He bowed to right and left, as to an audience politely applauding, and, lifting the table and its burden, withdrew; while old Bob again set his fiddle to his chin and scraped the preliminary measures of a quadrille.
Beasley was back in an instant, shouting as he came: “TAKE your pardners! Balance ALL!”
And then and there, and all by himself, he danced a quadrille, performing at one and the same time for four lively couples. Never in my life have I seen such gyrations and capers as were cut by that long-legged, loose-jointed, miraculously flying figure. He was in the wildest motion without cessation, never the fraction of an instant still; calling the figures at the top of his voice and dancing them simultaneously; his expression anxious but polite (as is the habit of other dancers); his hands extended as if to swing his partner or corner, or “opposite lady”; and his feet lifting high and flapping down in an old-fashioned step. “FIRST four, forward and back!” he shouted. “Forward and SALUTE! BALANCE to corners! SWING pardners! GR-R-RAND Right-and-Left!”
I think the combination of abandon and decorum with which he performed that “Grand Right-and-Left” was the funniest thing I have ever seen. But I didn't laugh at it.
Neither did Miss Apperthwaite.
“NOW do you believe me?” Peck was arguing, fiercely, with Mr. Schulmeyer. “Is he crazy, or ain't he?”
“He is,” Grist agreed, hoarsely. “He is a stark, starin', ravin', roarin' lunatic! And the nigger's humorin' him!”
They were all staring, open-mouthed and aghast, into the lighted room.
“Do you see where it puts US?” Simeon Peck's rasping voice rose high.
“I guess I do!” said Grist. “We come out to buy a barn, and got a house and lot fer the same money. It's the greatest night's work you ever done, Sim Peck!”