AT THE DANCE
It was the night of the junior dance, an annual affair second only in
importance to commencement and a function attended, as Holly Cross used
to say, "by all the beauty and chivalry of Haddonfield and all points
north, south, east and west." On this occasion all strictly partisan
college feelings were laid aside. Forgotten were the grudges engendered
by hazings or the rivalries of the field. It was an evening devoted to
pleasure, and, on the part of the juniors at least, to seeing that their
girl friends and acquaintances danced to their hearts' content.
"Tom," cried Sid as they were dressing in their room, "does this dress
suit seem to fit?"
"Well, it might be a little larger across the shoulders," was Tom's
answer as he turned around from an attempt to get his tie just right and
surveyed his chum.
"That's what I thought. I'm outgrowing it. I'm afraid it will split when
I'm dancing, and I'll be a pretty sight, won't I? I'll disgrace the
girl. Hang it all, I hate a dress suit. I always remind myself of some
new specimen of a bug, and I think some entomological professor will
come along, run a pin through me and impale me on a cork. In fact I'd
just as soon he would as to go through this agony again."
"Nonsense. You'll enjoy it," ventured Tom.
"Maybe--after it's all over."
But he managed somehow to wiggle himself into the garments and then,
having asked a girl to the affair, he set off after her in a coach he
had hired. Tom had not invited any one, but he heard that Miss Tyler was
to be there and from the same source of information he knew that
Langridge was to escort her.
"In which case," reflected Tom, "I shall probably not have a chance to
dance with her."
The gymnasium had been turned into a ballroom. Around the gallery, which
contained the indoor running track, flags and bunting had been festooned,
the colors of Randall being prominent. From the center electric
chandelier long streamers of ribbon of the mingled hues of each class
were draped to the boxes that had been constructed on two sides of the
room. There was a profusion of flowers and with the soft glow of the
shaded lights the big apartment that was wont to resound to the blows of
the punching bag, the bound of the medicine ball or the patter of
running feet was most magically transformed.
Over in one corner, screened by a bank of palms, was the orchestra, the
musicians of which were tuning their instruments in thrilling chords
which always tell of joys to come.
The guests were arriving. Bewildering bevies of pretty girls floated in
with their escorts, who showed the tan and bronze of the sporting field
or the whiter hue of a "dig" who spent most of his time over his books.
Then came the chaperons, grave, dignified, in rustling silks, a strange
contrast to the light, fluffy garments worn by the younger set.
Tom felt rather lonesome as he strolled out on the waxed floor, for most
of his chums had girls to whom they were attentive, and of course they
could not be expected to look after him.
"Hello, Parsons!" called a voice, and he turned to see one of the Jersey
twins. Which one it was he could not determine, for if Jerry and Joe
Jackson looked alike when in their ball suits or ordinary clothes, there
was even less of difference when they wore formal black, with the
expanse of shirt showing.
"Hello!" responded Tom.
"I'm Jerry," went on the twin. "I thought I'd tell you. My brother and I
are going to play a joke to-night."
"What is it?"
"Joe's going to get talking to a girl and then he's going to excuse
himself for a moment. I'll take his place and I'll pretend I don't
know what she's talking about when the girl tries to continue the
conversation. I'll make believe I've come back to the wrong girl. Great,
isn't it?"
"Yes, except maybe for the girl."
"Oh, we'll beg her pardon afterward. Got to have some fun. I'm on the
arrangement committee and I'm nearly crazy seeing that every one has a
good time. Got your name down on all the cards you want?"
"I haven't it on any yet."
"No? That's a shame! Come on and I'll fix you up," and the good-natured
Jerry dragged Tom about, introducing him to an entrancing quartet of
pretty girls and then Tom knew enough to do the rest, which included
scribbling his name down for a whole or a half dance as the case might
be.
He had just finished this very satisfactory work when he heard his name
called and turned to see Miss Tyler smiling at him.
"I'm awfully glad to see you," he exclaimed, starting impulsively toward
her with outstretched hand. "May I have a dance?"
"Only one?" she asked with a laugh.
"All of them, if you can spare them," he said boldly.
"Greedy boy! I'm afraid you're too late. You may look," and she held out
her card.
Tom, with regret, saw that it contained the initials "F. L." in many
places. There was only one two-step vacant.
"Some one else has been greedy, too," he said as he filled in the space.
"Let me see," she demanded, and she made a little pout. "How dare he
think I'm going to give all those to him!" she exclaimed. "Here, Tom,
let me have your pencil. I never can write with the ridiculous affairs
they attach to dance programs."
She used the lead vigorously on the card and then let Tom see it again.
His name was in three places, and, to his surprise, on the last waltz he
saw that the girl had written his initials under those of Langridge.
"What does that mean?" he asked.
"It means that I'm going to share the last dance with you," she almost
whispered, "in memory of old times," and she nodded. "Don't forget now,"
and she shook her finger at him.
"As if I would!" exclaimed Tom.
The music began a march as the opening of the dance and the couples took
their places, Langridge coming up almost on the run to claim Miss Tyler.
He looked sharply at Tom.
"How are you, dominie?" he asked with a nod, intended to be friendly,
and then he led the girl away.
Tom had no partner for the march and he stood about disconsolately until
the first dance. Then he went to claim his partner, whom Jerry Jackson
had secured for him, a pretty little girl in a yellow dress who was a
fine dancer.
"I wish you had another open date--I--er--I mean that you could give me
another dance," he corrected himself quickly from the language of the
ball field.
"I can," she said simply, and she gave him a quick glance, for Tom was a
fine dancer.
He scribbled his name down and then had to relinquish her to another
partner. Two dances after that, however, Tom was privileged to claim
Miss Tyler. As he was leading her into the waltz Langridge came hurrying
up.
"I thought this was my dance, Madge--Miss Tyler," he stammered.
"I wanted to vary the monotony," she said with a little laugh that had
no malice in it.
"How is your arm, dominie?" she asked of Tom, looking up into his face
and smiling as she gave him the nickname conferred on him by Langridge.
"Oh, much better," he answered. "How did you hear?"
"Oh, the proverbial bird, I suppose. You had to stay away from class
two weeks on account of it, didn't you?"
"No," exclaimed Tom quickly, "not on _that_ account."
"Oh!" she cried, struck by the change in Tom's voice. "I--I heard so."
"Did Langridge tell you that?"
"Yes," was her answer.
"Well, it was partly on that account," and Tom turned the conversation
away from what he considered a dangerous subject.
If Langridge cherished any ill will toward Tom for taking away Miss
Tyler the 'varsity pitcher did not show it. But Tom noticed that he was
not far from the girl's side the remainder of the evening.
"I wonder if she doesn't believe what I told her about him," thought
Tom. "Well, I'm not going to say anything more. Let her find out for
herself. Only--well, what's the use?" and he went to claim another dance
elsewhere.
It was the last waltz. Around the brilliant, gaily decorated room swung
the dancers to the strains of the enthralling music. Langridge skilfully
led Miss Tyler in and out among the maze of couples. The music turned
into another melody.
"I think this is about half," she said.
"About half? What do you mean?"
"Well, you were so greedy," she explained, laughter in her eyes, "that I
had to punish you. I gave half this last dance to--to the dominie," and
her lips parted in a smile.
"Well, I like that!" spluttered Langridge, but just then Tom, who had
been summoned from the "side lines" by a signal from Miss Tyler, came to
claim her.
"I like your nerve, Parsons!" snapped Langridge, glad to be able to
transfer his wrath to a foeman more worthy of it.
"It was my doing, Mr. Langridge," said the girl with some dignity.
"You had no right----" began the 'varsity pitcher.
"I fancy Miss Tyler is the best judge of that," spoke Tom coolly as he
took the girl's hand.
"Is she?" sneered Langridge. "Maybe she knows who brought her to this
affair then! If she does, she can find some one else to take her away,"
and he swung off.
For an instant Miss Tyler stood looking at him. The dancers whirled
around the couple standing there and the music sounded sweetly. There
was the suspicion of tears in her eyes.
"He had no right to say that!" she burst out.
"Indeed, no," agreed Tom. "But, since he has, may I have the honor of
being your escort?"
"Yes," she said, and then, with a revulsion of feeling, she added, "Oh,
Tom, I don't feel like dancing now. Take me home, please!"