when you're a star skater yourself, you'll change your mind about 'em."

The boy grinned. "Ah! P'raps! You're a new chum, aren't you?"

"Very new," said Scott.

"Can you skate?" asked the lad. "But of course you can. I suppose you're
another dark horse. It's too bad, you know; just as Dinah and I are
beginning to fancy ourselves at it. We began right at the beginning too."

"Consider yourself lucky!" said Scott rather briefly.

"What do you mean?" The boy's eyes flashed over him intelligently, green
eyes humorously alert.

Scott glanced downwards. "I mean my legs are not a pair, so I can't even
begin."

"Oh, bad luck, sir!" The equality vanished from the boy's voice. He
became suddenly almost deferential, and Scott realized that he was no
longer regarded as a comrade. "Still"--he hesitated--"you can luge, I
suppose?"

"I don't quite see myself," said Scott, looking across once more to the
merry group on the distant run.

"Any idiot can do that," the boy protested, then turned suddenly a deep
red. "Oh, lor, I didn't mean that! Hi, Dinah!" He turned to cover his
embarrassment and sent a deafening yell at the sun-bathed _façade_ of the
hotel. "Are you never coming, you cuckoo? Half the morning's gone