Jest as I was thinking this, the cuffy come into the room, and sez I—
"Look a here, snow ball, when is the party a coming, I've seen the swarry all I want tu, and I'm eenamost tired of standing here and doing nothing."
"Wal," sez he, "I s'pose they'll be here in an hour or two,—it aint mor'n eight o'clock yit."
"I rather guess I shan't stay here all alone any longer," sez I, and with that I buttened up my coat, and jest took a walk into the Apollo gallery to see the picters, till it was time for the party to cum. I haint time to say anything about the heap of harnsome picters that I saw, and besides, I mean to write you all about them some day afore long, for they are curios I can tell you. I felt so much pleased with looking at 'em, that it was long after nine afore I thought of it. So I jest started off agin for Cousin Beebe's. When I went in this time the rooms were brim full of people, and I was eenamost scared to death. I unbuttoned my coat and pulled up my dicky a leetle, besides giving my hair a brush—and then I went in with my head straight up, and my new fur hat in my hand; jest as I used to go in the singers' seat, there in Weathersfield. Think sez I, I'll jest let 'em know that I haint been to dancing school for nothing. So I held my hat a leetle afore me by the rim, and I made a genteel bow, first to one side and then to t'other. Arter that, I went and sot down on one of the settees, and I looked round for cousin Mary, for I felt kinder awk'ard; and I hadn't the least idee that she wouldn't have come up, as she used to in Weathersfield, and put out her hand and ask me if she should take my hat. But there I sot with it between my hands, a fingering it over as if it had been a hot potater, and she never cum near me. I felt dreadfully, for there was a lot of harnsome gals a staring at me, and a puckering up their purty leetle mouths, as if they would a gin the world to larf right out. Arter a minit cousin John cum up to me, and sez he,
"Cousin Slick, I'm glad you've cum, step in the next room and take a glass of wine with me. Mrs. Beebe is so crowded you won't get near her jest yit."
I got up, and we went into the entry way together, and then says cousin Beebe to the nigger, "Here, Ben, take Mr. Slick's hat."
The nigger took my hat and carried it off up stairs, and, arter a few minits, cousin John went back into the room where the company was, without saying another word about the wine.
"You had better go up and speak to Mary, now," sez he, kinder low; "there she stands by Count ——." I didn't hear the name, but it was some darned crabbed word, that was enough to choke a feller.
I hadn't looked round much when I cum in before, for somehow my head didn't feel steddy; but arter cousin John cum and spoke to me, I didn't seem to mind it, so I jest looked round as bold as could be. I declare I never did see any body dressed out as cousin Mary was. She had on a frock of shining satin, with harnsome pink sprigs all over it, and there was a great wide ruffle round the bottom, made out of something that looked as white and thin as a gal's veil the day arter she's married; and that was hitched up on one side half way to her waist, with a pink rose, made out of ribbon with long eends, that fell down eenamost to the floor. A heap of some kind of shiney thin stuff was ruffled round her bosom, and hung down round her arms, for her frock sleeves were short, and made like a little gal's; and she had on a pair of white gloves, with ribbon tops to 'em. One on 'em was fastened round her wrist with a wide piece of gold, and three or four bands set full of shiny stuns wos on t'other arm, which was plaguey white, or else I suppose she would not have let folks see it.
Mary al'ers had a tarnal purty little foot, but I never see it look so small as it did in that glistening white shoe of hern, and to own the rale downright truth, she didn't seem to be much ashamed to show it, but kept it stuck out from under her ruffler, as if she'd made up her mind to be ready to make a curchy any minit. There was one thing that kinder puzzled me a good deal; Mary's skin never was over white, but somehow it looked like wax work, that night, and you never see a meadow pink look brighter than her cheeks did; but instead of coming into her face and going away again, as every man loves to see the color in a gal's face when she's a talking, and knows that he's a looking at her, Mary's always kept jest so; it didn't seem as if an earthquake would make her turn pale. The hair hung in long curls down her cheeks and on her shoulders, jest as it did the other day, and she had a great white rose stuck in among the curls, on one side of her head, that looked as if it hadn't but jest been picked off the bushes.