“Why did you not go up stairs?” cried another; “there were plenty of sandwiches, besides a large basin of toddy.”
“How could he have found time for that; he was all attention to Miss ***; were you not, John?” ejaculated a little creature dressed in boots.
“Ah! are you here?” cried John; “we lost you at the door; how did you get here?”
“On my legs,” replied the little fellow. “Did you expect me to pay two dollars to one of those rascally niggers for the pleasure of a ride?”[19]
“But did you wear boots at the ball?”
“Certainly not; I took them off in the entry, and put them on again as I came out. I always carry my shoes in my pocket when I go to a party.”
“That’s regular Boston fashion!” shouted the company. “How much do you make by it a year?”
“I save by it more than a hundred dollars; and ‘a dollar saved is a dollar earned,’ says Franklin.”
“But what do you do with your boots at the party?”
“I hide them as well as I can; I have only lost one pair in Boston. They were taken away by mistake; but I advertised them in the papers, and got them back again. But I say, John! how do you stand with Miss ***? All right, hem?”