He stood on the shore, listening to the grinding, swaying sound of the skates, and watching the growing complexity of the curves they were engraving on the ice. As the girls grew warm and accustomed to the exercise they laughed, jested, screamed recklessly when they came into collision, and sailed before the wind down the whole length of the pond at perilous speed. The more animated they became, the gloomier looked Smilash. “Not twopenn’orth of choice between them and a parcel of puppies,” he said; “except that some of them are conscious that there is a man looking at them, although he is only a blackguard laborer. They remind me of Henrietta in a hundred ways. Would I laugh, now, if the whole sheet of ice were to burst into little bits under them?”
Just then the ice cracked with a startling report, and the skaters, except Jane, skimmed away in all directions.
“You are breaking the ice to pieces, Jane,” said Agatha, calling from a safe distance. “How can you expect it to bear your weight?”
“Pack of fools!” retorted Jane indignantly. “The noise only shows how strong it is.”
The shock which the report had given Smilash answered him his question. “Make a note that wishes for the destruction of the human race, however rational and sincere, are contrary to nature,” he said, recovering his spirits. “Besides, what a precious fool I should be if I were working at an international association of creatures only fit for destruction! Hi, lady! One word, Miss!” This was to Miss Ward, who had skated into his neighborhood. “It bein’ a cold morning, and me havin’ a poor and common circulation, would it be looked on as a liberty if I was to cut a slide here or take a turn in the corner all to myself?”
“You may skate over there if you wish,” she said, after a pause for consideration, pointing to a deserted spot at the leeward end of the pond, where the ice was too rough for comfortable skating.
“Nobly spoke!” he cried, with a grin, hurrying to the place indicated, where, skating being out of the question, he made a pair of slides, and gravely exercised himself upon them until his face glowed and his fingers tingled in the frosty air. The time passed quickly; when Miss Ward sent for him to take off her skates there was a general groan and declaration that it could not possibly be half-past eight o’clock yet. Smilash knelt before the campstool, and was presently busy unbuckling and unscrewing. When Jane’s turn came, the campstool creaked beneath her weight. Agatha again remonstrated with her, but immediately reproached herself with flippancy before Smilash, to whom she wished to convey an impression of deep seriousness of character.
“Smallest foot of the lot,” he said critically, holding Jane’s foot between his finger and thumb as if it were an art treasure which he had been invited to examine. “And belonging to the finest built lady.”
Jane snatched away her foot, blushed, and said:
“Indeed! What next, I wonder?”
“T’other ‘un next,” he said, setting to work on the remaining skate. When it was off, he looked up at her, and she darted a glance at him as she rose which showed that his compliment (her feet were, in fact, small and pretty) was appreciated.
“Allow me, Miss,” he said to Gertrude, who was standing on one leg, leaning on Agatha, and taking off her own skates.
“No, thank you,” she said coldly. “I don’t need your assistance.”
“I am well aware that the offer was overbold,” he replied, with a self-complacency that made his profession of humility exasperating. “If all the skates is off, I will, by Miss Wilson’s order, carry them and the campstool back to the college.”
Miss Ward handed him her skates and turned away. Gertrude placed hers on the stool and went with Miss Ward. The rest followed, leaving him to stare at the heap of skates and consider how he should carry them. He could think of no better plan than to interlace the straps and hang them in a chain over his shoulder. By the time he had done this the young ladies were out of sight, and his intention of enjoying their society during the return to the college was defeated. They had entered the building long before he came in sight of it.
Somewhat out of conceit with his folly, he went to the servants’ entrance and rang the bell there. When the door was opened, he saw Miss Ward standing behind the maid who admitted him.
“Oh,” she said, looking at the string of skates as if she had hardly expected to see them again, “so you have brought our things back?”
“Such were my instructions,” he said, taken aback by her manner. “You had no instructions. What do you mean by getting our skates into your charge under false pretences? I was about to send the police to take them from you. How dare you tell me that you were sent to wait on me, when you know very well that you were nothing of the sort?”
“I couldn’t help it, Miss,” he replied submissively. “I am a natural born liar — always was. I know that it must appear dreadful to you that never told a lie, and don’t hardly know what a lie is, belonging as you do to a class where none is ever told. But common people like me tells lies just as a duck swims. I ask your pardon, Miss, most humble, and I hope the young ladies’ll be able to tell one set of skates from t’other; for I’m blest if I can.”
“Put them down. Miss Wilson wishes to speak to you before you go. Susan, show him the way.”
“Hope you ain’t been and got a poor cove into trouble, Miss?”
“Miss Wilson knows how you have behaved.”
He smiled at her benevolently and followed Susan upstairs. On their way they met Jane, who stole a glance at him, and was about to pass by, when he said:
“Won’t you say a word to Miss Wilson for a poor common fellow, honored young lady? I have got into dreadful trouble for having made bold to assist you this morning.”
“You needn’t give yourself the pains to talk like that,” replied Jane in an impetuous whisper. “We all know that you’re only pretending.”
“Well, you can guess my motive,” he whispered, looking tenderly at her.
“Such stuff and nonsense! I never heard of such a thing in my life,” said Jane, and ran away, plainly understanding that he had disguised himself in order to obtain admission to the college and enjoy the happiness of looking at her.
“Cursed fool that I am!” he said to himself; “I cannot act like a rational creature for five consecutive minutes.”
The servant led him to the study and announced, “The man, if you please, ma’am.”
“Jeff Smilash,” he added in explanation.
“Come in,” said Miss Wilson sternly.
He went in, and met the determined frown which she cast on him from her seat behind the writing table, by saying courteously:
“Good-morning, Miss Wilson.”
She bent forward involuntarily, as if to receive a gentleman. Then she checked herself and looked implacable.
“I have to apologize,” he said, “for making use of your name unwarrantably this morning — telling a lie, in fact. I happened to be skating when the young ladies came down, and as they needed some assistance which they would hardly have accepted from a common man — excuse my borrowing that tiresome expression from our acquaintance Smilash — I set their minds at ease by saying that you had sent for me. Otherwise, as you have given me a bad character — though not worse than I deserve — they would probably have refused to employ me, or at least I should have been compelled to accept payment, which I, of course, do not need.”
Miss Wilson affected surprise. “I do not understand you,” she said.
“Not altogether,” he said smiling. “But you understand that I am what is called a gentleman.”
“No. The gentlemen with whom I am conversant do not dress as you dress, nor speak as you speak, nor act as you