accomplished performers among them, and there were also several
beginners. But all seemed alike infected with the gaiety of the place.
There was not one face that did not wear a smile.

It was an invigorating scene. From a slope of the white mountain-side
beyond the rink the shouts and laughter of higers came through the
crystal air. A string of luges was shooting down the run, and even as
Scott caught sight of it the foremost came to grief, and a dozen people
rolled ignominiously in the snow. He smiled involuntarily. He seemed to
have stepped into an atmosphere of irresponsible youth. The air was full
of the magic fluid. It stirred his pulses like a draught of champagne.

Then his eyes returned to the rink, and almost immediately singled out
the best skater there. A man in a white sweater, dark, handsome,
magnificently made, supremely sure of himself, darted with the swift
grace of a swallow through the throng. His absolute confidence and
splendid physique made him conspicuous. He executed elaborate figures
with such perfect ease and certainty of movement that many turned to look
at him in astonished admiration.

"Great Scott!" said a cracked voice at Scott's shoulder.

He turned sharply, and met the frank regard of a rosy-faced schoolboy a
little shorter than himself.

"Look at that bloomin' swell!" said the new-comer in tones of deep
disgust. "He seems to have sprouted in the night. I've no use for these
star skaters myself. They're all so beastly sidey."

He addressed Scott as an equal, and as an equal Scott made reply. "P'raps