Seventeen [79]
one's going to be encored now. You can have the twenty-second--if there IS any!'' William threw a wild glance about him, looking for other girls, but the tireless orchestra began to play the encore, and Miss Boke, who had been applauding, instantly cast herself upon his bosom. ``Come on!'' she cried. ``Don't let's miss a second of it; It's just glorious!''
When the encore was finished she seized William's arm, and, mentioning that she'd left her fan upon the chair under the maple-tree, added, ``Come on! Let's go get it QUICK!''
Under the maple-tree she fanned herself and talked of her love for dancing until the music sounded again. ``Come on!'' she cried, then. ``Don't let's miss a second of it! It's just glorious!''
And grasping his arm, she propelled him toward the platform with a merry little rush.
So passed five dances. Long, long dances.
Likewise five encores. Long encores.
XXVII
MAROONED
At every possible opportunity William hailed other girls with a hasty ``M'av the next 'thyou?'' but he was indeed unfortunate to have arrived so late.
The best he got was a promise of ``the nine- teenth--if there IS any!''
After each dance Miss Boke conducted him back to the maple-tree, aloof from the general throng, and William found the intermissions almost equal to his martyrdoms upon the platform. But, as there was a barely perceptible balance in their favor, he collected some fragments of his broken spirit, when Miss Boke would have borne him to the platform for the sixth time, and begged to ``sit this one out,'' alleging that he had ``kind of turned his ankle, or something,'' he believed.
The cordial girl at once placed him upon the chair and gallantly procured another for herself. In her solicitude she sat close to him, looking fondly at his face, while William, though now and then rubbing his ankle for plausibility's sake, gazed at the platform with an expression which Gustave Dore would gratefully have found suggestive. William was conscious of a voice continually in action near him, but not of what it said. Miss Boke was telling him of the dancing ``up at the lake'' where she had spent the summer, and how much she had loved it, but William missed all that. Upon the many-colored platform the ineffable One drifted to and fro, back and forth; her little blonde head, in a golden net, glinting here and there like a bit of tinsel blowing across a flower-garden.
And when that dance and its encore were over she went to lean against a tree, while Wallace Banks fanned her, but she was so busy with Wallace that she did not notice William, though she passed near enough to waft a breath of violet scent to his wan nose. A fragment of her silver speech tinkled in his ear:
``Oh, Wallie Banks! Bid pid s'ant have Bruvva Josie-Joe's dance 'less Joe say so. Lola MUS' be fair. Wallie mustn't--''
``That's that Miss Pratt,'' observed Miss Boke, following William's gaze with some interest. ``You met her yet?''
``Yeh,'' said William.
``She's been visiting here all summer,'' Miss Boke informed him. ``I was at a little tea this afternoon, and some of the girls said this Miss Pratt said she'd never DREAM of getting engaged to any man that didn't have seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars. I don't know if it's true or not, but I expect so. Anyway, they said they heard her say so.''
William lifted his right hand from his ankle and passed it, time after time, across his damp forehead. He did not believe that Miss Pratt could have expressed herself in so mercenary a manner, but if she HAD--well, one fact in British history had so impressed him that he remembered it even after Examination: William Pitt, the younger, had been Prime Minister of England at twenty-one.
If an Englishman could do a thing like that, surely a bright, energetic young American needn't feel worried about seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars! And although William, at seventeen, had seldom possessed more than seven hundred and fifty cents, four long years must pass, and much could be done, before
When the encore was finished she seized William's arm, and, mentioning that she'd left her fan upon the chair under the maple-tree, added, ``Come on! Let's go get it QUICK!''
Under the maple-tree she fanned herself and talked of her love for dancing until the music sounded again. ``Come on!'' she cried, then. ``Don't let's miss a second of it! It's just glorious!''
And grasping his arm, she propelled him toward the platform with a merry little rush.
So passed five dances. Long, long dances.
Likewise five encores. Long encores.
XXVII
MAROONED
At every possible opportunity William hailed other girls with a hasty ``M'av the next 'thyou?'' but he was indeed unfortunate to have arrived so late.
The best he got was a promise of ``the nine- teenth--if there IS any!''
After each dance Miss Boke conducted him back to the maple-tree, aloof from the general throng, and William found the intermissions almost equal to his martyrdoms upon the platform. But, as there was a barely perceptible balance in their favor, he collected some fragments of his broken spirit, when Miss Boke would have borne him to the platform for the sixth time, and begged to ``sit this one out,'' alleging that he had ``kind of turned his ankle, or something,'' he believed.
The cordial girl at once placed him upon the chair and gallantly procured another for herself. In her solicitude she sat close to him, looking fondly at his face, while William, though now and then rubbing his ankle for plausibility's sake, gazed at the platform with an expression which Gustave Dore would gratefully have found suggestive. William was conscious of a voice continually in action near him, but not of what it said. Miss Boke was telling him of the dancing ``up at the lake'' where she had spent the summer, and how much she had loved it, but William missed all that. Upon the many-colored platform the ineffable One drifted to and fro, back and forth; her little blonde head, in a golden net, glinting here and there like a bit of tinsel blowing across a flower-garden.
And when that dance and its encore were over she went to lean against a tree, while Wallace Banks fanned her, but she was so busy with Wallace that she did not notice William, though she passed near enough to waft a breath of violet scent to his wan nose. A fragment of her silver speech tinkled in his ear:
``Oh, Wallie Banks! Bid pid s'ant have Bruvva Josie-Joe's dance 'less Joe say so. Lola MUS' be fair. Wallie mustn't--''
``That's that Miss Pratt,'' observed Miss Boke, following William's gaze with some interest. ``You met her yet?''
``Yeh,'' said William.
``She's been visiting here all summer,'' Miss Boke informed him. ``I was at a little tea this afternoon, and some of the girls said this Miss Pratt said she'd never DREAM of getting engaged to any man that didn't have seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars. I don't know if it's true or not, but I expect so. Anyway, they said they heard her say so.''
William lifted his right hand from his ankle and passed it, time after time, across his damp forehead. He did not believe that Miss Pratt could have expressed herself in so mercenary a manner, but if she HAD--well, one fact in British history had so impressed him that he remembered it even after Examination: William Pitt, the younger, had been Prime Minister of England at twenty-one.
If an Englishman could do a thing like that, surely a bright, energetic young American needn't feel worried about seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars! And although William, at seventeen, had seldom possessed more than seven hundred and fifty cents, four long years must pass, and much could be done, before