Once a Week. A. A. Milne
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doing it quite well yesterday. This is a perfect little slope for it. You understand the theory of it, don't you?"
"We hope to after the exhibition."
"Well, the great thing is to lean the opposite way to the way you think you ought to lean. That's what's so difficult."
"You understand, Myra? Samuel will lean the opposite way to what he thinks he ought to lean. Tell Ernest."
"But suppose you think you ought to lean the proper way, the way they do in Christiania," said Myra, "and you lean the opposite way, then what happens?"
"That is what Samuel will probably show us," I said.
Simpson was now ready.
"I am going to turn to the left," he said. "Watch carefully. Of course, I may not bring it off the first time."
"I can't help thinking you will," said Myra.
"It depends what you call bringing it off," I said. "We have every hope of—I mean we don't think our money will be wasted. Have you got the opera-glasses and the peppermints and the programme, darling? Then you may begin, Samuel."
Simpson started down the slope a little unsteadily. For one moment I feared that there might be an accident before the real accident, but he recovered himself nobly and sped to the bottom. Then a cloud of snow shot up, and for quite a long time there was no Simpson.
"I knew he wouldn't disappoint us," gurgled Myra.
We slid down to him and helped him up.
"You see the idea," he said. "I'm afraid I spoilt it a little at that end, but——"
"My dear Samuel, you improved it out of all knowledge."
"But that actually is the Christiania Turn."
"Oh, why don't we live in Christiania?" exclaimed Myra to me. "Couldn't we possibly afford it?"
"It must be a happy town," I agreed. "How the old streets must ring and ring again with jovial laughter."
"Shall I do it once more?"
"Can you?" said Myra, clasping her hands eagerly.
"Wait here," said Samuel, "and I'll do it quite close to you."
Myra unstrapped her camera.
Half an hour later, with several excellent films of the scene of the catastrophe, we started for home. It was more than a little steep, but the run down was accomplished without any serious trouble. Simpson went first to discover any hidden ditches (and to his credit be it said that he invariably discovered them); Myra, in the position of safety in the middle, profited by Samuel's frequent object-lessons; while I, at the back, was ready to help Myra up, if need arose, or to repel any avalanche which descended on us from above. On the level snow at the bottom we became more companionable.
"We still haven't settled the great Thomas question," said Myra. "What about to-morrow?"
"Why bother about to-morrow? Carpe diem. Latin."
"But the great tailing expedition is for to-morrow. The horses are ordered; everything is prepared. Only one thing remains to settle. Shall we have with us a grumpy but Aylwynless Thomas, or shall we let him bring her and spoil the party?"
"She can't spoil the party. I'm here to enjoy myself, and all Thomas's fiancées can't stop me. Let's have Thomas happy, anyway."
"She's really quite a nice girl," said Simpson. "I danced with her once."
"Right-o, then. I'll tell Dahlia to invite her."
We hurried on to the hotel; but as we passed the rink the President stopped me for a chat. He wanted me to recite at a concert that evening. Basely deserted by Myra and Samuel, I told him that I did not recite; and I took the opportunity of adding that personally I didn't think anybody else ought to. I had just persuaded him to my point of view when I noticed Thomas cutting remarkable figures on the ice. He picked himself up and skated to the side.
"Hallo!" he said. "Had a good day?"
"Splendid. What have you been doing?"
"Oh—skating."
"I say, about this tailing expedition to-morrow——"
"Er—yes, I was just going to talk about that."
"Well, it's all right. Myra is getting Dahlia to ask her to come with us."
"Good!" said Thomas, brightening up.
"You see, we shall only be seven, even with Miss Aylwyn, and——"
"Miss Aylwyn?" said Thomas in a hollow voice.
"Yes, isn't that the name of your friend in red?"
"Oh, that one. Oh, but that's quite—I mean," he went on hurriedly, "Miss Aylwyn is probably booked up for to-morrow. It's Miss Cardew who is so keen on tailing. That girl in green, you know."
For a moment I stared at him blankly. Then I left him and dashed after Myra.
V.—A TAILING PARTY
The procession prepared to start in the following order:—
(1) A brace of sinister-looking horses.
(2) Gaspard, the Last of the Bandits; or "Why cause a lot of talk by pushing your rich uncle over the cliff, when you can have him stabbed quietly for one franc fifty?" (If ever I were in any vendetta business I should pick Gaspard first.)
(3) A sleigh full of lunch.
(4) A few well-known ladies and gentlemen (being the cream of the Hôtel des Angéliques) on luges; namely, reading from left to right (which is really the best method—unless you are translating Hebrew), Simpson, Archie, Dahlia, Myra, me, Miss Cardew, and Thomas.
While Gaspard was putting the finishing knots to the luges, I addressed a few remarks to Miss Cardew, fearing that she might be feeling a little lonely amongst us. I said that it was a lovely day, and did she think the snow would hold off till evening? Also had she ever done this sort of thing before? I forget what her answers were.
Thomas meanwhile was exchanging badinage on the hotel steps with Miss Aylwyn. There must be something peculiar in the Swiss air, for in England Thomas is quite a respectable man … and a godfather.
"I suppose we have asked the right one," said Myra doubtfully.
"His young affections are divided. There was a third girl in pink with whom he breakfasted a lot this morning. It is the old tradition of the sea, you know. A sailor—I mean an Admiralty civilian has a wife at every wireless station."
"Take your seats, please," said Archie. "The horses are sick of waiting."
We sat down. Archie took Dahlia's feet on his lap, Myra took mine, Miss Cardew took Thomas's. Simpson, alone in front, nursed a guide-book.
"En avant!" cried Simpson in his best French-taught-in-twelve-lessons accent.
Gaspard muttered an oath to his animals. They pulled bravely. The rope snapped—and they trotted gaily down the hill with Gaspard.
We hurried after them with the luges. …
"It's a good joke," said Archie, after this had happened three times, "but, personally, I weary of it. Miss Cardew, I'm afraid we've brought you out under false pretences. Thomas didn't explain the thing to you adequately. He gave you to understand that there was more in it than this."
Gaspard, who seemed full of rope, produced a fourth piece and tied a knot that made even Simpson envious.
"Now, Samuel," I begged, "do keep the line taut this time. Why do you suppose we