“Hurry up, Johnny. Choose a chair,” urged Mrs. Daner, she being, among her other functions, the discourager of hesitancy.
Poor soul, it devolved upon her to see that the programme moved forward swiftly, so that no one, from the belle and the beau to the fat and the cross-eyed, should be slighted through lack of time.
Mary had nodded. It must be Mary who had called for you; else why should she have nodded? With confidence you darted at Mary’s chair, and seated yourself.
How they shrieked, and how they clapped; none louder than Mary, and none more vengefully than Lucy—Lucy, who, in truth, had called you, and whom you had unwittingly exasperated. Boys are so stupid!
Another victim of female duplicity, out you dived for the refuge of your own sex. You resolved that sometime you would pay Mary Webster back.
Billy Lunt went in next. What befell Billy was signalized by a sudden uproar of laughter and soprano cries, but no clapping!
Billy was being kissed!
“A-a-aw, Billy!” and all of you pointed your fingers at him, and prodded him in the ribs, when, crimson and rumpled, he reappeared.
“Who kissed you?”
“Mary Webster; she tried to but she didn’t do it square! I skinned out an’ they grabbed holt of me, an’ I broke away!” boasted Billy.