It was Ort Hippisley, of course, that waited for Prue outside the gate.
They swapped bad news. She had heard that he had lost his job, but not
that his father had forbidden him to speak to Prue.
Her evil tidings that she had been compelled to choose between marrying
Tawm Kinch and banishment from home threw Ort into a panic of dismay.
He was a natural-born dancer, but not a predestined hero. He had no
inspirations for crises like these. He was as graceful as a manly man
could be, but he was not at his best when the hour was darkest. He was
at his best when the band was playing.
In him Prue found somebody to support, not to lean on. But his distress
at her distress was so complete that it endeared him to her war-like
soul more than a braver quality might have done. They stood awhile thus
in each other's arms like a Pierrot and his Columbine with winter coming
on. Finally Orton sighed:
"What in Heaven's name is goin' to become of us? What you goin' to do,
Prue? Where can you go?"
Prue's resolution asserted itself. "The first place to go is Mrs.
Prosser's boardin'-house and get me a room. Then we can go on to the
dance and maybe that'll give us an idea."
"But maybe Mrs. Prosser won't want you since your father's turned you
out."
"In the first place it was me that turned me out. In the second place
Mrs. Prosser wants 'most anybody that's got six dollars a week comin'
in. And I've got that, provided I can find a room to teach in."
Mrs. Prosser welcomed Prue, not without question, not without every
question she could get answered, but she made no great bones of the
family war. "The best o' families quar'ls," she said. "And half the time
they take their meals with me till they quiet down. I'll be losin' you
soon."
Prue broached the question of a room to teach in. To Mrs. Prosser,
renting a room had always the joy of renting a room. She said that her
"poller" was not used much and she'd be right glad to get something for
it. She would throw in the use of the pianna. Prue touched the keys. It
was an old boarding-house piano and sounded like a wire fence plucked;
but almost anything would serve.
So Prue and Orton hastened away to the party, and danced with the final
rapture of doing the forbidden thing under an overhanging cloud of
menace. Several more pupils enlisted themselves in Prue's classes.
Another problem was solved and a new danger commenced by Mr. Norman
Maugans.
The question of music had become serious. It was hard to make progress
when the dancers had to hum their own tunes. Prue could not buy a
phonograph, and the Prosser piano dated from a time when pianos did not
play themselves. Prue could "tear off a few rags," as she put it, but
she could not dance and teach and play her own music all at once. Mrs.
Hippisley was afraid to lend her phonograph lest the judge should notice
its absence.
And now like a sent angel came Mr. Norman Maugans, who played the
pipe-organ at the church, and offered to exchange his services as
musician for occasional lessons and the privilege of watching Prue
dance, for which privilege, he said, "folks in New York would pay a
hundred dollars a night if they knew what they was missin'."
Prue grabbed the bargain, and the next morning began to teach him to
play such things as "Some Smoke" and "Leg of Mutton."
At first he played "Girls, Run Along" so that it could hardly be told
from "Where Is My Wandering Boy To-night?" and his waltzes were mostly
hesitation; but by and by he got so that he fairly tangoed on the
pedals, and he was so funny bouncing about on the piano-stool to
"Something Seems Tingle-ingle-ingle-ingling So Queer" that the pupils
stopped dancing to watch him.
The tango was upon the world like a Mississippi at flood-time. The
levees were going over one by one; or if they stood fast they stood
alone, for the water crept round from above and backed up from below.
In Carthage, as in both Portlands, Maine and Oregon, and the two Cairos,
Illinois and Egypt, the Parises of Kentucky and France, the Yorks and
Londons, old and new; in Germany, Italy, and Japan, fathers, monarchs,
mayors, editors stormed against the new dance; societies passed
resolutions; police interfered; ballet-girls declared the dances immoral
and ungraceful. The army of the dance went right on growing.
Doctor Brearley called a meeting of the chief men of his congregation to
talk things over and discipline, if not expel, all guilty members.
Deacon Luxton was in a state of mind. He dared not vote in favor of the
dance and he dared not vote against it. He and his wife were taking
lessons from Prue surreptitiously at their own home. Judge Hippisley's
voice would have been louder for war if he had not discovered that his
wife was secretly addicted to the one-step. Old Doctor Brearley was
walking about rehearsing a sermon against it when he happened to enter a
room where Idalene was practising. He wrung from her a confession of the
depth of her iniquity. This knowledge paralyzed his enthusiasm.
Sour old Deacon Flugal was loudly in favor of making an example of Prue.
His wife was even more violent. She happened to mention her disgust to
Mrs. Deacon Luxton:
"I guess this'll put an end to the tango in Carthage!"
"Oh, I hope not!" Mrs. Luxton cried.
"You hope not!"
"Yes, I do. It has done my husband no end of good. It's taken pounds and
pounds of fat off him. It brings out the prespiration on him something
wonderful. And it's taken years off his age. He's that spry and full of
jokes and he's gettin' right spoony. He used to be a tumble cut-up, and
then he settled down so there was no livin' with him. But now he keeps
at me to buy some new clothes and he's thinkin' of gettin' a tuxeda. His
old disp'sition seems to have come back and he's as cheerful and, oh, so
affectionate! It's like a second honeymoon."
Mrs. Luxton gazed off into space with rapture. Mrs. Flugal was so silent
that Mrs. Luxton turned to see if she had walked away in disgust. But
there was in her eyes that light that lies in woman's eyes, and she
turned a delicious tomato-red as she murmured:
"How much, do you s'pose, would a term of lessons cost for my husband?"