_We Go Skating at Exudo_
I am beginning to suspect that the unwarranted report that Mrs. Radigan
is to marry J. Madison Mudison and Radigan to marry Miss Bumpschus
may prove true, after all. At the time when it was printed there was
absolutely no ground for the story, but the publication seems to
have turned the thoughts of all concerned in a new direction and the
suggestion is pleasing. In their efforts to prove that such a report
is cruel Miss Bumpschus is having the Radigans to something two or
three times a week, and Mudison calls daily on Mrs. Radigan to express
his regret. Radigan is supporting the Home for Aged Ticket-choppers,
and has discovered many bonds of sympathy between Miss Ethel and
himself. For instance, she loves church-work and abominates polo and
bridge. J. John, in his efforts to further his wife's ambitions, has
been twice hit on the head by a mallet and has been rolled on by his
ponies a score of times. Poker and passing the plate at St. Edward's
are much more to his taste. His wife has sporting proclivities. She
likes to have a bishop to dinner. It delights her to see her husband
being beaten on the head by the mallets of the smartest men in town,
and to watch him in his automobile tearing off one hundred miles of
beach an hour. She was in ecstasy when the story got out that he had
lost $100,000 in one night's play at Potlots, and he had to spend a few
weeks at Newport to avoid the subpoena servers and reporters. As he
had really lost the money, Radigan did not appreciate the additional
prestige the incident had won for him. So you see there is a great
incompatibility in temperament. In Mudison, on the other hand, Mrs.
Radigan has found her ideal man. He belongs to seven clubs; his polo
handicap is nine; he is arrested monthly for overspeeding; he is
literary and talks delightfully on the works of Winston Churchill and
Anna K. Green; his family has been known in New York for nearly half a
century, its founder being Sheriff Mudison, who left a large fortune.
Of course there is the question of young Radigan, but he could easily
be given to a third party, so I am not altogether sure that the change
would not be a good one if Miss Bumpschus could be made to overcome her
old-fashioned prejudices.
There is at present, however, no sign of a movement toward South
Dakota; but I suppose if it comes to that, Mrs. Radigan would prefer to
go in Lent, so as not to miss any of the winter season, and then she
could be back for Newport in August. That would, of course, necessitate
her giving up her plans to spend May and June in London and capture
a duke for Miss Pearl Veal, but I fear she is occupying herself more
with her own heart now than with her sister's hand. But the clouds
are gathering for the storm--if storm it can be called. Then, are not
storms always followed by fair weather? We all went to Exudo skating
the other day--one of the clouds--as the guests of J. Madison, who
was endeavoring to show the world that there was nothing in the cruel
gossip. Besides the Radigans and Miss Bumpschus, Plumstone Smith and
his fiancée, Miss Veal, he kindly asked Miss Marian Speechless and
myself. By a special effort Mrs. Radigan got up very early and we were
able to catch the eleven-o'clock train, so we reached the club by one.
Who should we see there but Willie Lite, the Dewberry Lambs with the
Count and Countess Poglioso Spinnigini, the Harry Stumbles and a lot of
other nice people we know! I had a glimpse of the Van Rundouns, with
some queer-looking friends from Boston, but I had no chance to speak to
them. The Dewberry Lamb party joined us at luncheon and we had a very
jolly time at the big round table.
Madison Mudison knows how to order--a rare accomplishment. When we got
through I felt as if I never wanted to move again, but would rather
stretch my legs toward the blazing fire and smoke, smoke, smoke; but
when you accept an invitation your host becomes your keeper, so we were
all corralled and trotted away to the lake.
Miss Speechless had brought her sister's skates, so I had to freeze
my fingers adjusting the clamps to fit. Then, as I kneeled on the ice
before her in a devoted attitude, while I fixed them on her feet and
complained of their being too large, I froze my knees. By the time I
had prepared myself to go gliding over the ice, I was all a-shiver
and eager for a spurt that would start the blood going. But there,
waiting for me, was Miss Speechless, standing with her feet together,
balancing as though she were on a tight rope, pleading to me to hurry.
She was afraid to strike out, and when I reached her, was fluttering
helplessly in the wind. So there was nothing for me to do but to tow
her--a difficult and dangerous task, as I am not an adept at going
backward. It was work, more than I had counted on, and I was soon in a
condition bordering on exhaustion. At last I was allowed a moment's
rest, and as I stood there panting, Miss Speechless, fluttering in the
wind, told me how jolly it was; but I paid no attention to her, my eyes
being fixed on the others. At one end of the lake J. Madison Mudison
and Mrs. Radigan, hand in hand, were gliding gracefully around. It was
beautiful to see them. I am sure Mrs. Radigan learned the art on the
canal at home, though she says she spent her winters in Canada as a
child. And as for Mudison, I forgave him his legs--he should never wear
knickerbockers--when I saw the way he soared around on one skate. Out
would go the right feet, left feet waving gently in the air; a swerve,
and they were off in the other direction. They swept around in a
graceful curve and came rolling down toward us, as lightly and airily,
as unconscious of all but themselves, as though there were no laws of
gravitation. It was beautiful to see them!
But at the other end of the lake, what a picture! Radigan and Miss
Bumpschus, hand in hand, fluttering aimlessly about. They went in
little jiggety steps, and every now and then she would stop suddenly,
without warning, while he would go on to destruction. He was earnestly
good-natured about it, though, and would clamber up to his feet and
go on with her, undaunted. I worried about them once when I saw them
coasting toward a weak spot in the ice, but Radigan, with rare good
judgment and self-sacrifice, sat down and averted a disaster. And Miss
Bumpschus seemed to enjoy it all tremendously.
I could not stand forever in that freezing wind watching the progress
of these two romances. Miss Speechless on skates was on my hands, and
I had to resume my towing. A blessed moment came when Plumstone Smith
rolled up and addressed some graceful nothings to her, upon which she
seized his hands and asked him to take her around just once. That just
once was lengthened into numberless times, for I slipped noiselessly
away to the secluded spot where Miss Veal was airily cutting eights and
double eights and other figures. Together we sat on the bank, she in
the shelter of her automobile coat smoking a cigarette with me, while
we watched the others. Plumstone went by backward, puffing, dragging
Miss Speechless after him. A smile crossed my companion's face--you
should see Pearl Veal smile!--as she gazed at the spire of smoke that
went heavenward from her lips. She looked at me when they had gone by,
and somehow we laughed.
Mudison and Mrs. Radigan came rolling past us. They swept about and
glided back to the secluded corners of the lake. Radigan and Miss
Bumpschus came clattering up. They parted while they turned about, and
then half-trotted, half-skated toward their end of the ice.
"Isn't it a shame that Sally should be tied down to such a poor skater
as John," said Miss Veal.
But I was not thinking of John and Sally, I was covertly watching
Pearl Veal, her rounded cheeks richly colored by the wind, her soft
reddish hair fluttering over the top of the upturned collar of fur, her
glorious eyes on mine. I was wishing I were a duke or a member of the
Stock Exchange or a champagne agent, or something like that.