THE HALLOWE'EN DANCE
Saturday dawned as inauspiciously as any other day in the week, but to
the high school boys and girls of the little city of Sanford it was a
day set apart. Aside from commencement, the great event of their high
school year was about to take place.
As early as eight o'clock that morning the decorating committee of
Weston High School was up and laboring manfully at the task of turning
Weston's big gymnasium into a veritable bower of beauty, which should,
in due season, draw forth plenty of admiring "Ohs!" and "Ahs!" from
their gentle guests. For three days the committee had been borrowing,
with lavish promises of safe return, as many cushions, draperies,
chairs, divans and various other articles calculated to fitly adorn the
ballroom, as their families and friends confidingly allowed them to
carry off.
Their progress along this line had been painstakingly watched by
numerous pairs of sharp, young eyes, and the report had gone forth among
the girls that this particular Hallowe'en party was going to be "the
nicest dance the boys had ever given."
To Marjorie Dean, however, the event promised more than the usual
interest. It was to be her first opportunity of entering into the social
life of the boys and girls of Sanford. In B---- she had numbered many
stanch friends among the young men of Lafayette High School, but she had
lived in Sanford for, what seemed to her, a very long time and had not
met a single Weston boy. Jerry had promised to introduce Marjorie to her
brother and to the tall, fair-haired youth known as the Crane, but so
far the young people had not been thrown together. Marjorie had no
silly, sentimental ideas in her curly brown head about boys. From early
childhood she had been allowed to play with them. She was fond of their
games and had always evinced far more interest in marbles, tops and even
baseball than she had in dolls. Still, at sixteen, she was not a hoyden
nor a tomboy, but a merry, light-hearted girl with a strong, healthy
body and a feeling of comradeship toward boys in general which was to
carry her far in her later life.
At the time she had given Constance the blue gown she had also gained
her friend's rather reluctant consent to come to dinner at the Deans' on
the great night and dress with her for the dance. Marjorie attributed
Constance's hesitation to shyness. Always reticent regarding her home
life, Constance, aside from her one outburst relating to her family
on the day when she had advised Marjorie against her friendship, had
said little or nothing further of her home. So Marjorie did not know
that it was not a matter of shyness, but rather a question of who would
keep house and get the supper while she was out enjoying herself, that
caused Constance to demur before accepting the invitation. Then she
remembered that Hallowe'en came on Saturday and decided that she could
manage after all.
The momentous Saturday dawned clear and cold, with just the suspicion of
a fall tang to the air. It was a busy day for the Weston boys, and when
at four o'clock the last garland of green had been twined about the
gymnasium posts and the gallery railing, while the last flag had been
painstakingly hung at the proper angle, the dozen or more of young men
who formed the decorating committee viewed their work with boyish pride.
"It looks bully," shouted an enthusiastic freshman, with a sweep of his
arm which was intended to include the whole room. "If the girls aren't
suited with this, they won't be invited over here again in a hurry."
"Hear him rave!" sadly commented a sophomore. "It takes a freshman to
fall all over himself."
"That's because we are young and have more enthusiasm," retorted the
freshman, his freckled face alive with an impish grin.
"Desist from your squabbles
And join in the waltz,"
caroled an extremely tall, thin youth, pirouetting on his toes, and
waving a long trail of ground pine about his head in true première
danseuse fashion.
There was a shout of laughter from the boys at this burst of
terpsichorean art. The tall youth pranced and whirled the length of the
gymnasium and back, ending his performance with a swift, high kick and a
bow that bade fair to dislocate his spine.
"Did I hear someone laugh?" he asked severely, drawing down his face
with such an indescribably funny expression that the laughter broke
forth afresh. "It is evident that you don't appreciate my rare ability
as a dancer."
"You mean as a grasshopper," jeered the freckle-faced youth.
"Exactly. No, I don't either. How dare you insult me?" He made a lengthy
lunge toward the freshman, who promptly dodged behind a tall,
good-looking young man who had at that moment joined the group.
The lunging youth brought up short with, "Hello, Hal, I thought you had
gone."
"So I had. Got halfway home and found I'd left my pocketknife here.
Maybe I didn't hotfoot it back though. Hope the girls will like the
looks of things." He cast approving eyes about the transformed
gymnasium. "Jerry's been raving to me ever since school began about her
new friend, Marjorie Dean. Have you met her? I understand she is coming
to-night."
"Not I, I can't tell one of those girls from another," grumbled the
Crane. "You know just how much I like girls. I don't mind helping get
ready for this business, but I'd rather take a licking than come back
here to-night. You'll see me vanishing around the corner and out of here
at the very first chance. Girls are an awful nuisance anyway."
"Nothing like true chivalry," murmured the freckle-faced freshman. An
instant later he was sprinting down the gymnasium as fast as his short
legs could carry him, the Crane in hot pursuit.
"Cut it out, fellows," laughed Harold Macy. "You'll upset something or
other, and then, look out."
"If we do it will be the Crane's fault," came plaintively from the
freckle-faced freshman, as he dodged his pursuer with an agility born of
long practice. "I don't see why he wants to chase me. I merely made a
simple remark."
"Now that you've owned up to its being simple I'll let you off this
time," declared the Crane, magnanimously, "but see that it doesn't
happen again."
"I will," was the glib promise. "I'm sorry I said you were a
grasshopper. You look more like a giraffe."
Then he made a hurried exit through a nearby side door, leaving the
Crane to vow dire vengeance the next time he ventured within reach.
A little further loitering and the group of boys broke up, and, leaving
the gymnasium, went home to get ready for the evening's fun and be back
in good season to help receive their guests.
There were two guests, however, who dressed for the party with entirely
different emotions. To Constance it was the most wonderful night of her
life. She stole frequent, half-startled glances at her blue satin-shod
feet and even pinched a fold of her chiffon gown between her fingers to
feel if it were real. Mrs. Dean had arranged the girl's fair curling
hair in precisely the same fashion that Mary Raymond wore hers, and when
she had been hooked into the precious gown, with its exquisite little
sprays of rosebuds, she thought she knew just how poor, lowly Cinderella
felt when the fairy godmother touched her with her wand. While she was
being dressed she said little, yet Marjorie and her mother knew by the
happy light that crowded the wistful look quite out of her expressive
eyes that their guest was too deeply appreciative for words.
Marjorie, who looked radiantly pretty in her frock of pink silk with its
overdress of delicate pink net, welcomed the dance with all the
enthusiasm of one who was heartily glad to get in touch with the social
side of her school life. She had forgotten for the moment that certain
girls in the freshman class had turned against her; that she was no
longer a member of the freshman basketball team. She remembered only
that it seemed ages since she had attended a party and she hoped
fervently that someone would ask her to dance.
Jerry and Irma had arranged to call for Marjorie and Constance, as the
quartette were to use the Macys' limousine. When the automobile stopped
before the house, Jerry insisted on getting out and running into the
house to see her friends' gowns. Irma followed her, a smile of
good-natured tolerance on her placid face.
"Jerry couldn't wait to see your dresses," she said, then exclaimed in
wonder: "How lovely you look, Constance, and what a perfectly sweet
gown!"
Constance colored to the tips of her small ears. Jerry, too, began
voicing loud approval, and when, after having stood in line and been
inspected by Mrs. Dean, the four girls piled into the limousine,
Constance was overcome with the peculiar sensation of experiencing too
much happiness. She felt that it could not possibly last.
The gymnasium was fairly well filled when they entered and by half past
eight o'clock the majority of the guests had arrived. Hardly had they
deposited their scarfs in the dressing-room and administered last
judicious pats to straying fluffy locks of hair when Jerry, who had
disappeared the moment they reached the dressing-room, came hurrying
back with the information that Hal was waiting outside to do the honors.
"You'd better hurry out and console the Crane, Irma," she added slyly.
"He looks about ten feet tall in his evening clothes and perfectly
miserable."
Following in Jerry's wake Marjorie stepped into the gaily decorated room
and the next instant was shaking hands with handsome Hal Macy, the most
popular fellow in Weston High. As the brown eyes met the frank manly
gaze of the gray, there passed between the two young people a vivid
flash of liking and comradeship that was later to develop into a stanch
and beautiful friendship.
"I am so glad to know you," said Marjorie, earnestly. "I am very fond of
your sister."
"I am sure we shall be friends," declared Hal Macy. Involuntarily he put
out his hand. Marjorie's hand met it, and thus began the friendship
between Marjorie Dean and Hal Macy.