Greatheart | Page 4

above and watched them. There were a good
many 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 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 already!"

"Coming, Billy!" at once a clear gay voice made answer, and the
merriest face that Scott had ever seen made a sudden appearance at an
open window. "Darling Billy, do keep your hair on for just two minutes
longer! Yvonne has been trying on my fancy dress, but she's nearly
done."
The neck and shoulders below the laughing face were bare and a bare
arm waved in a propitiatory fashion ere it vanished.
"Looks as if the fancy dress is a minus quantity," observed Billy to his
companion with a grin. "I didn't see any of it, did you?"
Scott tried not to laugh. "Your sister?" he asked.
Billy nodded affirmation. "She ain't a bad urchin," he observed, "as
sisters go. We're staying here along with the de Vignes. Ever met 'em?
Lady Grace is a holy terror. Her husband is a horrible stuck-up bore of
an Anglo-Indian,--thinks himself everybody, and tells the most awful
howlers. Rose--that's the daughter--is by way of being very beautiful.
There she goes now; see? That golden-haired girl in red! She's another
of your beastly star skaters. I'll bet she'll have that big bounder cutting
capers with her before the day's out."
"Think so?" said Scott.
Billy nodded again. "I suppose he's a prince at least. My word, doesn't
he fancy himself? Look at that now? Side--sheer side!"
The skater under discussion had just executed a most intricate figure
not far from them. Having accomplished it with that unerring and
somewhat blatant confidence that so revolted Billy's schoolboy soul, he
straightened his tall figure, and darted in a straight line for the end of
the rink above which they stood. His hands were in his pockets. His
bearing was superb. He described a complete circle below them before
he brought himself to a stand. Then he lifted his dark arrogant face. He
wore a short clipped moustache which by no means hid