The P.S. (disgustedly).  Wot?—­on’y two bloomin’ browns fur tykin’ the skites orf them two kids’ trotters!  I want a shellin’ orf o’ you fur that job, I do ...  “Not another penny”?  Well, if you do everythink as cheap as you do yer skiting, you orter be puttin’ money by, you ought!  That’s right, tyke them snivellin’ kids ’ome—­blast me if ever I—­&c, &c, &c.

    [Exit party, pursued by powerful metaphors.

The Egotistic Skater (in charge of a small Niece).  Just see if you can get along by yourself a little—­I’ll come back presently.  Practise striking out.

The Niece.  But, Uncle, directly I strike out, I fall down!

The E.S. (encouragingly).  You will at first, till you get into it—­gives you confidence.  Keep on at it—­don’t stand about, or you’ll catch cold.  I shall be keeping my eye on you!

    [Skates off to better ice.

The Fancy Skater (to less accomplished Friend).  This is a pretty figure—­sort of variation of the “Cross Cut,” ending up with “The Vine;” it’s done this way (illustrating), quarter of circle on outside edge forwards; then sudden stop—­(He sits down with violence.) Didn’t quite come off that time!

The Friend.  The sudden stop came off right enough, old fellow!

The F.S. I’ll show you again—­it’s really a neat thing when it’s well done; you do it all on one leg, like this—­

    [Executes an elaborate back-fall.

His Friend.  You seem to do most of it on no legs at all, old chap!

The F.S. Haven’t practised it lately, that’s all.  Now here’s a figure I invented myself.  “The Swooping Hawk” I call it.

His Friend (unkindly—­as the F.S. comes down in the form of a St. Andrew’s Cross).  Y-yes.  More like a Spread Eagle though, ain’t it?

A Pretty Girl (to Mr. ACKMEY, who has been privileged to take charge of herself and her plain Sister).  Do come and tell me if I’m doing it right, Mr. ACKMEY.  You said you’d go round with me!

The Plain S. How can you be so selfish, FLORRIE?  You’ve had ever so much more practice than I have!  Mr. ACKMEY, I wish you’d look at my left boot—­it will go like that.  Is it my ankle—­or what?  And this strap is hurting me so!  Couldn’t you loosen it, or take me back to the man, or something?  FLORRIE can get on quite well alone, can’t she?

Mr. A. (temporising feebly).  Er—­suppose I give each of you a hand, eh?

The Plain S. No; I can’t go along fast, like you and LAURA.  You promised to look after me, and I’m perfectly helpless alone!

The Pretty S. Then, am I to go by myself, Mr. ACKMEY?

Mr. A. I—­I think—­just for a little, if you don’t mind!