The Ontario Readers | Page 4

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and Mr. Weller, having shovelled and swept away the snow which had
fallen on it during the night, Mr. Bob Sawyer adjusted his skates with a
dexterity which to Mr. Winkle seemed 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
skates 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 skates than a Hindoo. At length, however,
with the assistance of Mr. Weller, the unfortunate skates 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 into
the air and dash the back of his head on the ice.
"These--these--are very awkward skates; ain't they, Sam?" inquired Mr.
Winkle, staggering.
"I'm afeerd there's an 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."
"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 a couple of coats at home that
I don't want, Sam. You may have them, Sam."
"Thank'ee, sir," replied Mr. Weller.
"Never mind touching your hat, Sam," said Mr. Winkle, hastily. "You
needn't take your hand away to do that. I meant to have given you five
shillings this morning for a Christmas-box, Sam. I'll give it to you this
afternoon, Sam."
"You're wery good, sir," replied Mr. Weller.
"Just hold me at first, Sam; will you?" said Mr. Winkle. "There--that's
right. I shall soon get into the way of it, Sam. Not too fast, Sam; not too
fast."
Mr. Winkle, stooping forward with his body half doubled up, was being
assisted over the ice by Mr. Weller, in a very singular and un-swan-like
manner, when Mr. Pickwick most innocently shouted from the opposite
bank--
"Sam!"
"Sir?" said Mr. Weller.
"Here. I want you."
"Let go, sir," said Sam. "Don't you hear the governor a-callin'? Let go,
sir!"
With a violent effort, Mr. Weller disengaged himself from the grasp of
the agonized Pickwickian; and, in so doing, administered a
considerable impetus to the unhappy Mr. Winkle. With an accuracy
which no degree of dexterity or practice could have insured, that
unfortunate gentleman bore swiftly down into the centre of the reel, at
the very moment when Mr. Bob Sawyer was performing a flourish of
unparalleled beauty. Mr. Winkle struck wildly against him, and with a
loud crash they both fell heavily down. Mr. Pickwick ran to the spot.

Bob Sawyer had risen to his feet, but Mr. Winkle was far too wise to do
anything of the kind in skates. He was seated on the ice making
spasmodic efforts to smile; but anguish was depicted on every
lineament of his countenance.
"Are you hurt?" inquired Mr. Benjamin Allen, with great anxiety.
"Not much," said Mr. Winkle, rubbing his back very hard.
"I wish you'd let me bleed you," said Mr. Benjamin, with great
eagerness.
"No, thank you," replied Mr. Winkle hurriedly.
"I really think you had better," said Allen.
"Thank you," replied Mr. Winkle "I'd rather not."
"What do you think, Mr. Pickwick?" inquired Bob Sawyer.
Mr. Pickwick was excited and indignant. He beckoned to Mr. Weller,
and said in a stern voice:
"Take his skates off."
The command was not to be resisted. Mr. Winkle allowed Sam to obey
it in silence.
"Lift him up," said Mr. Pickwick. Sam assisted him to rise.
Mr. Pickwick retired a few paces apart from the bystanders; and,
beckoning his friend to approach, fixed a searching look upon him, and
uttered in a low but distinct