Madison Mudison knows how to order—a rare accomplishment. When we got through I felt as if I never wanted to move again, but would rather stretch my legs toward the blazing fire and smoke, smoke, smoke; but when you accept an invitation your host becomes your keeper, so we were all corralled and trotted away to the lake.
Miss Speechless had brought her sister's skates, so I had to freeze my fingers adjusting the clamps to fit. Then, as I kneeled on the ice before her in a devoted attitude, while I fixed them on her feet and complained of their being too large, I froze my knees. By the time I had prepared myself to go gliding over the ice, I was all a-shiver and eager for a spurt that would start the blood going. But there, waiting for me, was Miss Speechless, standing with her feet together, balancing as though she were on a tight rope, pleading to me to hurry. She was afraid to strike out, and when I reached her, was fluttering helplessly in the wind. So there was nothing for me to do but to tow her—a difficult and dangerous task, as I am not an adept at going backward. It was work, more than I had counted on, and I was soon in a condition bordering on exhaustion. At last I was allowed a moment's rest, and as I stood there panting, Miss Speechless, fluttering in the wind, told me how jolly it was; but I paid no attention to her, my eyes being fixed on the others. At one end of the lake J. Madison Mudison and Mrs. Radigan, hand in hand, were gliding gracefully around. It was beautiful to see them. I am sure Mrs. Radigan learned the art on the canal at home, though she says she spent her winters in Canada as a child. And as for Mudison, I forgave him his legs—he should never wear knickerbockers—when I saw the way he soared around on one skate. Out would go the right feet, left feet waving gently in the air; a swerve, and they were off in the other direction. They swept around in a graceful curve and came rolling down toward us, as lightly and airily, as unconscious of all but themselves, as though there were no laws of gravitation. It was beautiful to see them!
But at the other end of the lake, what a picture! Radigan and Miss Bumpschus, hand in hand, fluttering aimlessly about. They went in little jiggety steps, and every now and then she would stop suddenly, without warning, while he would go on to destruction. He was earnestly good-natured about it, though, and would clamber up to his feet and go on with her, undaunted. I worried about them once when I saw them coasting toward a weak spot in the ice, but Radigan, with rare good judgment and self-sacrifice, sat down and averted a disaster. And Miss Bumpschus seemed to enjoy it all tremendously.
I could not stand forever in that freezing wind watching the progress of these two romances. Miss Speechless on skates was on my hands, and I had to resume my towing. A blessed moment came when Plumstone Smith rolled up and addressed some graceful nothings to her, upon which she seized his hands and asked him to take her around just once. That just once was lengthened into numberless times, for I slipped noiselessly away to the secluded spot where Miss Veal was airily cutting eights and double eights and other figures. Together we sat on the bank, she in the shelter of her automobile coat smoking a cigarette with me, while we watched the others. Plumstone went by backward, puffing, dragging Miss Speechless after him. A smile crossed my companion's face—you should see Pearl Veal smile!—as she gazed at the spire of smoke that went heavenward from her lips. She looked at me when they had gone by, and somehow we laughed.
Mudison and Mrs. Radigan came rolling past us. They swept about and glided back to the secluded corners of the lake. Radigan and Miss Bumpschus came clattering up. They parted while they turned about, and then half-trotted, half-skated toward their end of the ice.
"Isn't it a shame that Sally should be tied down to such a poor skater as John," said Miss Veal.
But I was not thinking of John and Sally, I was covertly watching Pearl Veal, her rounded cheeks richly colored by the wind, her soft reddish hair fluttering over the top of the upturned collar of fur, her glorious eyes on mine. I was wishing I were a duke or a member of the Stock Exchange or a champagne agent, or something like that.