John nodded and stood up again. "Beat you around the island," he challenged.
No sooner said than they were off. Silvey's new skates cut the ice cleanly at every stroke, while his chum's duller pair skidded and slid now and then as he gained headway. Along the narrowing, west pond, past helpless beginners whose efforts not to appear ridiculous made them doubly so, past staid business men, past arm-linked couples from the university dormitories, and out on the thirty-foot path of scraped ice which encircled the island. There Silvey slowed up.
"Getting bumpy," he cautioned. "Watch out!"
The warning came too late. John's skate sank to his shoe sole in a crack and sent him sprawling. He stood up shakily and rubbed a bruised knee.
"First fall, first fall," yelled Bill as he turned back. "Hurt much?"
John shook his head and started off again bravely. They got into the swing of it as they swept under the second island bridge and out on the last lap of the course. Faster and faster their legs flew over the ice as they dodged cracks with more certainty. Skater after skater was left behind, often by a hair's-breadth margin of safety which evoked half-heard protests as they skimmed on.
"Almost there," shouted Bill as he increased his efforts to the utmost.
"Tie," yelled John as he shot over and grabbed an arch of the northern bridge to stop his momentum. "Look at the crowd. What's happened?"
They skated slowly over and around until they found a thin space in the human circle which allowed them a view of proceedings.
"Fancy skaters," whispered Bill. "Look at him write his name on the ice."