They spurted and pulled up at the skating house doors. A moment later they were in the crowded, brightly lighted interior. Directly beneath the apex of the roof, ran a lunch counter which divided the place into a section for men, and another for women, escorted or not, as the case might be. Long, wooden benches ran along each wall, all filled with a constantly shifting occupancy. John seized the first available seat and drew on his skates. A stamping on the hacked, wooden floor to make sure that the steel runners were locked firmly, a wobbly interval as he stepped out and sought control of his ankles, a momentary pause on the steps, and he was out on the ice, with Silvey following. They executed a few maneuvers and sat down on the boat landing. "Ice is great," said Bill, as he tightened a skate strap. "Doesn't it feel funny, though?" John nodded and stood up again. "Beat you around the island," he challenged. No sooner said than they were off. Silvey's new skates cut the ice cleanly at every stroke, while his chum's duller pair skidded and slid now and then as he gained headway. Along the narrowing, west pond, past helpless beginners whose efforts not to appear ridiculous made them doubly so, past staid business men, past arm-linked couples from the university dormitories, and out on the thirty-foot path of scraped ice which encircled the island. There Silvey slowed up. "Getting bumpy," he cautioned. "Watch out!" The warning came too late. John's skate sank to his shoe sole in a crack and sent him sprawling. He stood up shakily and rubbed a bruised knee. "First fall, first fall," yelled Bill as he turned back. "Hurt much?" John shook his head and started off again bravely. They got into the swing of it as they swept under the second island bridge and out on the last lap of the course. Faster and faster their legs flew over the ice as they dodged cracks with more certainty. Skater after skater was left behind, often by a hair's-breadth margin of safety which evoked half-heard protests as they skimmed on. "Almost there," shouted Bill as he increased his efforts to the utmost. "Tie," yelled John as he shot over and grabbed an arch of the northern bridge to stop his momentum. "Look at the crowd. What's happened?" They skated slowly over and around until they found a thin space in the human circle which allowed them a view of proceedings. "Fancy skaters," whispered Bill. "Look at him write his name on the ice." "And the medals on his sweater. Gee, don't you wish you were him?" A voice broke in on them. "Scatter there, scatter." The policeman forced his way to the center. "You're blocking the way to the skating house. Keep moving!"