned her skates for ten years, she had not put them on as many times. But she was naturally sure-footed, and, with the three boys to help her, she was soon able to propel herself slowly across the smooth sheet of ice, in spite of occasional collisions with the many skaters.
“But what makes me turn around?” she asked anxiously, after she had repeatedly had the mortification of starting for some desired spot, only to turn helplessly midway on her course, and drift aimlessly backwards, with her puzzled face fixed on the starting-point.
“It’s because you don’t strike out evenly,” said Teddy. “Now watch me, and do as I do.” And he glided away across the pond.
Bess tried to glide after him, but her left foot constantly ran away from her right, and she could only toddle along in a series of short strokes, until she once more turned her back on the coveted goal, and, after a brief slide, stopped short, awaiting further instructions. It was a merry evening, and before they left the ice, Bess had learned to appreciate the fascination of the sport, while she retired amidst the congratulations of her three knights, who vied with one another in sounding the praises of their apt pupil. For a few days Bess made the most of her new accomplishment, and spent an hour or two of each day on the pond, where she quickly learned to feel at home, and at least could keep her face turned towards the object of her hopes. It was provoking to watch the ease with which her friends slid past her, looking so independent and sure of their footing; and Bess at first was tempted to give up the struggle, which she felt was making her ridiculous. But Rob’s protestations encouraged her, and on the third day she ceased to be the new-comer. Her successor was a tall youth who awkwardly put on his skates, rose unsteadily to his feet, balanced himself for a moment, and then, with a smile that said as plainly as words, “Conquer or die,” struck out boldly, only to land in an ignominious pile at her very feet. From that moment she felt herself a veteran in the art of skating.
It was late the next afternoon when Bess with one of her friends reached the pond. Their skates were soon on, and they struck out together into the merry crowd of skaters. Bess looked about for her cousin and his boon companions, who were nowhere to be seen, and then watched her friend, who was moving away alone, her swaying figure outlined against the ruddy sunset. Then, refusing all offers of assistance, she struggled up the pond, against the strong wind that nearly blew her backward. Half-way up the ice she paused, stood for a moment to catch her breath, and then, with the breeze, helping her, lazily slid back, almost to the dam at the lower end of the ice. This performance she repeated several times, greatly to her own satisfaction. At length, she had stopped to speak to a friend, when a sound of mingled scraping and shouting made them both raise their eyes, and glance up the ice. A peculiar apparition was bearing down upon them, as they stood there in the gathering twilight. At first, they could make out little but its outline, but as it came rushing nearer, it was revealed in all its splendor. Four sleds, two red, one yellow, and one blue, had been lashed together, two in front, two behind, and covered with a sort of platform of boards, from the front of which rose a complicated system of bean-poles, crossed and re-crossed, bearing a red and yellow horse-blanket, spread as a sail. Seated in state on the four corners of this platform, each waving a diminutive flag, sat Rob, Ted, Bert, and Phil, while on an inverted keg in the middle stood Sam, blowing on a tin horn with such energy that his crimson cheeks looked ready to pop, like an overheated kernel of corn. There was no way to guide or stop this unwieldy ice-boat, when once it was well under way. For a moment, Bess watched it in amusement, until her friend suddenly exclaimed,—
“The dam! They don’t think of it!”
True enough! They were rapidly approaching the edge of the ice; beyond lay a strip of still, green water, before it took its final plunge down on the rocks thirty feet below. The two women looked up the pond. There was no one near to help, and, besides, what could any one do? The boys were rushing to certain death; could it be that in the twilight they did not see their danger? But at that moment Bess saw them spring up, run to their improvised sail and try to pull it down, as if hoping in that way to check their mad speed; but it was too firmly lashed to its place. Must she see them drown? There was the one chance for them, and, straining her voice to the utmost, she shouted: “Rob! Phil! Jump for your lives!” and then turned away her head, not daring to look.
But the answering “All right” came ringing back to her, and, turning, she saw five prostrate figures on the ice, and the sleds, blanket and all, just sinking into the strip of dark water. Skating to the spot as quickly as she could, she found four of the heroes ruefully picking themselves up: Rob with a black eye, Phil with a cut lip, and Sam with a bloody nose, while Ted was uninjured. But Bert still lay motionless, stunned by his fall.
“What is it? Is he hurt? Is he killed?” exclaimed the frightened boys, crowding around their companion.
“No, I think he has only fainted,” said Bess, reassuring them as best she could. She sent Ted for some water, and soon had the boy on his feet, apparently none the worse for his escapade.
“Now, boys, come home,” said she, as she took off her skates, too much exhausted by her recent alarm to give the lecture the boys so richly deserved for their carelessness.
With Bert at her side, she started to walk home, closely followed by four crestfallen lads, who, though speechless, telegraphed to each other, in dumb show, behind her back, that they were going to be scolded. The culprits presented a forlorn appearance. Rob’s bump was already showing various rainbow hues, while Sam’s nose had no less quickly developed the size, shape, and color of a prize radish, and Phil’s lip had grown decidedly puffy. As they reached the Carters’ gate, Bess raised her eyes to the window where Fred, a dark little figure against the brightly lighted room, was sitting to listen for her step. Then she turned to the boys.
“Now, my boys,” she said, “I wonder if you know how near you came to being drowned, or worse. It was a crazy thing to do, that ice-boat of yours, and I am thankful that you only have some swollen eyes and noses to remember it by. Don’t do it again, children. You didn’t think this time, I know, but you must never try it again. Will you promise? ”
“It was first-rate fun,” remonstrated Phil, the clearness of his speech rather impaired by his swollen lip.
“Yes, fun in the time of it; but suppose that you had gone into the water, or that Bert had been more than stunned by his fall. Such fun as that would not be worth while, I am sure. I want you to let this be your last ice-boating, until you are older.”
“Yes, I guess we’d better let it alone,” said Bert regretfully. “But you just ought to try it once, Miss Bess, to see how fine it is. Good-night!”
And the boys, glad to have escaped so lightly, were off with a shout, while Bess went in, to be met at the door by Fred.
The lads kept their promise the more easily because a heavy fall of snow, the night after their ice-boating, made the pond useless. But as winter is the boy’s carnival time, and as boy ingenuity is endless as far as ways to tempt Providence are concerned, the quintette soon devised a new method of imperilling their lives. For two days Phil was shut up, as a result of his bump, and Rob only ventured as far as his cousin’s, where he inwardly rejoiced that Fred could not see the yellowish purple bunch that closed his eye for the time being. the following Saturday, however, the boys were ready for fresh sport, and betook themselves to Bert’s yard, where they found that their mates had been wasting no time. At the back of the grounds, Bert and Sam were putting the finishing touches to an inclined plane of boards, while Ted was covering it with a thin layer of snow, and beating it to a hard, smooth sheet.
“Hullo, black-eye!” shouted Bert, as he caught sight of his guests. “Come on; here's some fun for you.”
“What’s that for?” asked Phil, curiously eying the crazy structure.
“That? Don’t you know?” replied Ted, with a disdainful emphasis on the last word.
“It’s a toboggan chute,” explained Bert. “We’re going to cover it with snow, and slide down on it. By the way, there are you fellows’ sleds.”
“Where did they come from? I thought they went under,” said Rob.
“Sam went up the next morning and found them floating close to the dam,” answered Ted.
“He cut a long pole and hauled them in. But you kids go to work and help me. We want to get this done, so we can have some fun before a thaw.”
After two hours of hard work, Phil ventured to suggest that it would be easier to go to some of the ready-made hills for their coasting, but his comrades scorned the suggestion and promptly suppressed him.
By noon the slide was ready, and the boys separated for a hurried dinner, agreeing to be back as soon as possible. Soon afterwards they reappeared, Ted peeling an orange, and Phil with a pocketful of crackers, while Bert came out with a vast wedge of pie in his hand. With their sleds, they scrambled up the incline, and were soon on their way down it again. It was not in all respects a success. The framework, insecurely supported, tottered beneath them, and the boards were not carefully joined, causing occasional bumps in the way. But the charm of novelty covered a multitude of sins, and for an hour the boys followed one another down the slope and up again, with hardly a pause.
“Say, Phil,” asked Ted, as if suddenly impressed with a new idea, “what made you take the snow from the foot of the slide to cover it with? That’s what ails it, and makes our sleds stick so.”
“That’s so,” responded Phil, diving into his overcoat pocket for another cracker. “I didn’t think about that, and it was easier to get the snow here. I’ll shovel some on that place.”
“I’ll tell you what,” suggested Bert. “I’m sick of the sleds. There’s a pile of boards in the barn. Let’s each take one, and go down on that.”
There was a race to the barn, a quick pulling over of the pile, and the boys were back at the top of the chute again, each one armed with his bit of board. Rob went down first, and succeeded in managing his improvised sled so that he had the full benefit of the slide; but Sam, who followed him, was so heavy and came with such force that, at the foot of the incline, the boy and his board parted company. The latter stuck fast in the soft snow and mud, and the boy went tumbling and rolling away, amidst the shouts of his friends. The fun waxed fast and furious. Mishaps were many, and Sam was particularly luckless. Sometimes his board would escape from his clutches, and go merrily bobbing down the slope away from him, or else it would run off from the side, and land him in the snow beneath, or, again, some other boy on his sled would come whizzing up behind him, and, knocking his feet out from under him, would carry him along on top of the pile, struggling and laughing.
“It’s curious,” he remarked at length, “there don’t seem to be no reason why my board should act so queer. If there’s goin’ to be anything left of me, I reckon I’d better quit.”
“I say, Bert,” suggested Ted, “let’s all go down in a crowd. There’s a short ladder over there that would be just dandy. Would your father be willing we should try it just once?”
“I guess so,” replied Bert. “I don’t suppose we’d hurt it any, and it would just about hold us five. That’s as much fun as ice-boating.”
“I don’t know,” said Sam, discreetly holding back. “I am afraid that won’t work. I don’t want to get my neck broke.”
“Sam’s getting scared,” said Ted, as he and Phil clambered up with the ladder.
“No, I ain’t!” said Sam warmly, “but I hain’t got an inch of skin now that isn't black and blue.”
“This will have to be our last grand slide,” said Bert, as they took their places. “The snow is going fast.”
The five lads settled themselves on their unique toboggan, and at the word Ted gave the starting push. Away they went, rushing down the slope with such force that the forward end of the ladder plunged into the mud at the foot, and the rear flew up and described a half-circle in the air, scattering its riders in all directions. Two shouts broke on the air, one of woe as they took their flight, the other and longer one of mirth, as each surveyed his fallen companions. Phil was particularly funny, for a train of crackers scattered from his pockets marked the course of his flight.
“It was lots of fun,” Bob confided to Bess that night. “We just flew all ways at once. But it’s thawing so fast that we can’t try it again soon.”
And, in her secret thoughts, Bess was thankful that it was so.
Then came a week when it seemed as if the winter were a thing of the past. The snow melted quickly, and the ground settled so thoroughly that, when Saturday came round again, and it dawned warm and bright, Rob came in and invited Bess to play tennis with him. So through the whole March afternoon they played in the sunshine, while Fred, glad to he out once more, either wandered slowly up and down, or lounged on the lawn seat near them.
“I’ll tell you what, cousin Bess,” said Rob, as he took down the net, “I’ll play an hour Monday noon, if you want to.”
“Let me see,” said Bess. “I’ve promised to go to walk with Fred in the afternoon, but I think I can play. Will you have time before school?”
“I’ll hurry and eat my dinner, and we can play a little, anyway. Come on, Fred,” and they went into the house.
But the next morning was cold and raw, as if to make up for the day before, and by afternoon a few flakes of snow were falling lazily and melting as they fell. When Bess with her little cousin came home from church, she suggested that their game could hardly be played the next noon; but Rob laughed at the idea, and left her with many assurances that the next day would see him on the spot, racket in hand.
But on Monday morning Bess woke up to find a real old-fashioned snowstorm raging outside. Already the drifts lay high and white, and the fierce gusts of wind swept the snow this way and that, and shook the house until each window and door rattled in its casing. Mr. Carter made his usual early start to his business, and Bess and Fred adjourned to the library, where they were glad to curl up over the register, for the wind seemed to force its way even through the walls. But the lessons went hard that morning. The roaring of the storm made Fred unusually nervous, and Bess caught his mood, as she glanced out occasionally to see the air filled with the hurrying snowflakes, and watched the drift against the window slowly mount up until it half shut out the outer world, while the wind blew more and more furiously. At length she put down her book.
“Fred,” said she, “this isn’t doing either of us any good to-day. Suppose we leave it, and go to see what mother is doing?”
“Is it still snowing?” asked the boy.
“Snowing! I should think it was; faster than ever. And such a large drift by the window! Come over here, and I’ll show you how high it is.” And she laid Fred’s hand on the window, at the top line of the drift.
“It must be awfully deep. Wish I could see it, or else not hear it quite so much. I’m sick of such a racket.” And Fred drew a long, tired breath, as he dropped back into his chair.
“You stay here and toast yourself, and I will go out and see how things are.”
Bess found her mother looking anxious enough over the storm. It was eleven o’clock, and no meat-man, no grocer’s boy, and no milk. The fires needed constant attention, and Bridget, absorbed in her washing, was unwilling to be called on for help.
“Never mind, mother,” said Bess consolingly. “I’m a splendid fireman, and I will see to the furnace to-day. And don’t worry about the dinner. We’ll manage without meat and milk. Let’s see, we have some codfish, I know, and we will make coffee by the gallon, if necessary. I pity people who have no water in their houses. But I am afraid father will have a severe time getting home. The snow must be very deep.”
She opened the door to look out, but was greeted by a small avalanche of snow that came tumbling in upon her.
“Two feet on a level, I should think,” she announced, with an apparent unconsciousness of the wrathful countenance of Bridget, who stalked to the broom, and swept out the snow.
“Where is Fred?” asked Mrs. Carter.
“In the library. He is so nervous with the storm that I found he was getting no good from the lessons, so I stopped reading.”
“It is too bad to leave him alone,” said her mother. “You’d better go back to him.”
“Not a bit of it,” said Bess gayly. “You go stay with him, and Bridget and I will get you up a codfish lunch fit for a king.”
The day slowly wore on, and the storm still raged.
“It will go down at night,” Mrs. Carter had said, but as it grew dark the snow and wind were fiercer than ever; and it was evident that Mr. Carter could not get home that night. At dinner-time it was discovered that the dining-room on the north side of the house must be abandoned, for it was not only very cold, but the snow had forced its way under the door, and a small drift lay across the floor, where it melted and trickled lazily about the room.
By evening Bess felt that she had her hands full, between her duties as stoker, consoling Bridget, who, with the superstition of her race, declared this to be the forerunner of the day of judgment, cheering up her anxious mother, and quieting Fred’s fears. The boy tried to be brave, but, in his inability to see the storm, he pictured it as far worse than it really was, and was thoroughly frightened and miserable. Looking up from her magazine, Bess watched him as he moved restlessly from window to window, stopping at each and resting his head against the glass, as if trying to see out into the night. Then she rose and joined him, as he dejectedly turned away. As usual, his face brightened when he felt her hand on his shoulder; and, arm in arm, they walked up and down the long room, while Bess talked busily, hoping to tire him out until he should be ready to sleep. But it was late before he could be persuaded to go to bed, and, although Bess went to his room often during the night, she found him always awake and tossing restlessly, though he made no complaint. The morning found them all rather exhausted, and the boy seemed worn out with his long wakefulness. It still snowed fast, but the wind had died down a little. After a breakfast of such materials as they chanced to have on hand, Bess tucked Fred up on the sofa, hoping he might drop to sleep, and retired to the kitchen, to take an account of stock.
“Only two potatoes left, Bridget! How did we get so nearly out? And just this piece of cold steak and some codfish? Well, we must make the best of it all. They say fish is good for our brains.”
“Sure,” remarked Bridget sagely, “we’d better be ’atin’ a lot of it, thin, for it needs all the brains we can get to know how to get three meals a day, wid nothin’ to make ’em of. And all the clo’es layin’ wet in the tubs, miss! What in the world will we do wid ’em?”
The second day was longer than the first. Mr. Carter, they knew, was safe in his office, while a restaurant on the ground floor of the building would supply him with food; but they trembled to think of the suffering among the poor about them, suffering that they were powerless to relieve. The time dragged slowly along. Late in the day the wind ceased, and after their dinner Fred threw himself on the sofa, and at once dropped to sleep from sheer exhaustion. Bess covered him gently, and then followed her mother into the parlor, where she dropped into a chair.
“At last,” she whispered, with a backward glance at the brown head on the pillow, “I can draw a long breath. That child hasn’t slept a moment since yesterday morning. It is strange how nervous he has been.”
“It has been a fearful storm for all of us,” Mrs. Carter replied, “and it has been even worse for him. He has been so brave and uncomplaining that I suppose we have no idea what he has suffered. And I confess that I didn’t sleep much more than you and he last night. I wish I knew that no poor people were starving to death or freezing.”
“I dread to hear the reports from the storm,” said Bess soberly. “We have come out quite well. But you go to bed and try to have a little sleep. I’ll stay here and wait for Fred to wake up. I hate to disturb him.”
And tired as she was, drowsy and longing for rest, she sat by the fire until the clock struck one and the lamp burned low, rather than awaken the sleeping child. At length she went out to look at him, and sat down on the edge of the sofa, thinking to waken him; but as she saw his tired little face and quiet, even breathing, she waited and still kept her uncomfortable seat, till her cramped position forced her to move. The boy stirred as she touched his hand.
“What time is it? Have I been asleep?” he inquired, stretching himself.
“You certainly have. It is nearly two in the morning,” answered Bess, as he rose.
“Oh, Miss Bess! And you sat here with me? How could you? What a pig I am!” said the boy remorsefully. Then, putting his hands on her shoulders as she still sat there, too weary to move: “How awfully good you are to me!” he said. “I wish I could live with you always.”
And Bess thought no more of her weariness, as they went up the stairs together.
The next morning, Wednesday, found the snow still falling, but the clouds looked broken, and by noon some stray sunbeams were showing themselves here and there. As the Carters sat at their late lunch, their fourth consecutive meal of codfish, a scramble and clatter were heard at the front door, and the next moment Rob came tumbling in, with his pockets filled with bundles of all shapes and sizes.
“Hullo!” he shouted. “Where are you all? Want some grub?”
“Where did you come from, and how in the world did you get here?” asked his aunt.
“On my feet, aunty. I have taken to snow-shoeing; want to see my runners?” And, with great pride, Rob led them to the door, and exhibited a pair of long, narrow boards, slightly turned up at one end, and furnished midway with a strap of heavy leather to support the toe.
“The genuine Norwegian article,” he explained. “That man from out West, that civil engineer, you know, says they use them for their camping parties in the blizzards. He let me see his, so I made these. It’s lots of fun, see?” and he went striding away over the four feet of snow as if it were covered with an icy crust. Then he came back, took off his coat, and prepared to tell his adventures.
“I thought you might be getting hungry,” he said, “so I stopped at the market on my way up, and took what I could get. Hope you aren’t particular.”
“Not a bit,” declared Bess. “We are starved until we will eat anything.”
“All the better,” said Rob. “Here, Fred, catch hold of these.” And he piled into his arms two bologna sausages, a can of potted chicken, a slice of round steak, a can of condensed milk, two pounds of zoölogical crackers, a sheet of baker’s gingerbread, and a bag of raisins.
“Oh, Rob! Rob!” said Bess, laughing until she cried, as she saw the motley collection, so evidently selected by the boy himself. “Your warning was needed. We surely ought not to be particular.”
Rob laughed, but his color came and he looked rather annoyed, so Bess hastened to add,—
“But it was so good of you to think of us, for we are dreadfully tired of codfish, and this will be a welcome relief. And now tell us how you all are, and what the news is—if you know any.”
“Everybody is snowed up,” answered Rob, as he helped Fred to lay down his pile of provisions. “No trains, no street-cars. We went to school Monday morning, but they sent us home about ten, and I didn’t go out again till last night. Some men in front of our house were trying to plough a path, and I asked them if I mightn’t borrow their horse to ride down after some milk. They said I might, so I hopped on and started. He went very well till I was down in front of the church, but there he stopped, so I just hit him with my heels to make him go. He just swung up his hind feet and pitched me off, head first, into a tremendous drift. I went in all over, and all I could do was to kick. A man saw me go, and took hold of my feet to pull me out; but off came my rubber boots, and over he went backwards, with one in each hand. I guess he was scared, and thought he had pulled me in two. But pretty soon I felt him grip my feet again, and that time he got me out. The horse had walked off, back to his master, and I had a sweet time getting home. This morning I saw that man go by the house on his shoes, and I called to him and asked him to let me see what they were like. He was awfully nice, and told me just how to make them, and I’m going to make you a pair, cousin Bess. It’s lots of fun to walk on them, only when you turn round you get them crossed, they are so long, and first thing you know you’re standing on your own heel. But what about that game of tennis?”