James said that they had been sharpened, and were then lying ready on the hall table.
Sauntering to the window Ned looked out, and, James having retired, he made a few remarks himself, which showed the direction of his thoughts.
“Capital! Ice will be splendid. Snow won’t matter. Lots of men to sweep it. Looks as if the wind would fall, and there’s a little bit of blue sky. Even if it doesn’t clear, the pond is well sheltered. I do like a sharp, stinging, frosty day. Makes one’s blood career so pleasantly!”
With such agreeable thoughts and a splendid appetite Ned Westlake sat down to breakfast. Thereafter he put on a thick overcoat, edged with sable, a thick pair of boots and softly lined gloves, and went out with the skates swinging on his arm.
Jack Frost and his two sons were still holding high revelry outside. They met him with impartial violence, but Ned bent forward with a smile of good-humoured defiance, and went on his way unchecked.
Not so a stout and short old female of the coster-monger class, who, after a series of wild gyrations that might have put a dancing dervish to shame, bore down on Ned after the manner of a fat teetotum, and finally launched herself into his arms.
“Hallo old girl—steady,” exclaimed Ned, holding her up with an effort. “You carry too much sail to venture abroad in such weather.”
“Which it were my only one!” gasped the old woman, holding out her umbrella that had been reversed and obviously shattered beyond repair. Then, looking up at Ned, “You’d better leave a-go of me, young man. What will the neighbours think of us?”
Which remark she uttered sternly—all the more that she had securely hooked herself to the railings and could afford to cast off her friend.
With a solemn assurance that he esteemed her, “the sweetest of the fair,” Ned went smilingly on his way, receiving in reply, “La, now, who’d ’a’ thought it!”