“Oh, it is _so_ graceful,” said another young lady. A third young lady said it was elegant, and a fourth expressed her opinion that it was “swanlike.” “I should be very happy, I’m sure,” said Mr. Winkle, reddening; “but I have no skaits.” This objection was at once overruled. Trundle had got a couple of pair, and the fat boy announced that there were half a dozen more, down stairs, whereat Mr. Winkle expressed exquisite delight, and looked exquisitely uncomfortable. Old Wardle led the way to a pretty large sheet of ice; and the fat boy and Mr. Weller, having shovelled and swept away the snow which had fallen on it during the night, Mr. Bob Sawyer adjusted his skaits with a dexterity which to Mr. Winkle was perfectly marvellous, and described circles with his left leg, and cut figures of eight; and inscribed upon the ice, without once stopping for breath, a great many other pleasant and astonishing devices, to the excessive satisfaction of Mr. Pickwick, Mr. Tupman, and the ladies; which reached a pitch of positive enthusiasm, when old Wardle and Benjamin Allen, assisted by the aforesaid Bob Sawyer, performed some mystic evolutions, which they called a reel. All this time, Mr. Winkle, with his face and hands blue with the cold, had been forcing a gimlet into the soles of his feet, and putting his skaits on, with the points behind, and getting the straps into a very complicated and entangled state, with the assistance of Mr. Snodgrass, who knew rather less about skaits than a Hindoo. At length, however, with the assistance of Mr. Weller, the unfortunate skaits were firmly screwed and buckled on, and Mr. Winkle was raised to his feet. “Now, then, Sir,” said Sam, in an encouraging tone; “off vith you, and show ’em how to do it.” “Stop, Sam, stop,” said Mr. Winkle, trembling violently, and clutching hold of Sam’s arms with the grasp of a drowning man. “How slippery it is, Sam!” “Not an uncommon thing upon ice, Sir,” replied Mr. Weller. “Hold up, Sir.” This last observation of Mr. Weller’s bore reference to a demonstration Mr. Winkle made at the instant, of a frantic desire to throw his feet in the air, and dash the back of his head on the ice. “These—these—are very awkward skaits; ain’t they, Sam?” inquired Mr. Winkle, staggering. “I’m afeerd there’s orkard gen’lm’n in ’em, Sir,” replied Sam. “Now, Winkle,” cried Mr. Pickwick, quite unconscious that there was anything the matter. “Come; the ladies are all anxiety.” “Yes, yes,” replied Mr. Winkle, with a ghastly smile. “I’m coming.” [Illustration: “_How slippery it is, Sam!_” ] “Just a goin’ to begin,” said Sam, endeavouring to disengage himself. “Now, Sir, start off.” “Stop an instant, Sam,” gasped Mr. Winkle, clinging most affectionately to Mr. Weller. “I find I’ve got a couple of coats at home, that I don’t want, Sam. You may have them, Sam.” “Thankee, Sir,” replied Mr. Weller.