"You'll make yourself both conspicuous and unpopular. The two
Marriotts are giving an exhibition to-morrow; if you spoil the ice for
them their show will be ruined."

"Very well, then," said I, "I will borrow some ski and mess about on
the snow."

"You can't do that," he replied, horrified; "the professionals are
coming next week for the open competition, and if they don't find
clean snow--"

"All right; I'll get one of those grid-irons and course down the
ice-run. I suppose that's what the ice-run is for," said I bitterly.

"And spoil the Alpine Derby, which you know is fixed for the tenth?"
Frederick addressed me with some severity. "Look here--you must choose
your sport and stick to it. I am a ski-er; you don't find me skating
or bobbing or curling."

"Or ski-ing," I added.

"Before ski-ing," he informed me, "one must have one's ski in perfect
condition. Mine are improving daily."

Frederick in fact spent his short mornings in giving instructions as
to how his ski were to be oiled and rubbed. All the most complicated
operations of unction and massage were performed upon them, and all
the time Frederick watched over them as over a sick child.