“Ready at last,” he shouted. “Willis wanted the ice to be solid; a careful man, that; no accidents while he is in charge. But last night fixed it. The ice is at least six inches thick, and to-morrow the whole town will be on hand. Nothing like starting right; put some one with brains at the head, and you are sure to go straight; twenty years’ experience does not pass for nothing. I suppose you have been impatient, but remember we have no life-saving machines, and it is better to be on the sure side, if it is a little slower. Come in the early train to-morrow.”
There was great excitement in warning and collecting our forces, and we did not get off as early as we hoped; but having at last managed to cross the river and reach the train--except a few couples that were left behind--we were soon at the Flushing dépôt.
Instead of having wagons ready to carry the party at once to the pond, as he had promised, Weeville received us alone. His usual hilarity was wanting, his air was sad, his manner disconsolate. As we crowded around him, he said slowly, “There is no skating.”
“Ridiculous,” was the answer, in a chorus of astonished voices; “there must be skating.”
“Yes,” said our precise associate, “I have a recording thermometer, and last night the mercury fell to fifteen.”
“Your man is a little too cautious,” I said; “there is such a thing as erring on the right side.”
“Oh!” said the ladies, “if that’s all, we are not afraid; are we, Mr.----?” each turning to her particular companion with a look that induced the latter to engage unanimously to answer for their safety.
“But there is no ice,” again said Weeville, with a manner of most deplorable abasement.
“Now, how can that be?” demanded our precise man again; “water freezes at thirty-two.”
“Why,” burst forth the female chorus, “the Central Park has been frozen these two days.”
“Well, Mr. Weeville,” I then commenced, growing incensed at his stupidity, “if there was no ice, why did you tell me last evening that it was six inches thick?”
“So it was,” he replied, still more drearily.
“Then, in Heaven’s name, what has become of it?”
“Willis cut it all yesterday, and put it in his ice-houses,” was the final reply. If he had fired a pistol among the party, my friend could not have surprised them more. “He says he wanted it to freeze smoother; but the pond is ruined for the season, as the little pieces and lumps that have broken off will remain, and destroy the surface.”