“Not an uncommon thing upon ice, Sir,” replied Mr. Weller. “Hold up, Sir!”

This last observation of Mr. Weller’s bore reference to a demonstration Mr. Winkle made at the instant, of a frantic desire to throw his feet in the air, and dash the back of his head on the ice.

“These⁠—these⁠—are very awkward skates; ain’t they, Sam?” inquired Mr. Winkle, staggering.

“I’m afeerd there’s a orkard gen’l’m’n in ’em, Sir,” replied Sam.

“Now, Winkle,” cried Mr. Pickwick, quite unconscious that there was anything the matter. “Come; the ladies are all anxiety.”