356 Hans Brinker

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Holland is the place for skaters, after all. Where else can
nearly every boy and girl perform feats on the ice that would
attract a crowd if seen on Central Park ? Look at Ben! I did
not see him before. He is really astonishing the natives ; no
easy thing to do in the Netherlands. Save your strength,
Ben, you will need it soon. Now
other boys are trying! Ben is sur-
passed already. Such jumping, such
poising, such spinning, such india-
rubber exploits generally! That boy
with a red cap is the lion now: his
back is a watch-spring, his body is
cork — no, it is iron, or it would snap
at that. He is a bird, a top, a rabbit,
a corkscrew, a sprite, a flesh-ball, all
in an instant. When you think
he’s erect, he is down; and when
you think he is down, he is up. He
drops his glove on the ice, and turns
a somerset as he picks it up. With-
out stopping, he snatches the cap
from Jacob Poot’s astonished head,
_ and claps it back again ‘“ hindside
_ before.” Lookers-on hurrah and
- laugh. Foolish boy! It is arctic
weather under your feet, but more
than temperate overhead. Big drops
already are rolling down your fore-
head. Superb skater as you are, you may lose the race.

A French traveller, standing with a note-book in his hand,
sees our English friend, Ben, buy a doughnut of the dwarf’s

 

THE FRENCH TRAVELLER.