ROSE WAINWRIGHT'S PARTY.
As Fred would make his debut in fashionable society at Rose
Wainwright's party, he was naturally solicitous to make a favorable
impression. He had for some time been intending to procure a new suit,
but hesitated on account of the expense. Now with a new position in
prospect, and a liberal salary he no longer delayed, but purchased a
neat black suit--a misfit--for seventeen dollars, and a few small
articles of which he stood in need.
The next thing required was to obtain some knowledge of dancing.
Fortunately he was acquainted with a gentleman who gave private as well
as class lessons, and was a very successful teacher. He called upon
Professor Saville, and asked him if he could qualify him to make a
creditable appearance at the party.
"How much time have you?" asked the professor.
"Ten days."
"Then come to me every evening, and I will guarantee to make you more
than an average dancer in that time."
"And your terms?"
"To you will be half price. I know very well, Fred, that you are not a
millionaire, and will adapt my terms to your circumstances."
Professor Saville kept his word, and when the eventful day arrived Fred
felt a degree of confidence in his newly-acquired skill. When he was
dressed for the party in his new suit, with a white silk tie and a pair
of patent leather shoes, it would have been hard to recognize him as a
poor train boy.
"You look nice, Fred," said Albert.
"Do I? I must give you a dime for that compliment. Now don't go and
spend it for whisky."
"I never drink whisky," said Albert, indignantly.
"I was only joking, Bertie. Well, mother, I will bid you good-evening."
"I wish you a pleasant time, Fred. Shall you be out late?"
"I can't tell, mother. It is so long since I have been to a fashionable
party that I have forgotten when they do close."
Some of the boys who attended Miss Wainwright's party engaged cabs, but
Fred would have thought this a foolish expenditure. It was a dry crisp
day, with no snow on the ground, and he felt that it would do him no
harm to walk. He did not expect to meet any one he knew, but on turning
into Madison Avenue, he nearly ran into Raymond Ferguson.
Raymond did not at first recognize him. When he did, he surveyed him in
his party dress in unconcealed amazement.
"Where did you get that rig?" he inquired, with more abruptness than
ceremony.
Fred was glad to meet Raymond, and enjoyed his surprise.
"I bought it," he answered briefly.
"But why did you buy it? I don't see where you found the money. You'd
better have saved it for food and rent."
"I'll think over your advice, Cousin Raymond," said Fred with a twinkle
of fun in his eyes.
"Were you going to call at our house?" asked Raymond.
"Not this evening."
"I don't care to have you call me Cousin Raymond."
"I won't, then. I am just as much ashamed of the relationship as you
are."
"If that's a joke it's a very poor one," said Raymond, provoked.
"It's no joke, I assure you."
Fred seemed so cool and composed that his cousin was nonplussed. He
started as if to go on, but curiosity got the better of him.
"You haven't told me where you were going in that absurd dress," he
said.
"I don't see anything absurd in it. I am going to a party."
"To a party? what party?"
"Miss Rose Wainwright's."
"What, the daughter of Mr. Wainwright, the broker?" asked Raymond,
incredulously.
"Yes."
Now it happened that Raymond had been particularly anxious to get an
invitation to this party. Some of his friends at the Columbia Grammar
School were going and he had intrigued, but unsuccessfully, to get a
card of invitation. The idea that his cousin--an obscure train boy--had
succeeded where he had failed seemed absurd and preposterous. It
intensified his disappointment, and made him foolishly jealous of Fred.
"There must be some mistake about this," he said harshly. "You only
imagine that you are invited."
"I am not quite a fool, Cousin Raymond--excuse me, Mr. Ferguson. What
do you say to this?"
He drew from his pocket a note of invitation requesting the favor of
Mr. Fred Fenton's company at Miss Rose Wainwright's New Year's party.
"How did she happen to send you this card?" asked Raymond, his surprise
increasing. "You don't mean to say you know Rose Wainwright?"
"Yes, I know her. I spent an evening at the house nearly two weeks ago,
and played backgammon with her."
"I never heard the like. Have any bootblacks been invited?"
"I don't know. The young lady didn't tell me who were coming."
"Take my advice and don't go."
"Why not?"
"You will be about as much at home at a fashionable party as a cat
would be at the opera."
"But I have accepted the invitation."
"That won't matter. You can write a note tomorrow saying that you
thought it wiser to stay away."
"Besides there is another objection."
"What is that?"
"Rose expects me to dance with her."
"You dance!"
"Certainly, why not?"
"I begin to think you are crazy, Fred Fenton."
"I don't see why."
"Of course you can't dance."
"Of course I can. I am a pupil of Professor Saville. But I must bid you
good evening, as it is time I was at the party."
Raymond gazed after Fred as he walked toward the scene of the evening's
enjoyment with corrugated brows.
"I never heard of anything more ridiculous," he muttered. "It's like a
beggar on horseback. Think of a poor boy like Fred figuring at Rose
Wainwright's party. It is disgusting."
Fred would not have had his share of human nature if he had not enjoyed
the discomfiture of his haughty cousin.
"He thinks this world was made for him," he said to himself. "There
would be no place for me in it if he had his will."
The broker's house was blazing with light, and already many of the
young guests had arrived. Plants and flowers were to be seen in
profusion, and the mansion wore a holiday look. Fred was dazzled, but
did not allow himself to appear ill at ease.
"Second floor back," said the servant who admitted him.
Fred went up-stairs and arranged his toilet in the room appropriated to
gentlemen. Three or four other boys were present, but he knew no one.
With one of these, an attractive boy of his own age, Fred stumbled into
acquaintance, and they went downstairs together.
"Come with me." said the other boy, "we will pay our respects to Rose
together."
Fred was glad to have some one take him in tow, and said so, adding,
"Won't you tell me your name?"
"My name is George Swain. I am a Columbia schoolboy."
"And mine, Fred Fenton. I am in Mr. Wainwright's office."
Rose greeted both boys cordially. She glanced approvingly at Fred's
dress. She had been a little uncertain whether he would be able to
appear in suitable costume.
"You won't forget our dance?" she said, smiling.
"Oh, no; I am counting upon it."
"Then put down your name here," and she presented a card containing the
order of dances.
"May I put down my name, too?" asked George
"Certainly. I shall be pleased to dance with you."
When his turn came Fred acquitted himself very creditably, thanks to
his skilful instructor, Professor Saville.
At ten o'clock a series of tableaux was announced. At one end of the
dining-room a miniature stage had been erected, and there was a
circular row of footlights. In the third tableau, Rose took part. She
incautiously drew too near the footlights, and in an instant her dress
caught fire.
There was a wild scene of excitement. All seemed to have lost their
presence of mind except Fred. Occupying a front seat, he jumped to his
feet in an instant, stripped off his coat, and jumping on the stage
wrapped it round the terrified Rose.