“It didn't either. WHERE'D it hurt you? Let's see if it—”
“Well, I can't show you, but it did. Penrod, are you going to keep on?”
Penrod's heart had melted within him; but his reply was pompous and cold. “I will if I feel like it, and I won't if I feel like it. You wait and see.”
But Marjorie jumped up and ran around to him abandoning her escort. All the children were leaving their chairs and moving toward the dancing-rooms; the orchestra was playing dance-music again.
“Come on, Penrod!” Marjorie cried. “Let's go dance this together. Come on!”
With seeming reluctance, he suffered her to lead him away. “Well, I'll go with you; but I won't dance,” he said “I wouldn't dance with the President of the United States”
“Why, Penrod?”
“Well—because well, I won't DO it!”
“All right. I don't care. I guess I've danced plenty, anyhow. Let's go in here.” She led him into a room too small for dancing, used ordinarily by Miss Amy Rennsdale's father as his study, and now vacant. For a while there was silence; but finally Marjorie pointed to the window and said shyly:
“Look, Penrod, it's getting dark. The party'll be over pretty soon, and you've never danced one single time!”