"There's a thin ridge of ice--I read an account in Moore's 'Journal'-- you have to straddle across the ridge with a leg hanging down either precipice." Chayne shook his head.
"Lattery and I meant to try it this summer.

The Dent du Requin as well." "Ah, that is one of the modern rock scrambles, isn't it?
The last two or three hundred feet are the trouble, I believe." And so the talk went on and the comradeship grew.

But Chayne noticed that always Garratt Skinner came back to the great climbs of the earlier mountaineers, the Brenva ascent of Mont Blanc, the Col Dolent, the two points of the Aiguille du Dru and the Aiguille Verte.
"But you, too, have climbed," Chayne cried at length.
"On winter nights by my fireside," replied Garratt Skinner, with a smile.
"I have a lame leg which would hinder me." "Nevertheless, you left Miss Sylvia and myself behind when you led us over the hills to Dorchester." It was Walter Hine who interrupted.

He had come across the grass from behind, and neither of the two men had noticed his approach.

But the moment when he did interrupt marked a change in their demeanor.