On the night of the Bartlett party, Quin stood before the small mirror
of his old room over the Martels' kitchen and surveyed himself in
sections. The first view, obtained by standing on a chair, was the
least satisfactory; for, in spite of the most correct of wing-toed
dancing-shoes, there was a space between them and the cuffs of his
trousers that no amount of adjustment could diminish. The second
section was far more reassuring. Having amassed what to him seemed a
fortune, for the purchase of a dress-suit, Quin had allowed himself to
be persuaded by the voluble and omniscient salesman to put all of his
money into a resplendent dinner-coat instead. The claim for the coat
that it was "the classiest garment in the city" was reinforced by the
fact that it had adorned the dummy in the shop window for seven
consecutive days and occasioned much comment by its numerous
"novelties." Quin had no doubts whatever about the coat. Its glory not
only dimmed his eyes to the shortcomings of the trousers, which he had
rented for the occasion, but even made him forget the aching tooth that
had been harassing him all day.
As he went down to present himself for the family inspection, it is
useless to deny that he was very much impressed with the elegance and
correctness of his costume. It had been achieved with infinite pains
and considerable expense. Nothing was lacking, not even a silver
cigarette-case, bearing an unknown monogram, which he had purchased at
a pawn-shop the day before.
His advent into the sitting-room produced a gratifying sensation.
"Ha! Who comes here!" cried Mr. Martel. "The glass of fashion and the
mould of form." Then he came forward for close inspection. "Hadn't you
any better studs than those, my boy?"
"They are the ones that came in the shirt," said Quin, instantly on the
defensive.
"Well, they hardly do justice to the occasion. Step upstairs, Cassius,
and get my pearl ones out of the top chiffonier drawer."
"I wish Captain Phipps could see you," said Rose admiringly. "You should
have seen his face when I told him you were going to-night! He wasn't
invited, you know."
"Where did you see him?" Quin asked, brushing a speck of lint from the
toe of his shining shoe.
"Here. He's been coming twice a week to work with Papa Claude ever since
you left. Give 'em to me, Cass"--this to her brother. "I'll put them in."
"Aren't they too little for the buttonholes?" asked Quin anxiously.
"Not enough to matter," Rose insisted. Then, as she finished, she added
in a whisper: "Tell Nell somebody sent his love."
"Nothing doing," laughed Quin with a superior shrug; "somebody else is
taking his."
The curb was lined with automobiles by the time he arrived at the
Bartletts'. The house looked strangely unfamiliar with its blaze of
lights and throng of arriving guests. He instinctively felt in his pocket
for his latch-key, and then remembered, and waited for the strange butler
to open the door. The inside of the house looked even less natural than
the outside. The floors were cleared for dancing and the mantels were
banked high with flowers and ferns. Under the steps the musicians were
already tuning their instruments.
"Upstairs, sir; first room to your left," said the important person at
the door, and Quin followed the stream of black-coated figures who were
filing up the stairs and turning into the room he had occupied a short
week ago. It was just as he had left it, except for the picture that no
longer adorned the mantel.
"Beg pardon, sir," said the lofty attendant who took his overcoat, "your
stud's come loose."
"I bet the damn thing's going to do that all night," Quin said
confidentially. "Say, you haven't got a pin, have you?"
"Oh, no, sir, it couldn't be pinned," protested the man in a shocked
tone.
Quin adjusted it as best he could, took a final look at himself in the
mirror, and proceeded downstairs. Arrived in the lower hall, he glanced
about him in some perplexity. Not a member of the family was visible, and
he looked in vain for a familiar face. In his uncertainty as to his next
move, he went back to the pantry and got himself a glass of water.
As he was returning to the hall, some one plucked at his sleeve and
whispered:
"Hello there, Graham!"
Turning around, he encountered the gaping mouth of a shining saxophone,
behind which beamed the no less shining countenance of Barney McGinness.
Barney had been in the 105th Infantry Band, and he and Quin had returned
from France on the same transport. They exchanged hearty greetings under
their breath.
"Serving here to-night, are you?" asked Barney.
"Serving?" repeated Quin; then he laughed good-naturedly. "You got
another guess coming your way, Barney."
"So it's the parlor instid of the pantry, is it? I'd 'a' seen it for
meself if I had used me eyes instead of me mouth. You look grand enough
to be doing a turn on the vawdyville."
Quin tried not to expand his chest in pride, for fear the movement would
disturb those temperamental studs. He would fain have lingered
indefinitely in the warmth of Barney's admiring smile, but the signal for
the first dance was already given, and he moved nervously out into the
throng again.
Now that the moment had come for him to meet Eleanor--the moment he had
longed for by day and dreamed of by night,--he found himself overcome
with terrible diffidence. Suppose she did not want to see him again?
Suppose she should be angry at him for coming to her party? Suppose she
should be too taken up with all these strange friends of hers to have
time to dance with him?
After obstructing social traffic in the hall for several moments, he
encountered Miss Enid. She was all a lavender flutter, with sleeves
floating and scarf dangling, and she wore an air of subdued excitement
that made her almost pretty.
"Why, Quinby!" she said, and her eyes swept him. "Have you spoken to
mother yet?"
"No; where is she?"
"In the library. And sister will present you to the young ladies in the
parlor."
She hesitated a moment, then she placed a timid hand on Quin's arm.
"But before you go in would you mind doing something for me? Will you
watch the front door and let me know as soon as Mr. Chester arrives?"
"Mr. Chester?"
"Yes. You see, it's been a great many years since he came to the house,
and I want to--to make sure that he is properly welcomed."
"I'll wait for him," said Quin, glad of any excuse for not entering that
crowded parlor.
Lovely young creatures in rainbow tints drifted down the stairs and
disappeared beyond the portières; supercilious young men, all in tail
coats and most of them wearing white gloves, passed and repassed him.
Quin was experiencing the wholly new sensation of timidity. In vain he
sought reassuring reflections from the long pier-glass, as he did guard
duty in the front hall pending Mr. Chester's arrival. He'd be all right,
he assured himself, as soon as he got to know some of the people. Once he
had spoken to Eleanor and been sure of her welcome, he didn't care what
happened. Meanwhile he worked with his shirt-stud and tried not to think
about his tooth.
It was late when Mr. Chester arrived, and by the time he had been placed
in Miss Enid's care the receiving line in the parlor had dissolved and
the dance was in full swing.
Quin made his way back to the library and presented his belated respects
to Madam, who sat enthroned in state where she could command the field
and direct the manoeuvers. She was resplendent in black velvet and old
lace. A glittering comb topped her high white pompadour, and a dog-collar
of diamonds encircled her wrinkled neck.
"Well, I am glad one man has the manners to come and speak to his
hostess!" she said grimly, extending her hand to Quin. "The young lords
of the present day seem to consider a lady's house a public dance-hall.
Sit down and talk to me."
Quin didn't wish to sit down. He wished very ardently to plunge into that
dancing throng and find Eleanor. But the old lady's vise-like grip closed
on him, and he had to content himself with watching the couples circle
past the door while he listened to a tirade against present-day customs.
"Why, this dancing is indecent!" stormed the old lady. "I never saw
anything like it in my life! Look at that little Morris chit with her
cheek plastered up to Johnnie Rawlins'! If somebody doesn't speak to her,
I will! I will not have such dancing in my house! And there's Kitty
Carey, the one with no back to her dress. What her mother is thinking
of--Mercy! Look at the length of that skirt!"
It was not until Mr. and Mrs. Ranny arrived, and Madam had no time for
any one else, that Quin was able to escape.
"Can you tell me where I can find Miss Eleanor?" he asked eagerly of Miss
Isobel, whom he encountered in the back hall.
Miss Isobel, looking thoroughly uncomfortable in a high-necked,
long-sleeved evening dress, sighed anxiously:
"I am looking for her myself. She has had all the windows opened, and
mother gave express orders that they were to be kept closed. Would you
mind putting this one down? It makes such a draught."
It was a high window and an obstinate one, and by the time it was down
Quin's cuffs were six inches beyond his coat sleeves and his vest was
bulging.
"I don't want that window down," said a spirited voice behind him. "I
wish you had left it alone."
"Eleanor!" said Miss Isobel reprovingly. "He is doing it at my request.
It is our young friend Quinby Graham."
Quin wheeled about in dismay, and found himself face to face with a
slender vision in shimmering blue and silver, a vision with flushed
cheeks and angry eyes, who looked at him in blank amazement, then burst
out laughing.
"Why, for mercy sakes! I never would have known you. You look so--so
different in civilian clothes."
The words were what he had expected, but the intonation was not. It
seemed to call for some sort of explanation.
"It's my face," he blurted out apologetically, drawing attention to the
fact that of all others he most wished to ignore. "Had an abscess in my
tooth; it's swelled my jaw up a bit."
Eleanor was not in the least concerned with his affliction. A civilian
with the toothache could not expect the consideration of a hero with a
shrapnel wound. Moreover, this was her first appearance in the rôle of
hostess at a large party, and she fluttered about like a distracted
humming-bird.
Miss Isobel laid a detaining hand on her bare shoulder.
"Did you know they were smoking in the dining-room, Nellie? Even some of
the _girls_ are smoking. If mother finds it out I don't know _what_ she
will do!"
"Call out the fire department, probably," said Eleanor flippantly.
"But listen! She will speak to them--you know she will. Don't you think
you can stop them?"
"Of course I can't!" declared Eleanor, her anger rekindling. "And we
can't dance with the windows down, either. Oh, dear, I wish we'd never
_tried_ to give a party!"
"May I have the next dance, Miss Eleanor?" Quin ventured at this
inopportune moment.
She turned upon him a perturbed face, "It's taken," she said absently.
"They are all taken until after supper. I'll give you one then." And with
this casual promise she hurried away.
Quin wandered disconsolately into the hall again. Everybody seemed to
know everybody else. Apparently he was the one outsider. At the soldier
dances to which he was accustomed, he was used to boldly asking any girl
on the floor to dance, sure of a welcoming smile. But here it was
different. It seemed that a fellow must wait for an introduction which
nobody took the trouble to give. He leaned against the door-jamb and
indulged in bitter reflections. Much that bunch cared whether he had
risked his life for his country or not! The girls had already forgotten
which were the heroes and which were the slackers. He didn't care! All he
had come for, anyhow, was to see Eleanor Bartlett. Just wait until he got
her all to himself in that dance after supper----
Finding the strain of being a spectator instead of a participant no
longer endurable, he wandered upstairs and bathed his face. The pain was
getting worse and he had a horrible suspicion that the swelling was
increasing. In the men's dressing-room he found a game of craps in
progress, and, upon being asked to join, was so grateful for being
included in any group that he accepted gladly, and for half an hour
forgot his woes while he won enough to repay Cass the sum he had advanced
on the dress-shirt.
"Stud's undone, old chap," said his opponent as he paid his debt.
"Thanks, so it is," said Quin nonchalantly.
As he went downstairs he encountered Miss Enid and Mr. Chester sitting
under the palms on the landing in intimate tête-à-tête.
"Will you dance this with me, Miss Enid?" asked Quin, leading a forlorn
hope.
"I am afraid I don't know those new dances," said Miss Enid evasively,
"the only thing I can do is to waltz."
"You mean a one-step?"
"She means a waltz," Mr. Chester repeated impressively, "the most
beautiful and dignified dance ever invented. Shall we show him, Miss
Enid?"
And, to Quin's unbounded amazement, Mr. Chester and Miss Enid proceeded
to demonstrate, there on the narrow landing, the grace and beauty of the
"glide waltz"; and so absorbed were they in the undertaking that they did
not even know when he ceased to be a spectator and Miss Isobel became
one.
The latter, inexpressibly shocked at the way things were going in the
ball-room, was on her way upstairs, when she was confronted with the
amazing spectacle of her sister and the bald-headed Mr. Chester revolving
solemnly and rhythmically in each other's arms on the shadowy landing.
The only doubt that Miss Isobel had ever harbored concerning an all-wise
Providence arose from the passage in Scripture that read: "Man and woman
created He them." In her secret heart she had always felt that some
other, less material scheme might have been evolved. Softly retracing her
steps, she slipped back downstairs and took her place beside her
increasingly indignant mother.
The new wine was proving entirely too much for the old bottles. Madam's
ultimatums and Miss Isobel's protests had alike proved unavailing. The
young people invaded the house like a swarm of noisy locusts. Between
dances they flew out to the porch, some of the couples dashing out to sit
in automobiles, others driving madly around the block to the incessant
honking of horns. Then the music would call them back, and in they would
pour, singing and whistling as they came, shouting jests from room to
room, playing ball with the decorations, utterly regardless of everything
save their own restless, reckless, daring selves. Maddest of them all was
Eleanor, who, conscious of the stern disapproval of the family and
rebelling against their attempted restraint, led the merry revolt against
old-time proprieties and took her fling, for once regardless of
consequences.
Quin, meanwhile, had gone back to the dressing-room and was making
frantic efforts to reduce the swelling in his face. If he could only keep
it down until after his dance with Eleanor, it might swell to the
dimensions of the dome of St. Peter's! A hurried survey from over the
banisters assured him that supper was soon to be served, and he went back
to his hot applications with renewed courage.
But ill luck pursued him. No sooner had the guests been seated at small
round tables and the refreshments served, than some one remembered that a
big charity ball was in progress at the armory, and it was proposed that
the evening be concluded there. The suggestion met with instant approval.
In spite of the indignant protests of the elders, the gay company, headed
by Eleanor, left the half-eaten ices melting on their plates, and, rising
in a body, took noisy and immediate flight.
At twelve o'clock the elaborately decorated rooms were empty, the
musicians were packing their instruments, the caterers were removing
trays of untasted food, and Quin, standing dazed in the deserted hall,
one hand clasping his shirt-front and the other on his face, was trying
in vain to realize that the party which he had inspired had proved his
Waterloo!