Orrin did not say a word about how fine Hiram looked in his new plumage. The young fellow began to feel a trifle anxious. He knew he felt uncomfortable. If by any chance he looked as bad as he felt—
He drove down to Plympton in rather high fettle, however, arriving at the Bronson house at the edge of town just as it was getting dark. The place was not lit up and there seemed to be few arrivals. First he wondered if he had mistaken the evening. Then he wondered if anything had happened—anything serious to Lettie or her father—and the party had been postponed.
He drove in by the side lane to the broad yard at the back. One of the stablemen came out with a lantern and recognized Jerry.
"Oh! Hullo! You're from Sunnyside, aren't you? Come down to help us?"
"Help you do what?" Hiram asked climbing down from the carriage rather stiffly, for it was a cold night.
"Help us look after the teams and show 'em where to park their jitneys," said the man carelessly.
"Not to-night," Hiram replied soberly. "I've been invited to the party."
"Whew! All right, me lord!" chuckled the stableman. "But there's nothing doing in the party line for an hour or more yet. Did you come so early because you were afraid they'd eat up all the cake and drink all the grapejuice on you?"
Hiram did not answer this gibe. He walked around the cold streets for two hours before he ventured back to the Bronson house.
Then he found that the company had arrived with a rush. He was directed to the men's coat room on the second floor. It was filled with men and most of them—at least those who appeared quite grown-up—were in dress suits. A glance assured the observant Hiram his own garments were not altogether in the mode.