Under her skilful manipulation, Ben Schenk, the son of the saloon-keeper, soon developed into a rival suitor.  Ben was engaged at a down-town pool-room, and wore collars on a weekday without any apparent discomfort.  The style of his garments, together with his easy air of sophistication, entirely captivated Mrs. Beaver, while Ben on his part found it increasingly pleasant to lounge in the Beavers’ best parlour chair and recount to a credulous audience the prominent part which he was taking in all the affairs of the day.

Matters reached a climax one night when, after some close financing, Joe Ridder took Mittie to the Skating Rink.  An unexpected run on the tin savings bank at the Ridders’ had caused a temporary embarrassment, and by the closest calculation Joe could do no better than pay for two entrance-tickets and hire one pair of skates.  He therefore found it necessary to develop a sprained ankle, which grew rapidly worse as they neared the rink.

“I don’t think you orter skate on it, Joe!” said Mittie sympathetically.

“Oh, I reckon I kin manage it all O.K.,” said Joe.

“But I ain’t agoin’ to let you!” she declared with divine authority.  “We can just set down and rubber at the rest of them.”

“Naw, you don’t,” said Joe; “you kin go on an’ skate, and I’ll watch you.”

The arrangement proved entirely satisfactory so long as Mittie paused on every other round to rest or to get him to adjust a strap, or to hold her hat, but when Ben Schenk arrived on the scene, the situation was materially changed.

It was sufficiently irritating to see Ben go through an exhaustive exhibition of his accomplishments under the admiring glances of Mittie, but when he condescended to ask her to skate, and even offered to teach her some new figures, Joe’s irritation rose to ire.  In vain he tried to catch her eye; she was laughing and clinging to Ben and giving all her attention to his instructions.

Joe sat sullen and indignant, savagely biting his nails.  He would have parted with everything he had in the world at that moment for three paltry nickels!

On and on went the skaters, and on and on went the music, and Joe turned his face to the wall and doggedly waited.  When at last Mittie came to him flushed and radiant, he had no word of greeting for her.

“Did you see all the new steps Mr. Ben learnt me?” she asked.

“Naw,” said Joe.

“Does yer foot hurt you, Joe?”

“Naw,” said Joe.

Mittie was too versed in masculine moods to press the subject.  She waited until they were out under the starlight in the clear stretch of common near home.  Then she slipped her hand through his arm and said coaxingly—­

“Say now, Joe, what you kickin’ ’bout?”

“Him,” said Joe comprehensively.

“Mr. Ben?  Why, he’s one of our best friends.  Maw likes him better’n anybody I ever kept company with.  What have all you fellers got against him?”