HKB
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 with 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.
"I'm afeered 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, endeavoring to disengage himself. "Now, sir, start off."
"Thankee, 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 in the way of it, Sam. Not too fast, Sam; not too fast!"
"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 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 would let me bleed you," said Mr. Benjamin Allen with great eagerness.
"No, thank you," replied Mr. Winkle hurriedly.
"I really think you had better," said Mr. Allen.
"Thank you," replied Mr. Winkle, "I'd rather not."
"What do you think, Mr. Pickwick?" inquired Bob Sawyer.