"Isn't that a dangerous way to amuse self? I thought skees were—tricky."
"Have you ever ridden them?" the girl inquired, quickly.
"Never."
"You don't know what fun is. Here—" The speaker stooped and detached her feet from the straps. "Just have a go at it." Pierce protested, but she insisted in a business-like way. "They're long ones—too long for me. They'll just suit you."
"Really, I don't care to—"
"Oh yes, you do. You must."
"You'll be sorry," Pierce solemnly warned her. "When my feet glance off and leave me sticking up in the snow to starve, you'll—Say! I can think of a lot of things I want to do, but I don't seem to find skee-jumping on the list."
"You needn't jump right away." Determination was in the girl's tone; there was a dancing light of malice in her eyes. "You can practise a bit. Remember, you laughed at me."
"Nothing of the sort. I was amazed, not amused. I thought I'd flushed a very magnificent pheasant with blue-and-white stripes, and I was afraid it was going to fly away before I got a good look at it. Now, then—" He slowly finished buckling the runners to his feet and looked up interrogatively. "What are your Majesty's orders?"
"Walk around. Slide down the hill."