“Aw, say—just a turn. Don’t throw me down,” said the fellow, his eyes becoming suddenly hard and the smile beginning to disappear from his face.
“No, thank you. Neither my sister nor I wish to dance here,” said Ruth, growing bolder—and more indignant.
“Don’t tell me you don’t know how to dance?” growled the freckled one.
“I don’t tell you anything, but that we do not wish to dance,” and Ruth tried to turn away from him.
The fellow stepped directly in their path. They were just on the fringe of loiterers about the pavilion. Agnes clapped a hand upon her lips to keep from screaming.
“Aw, come on,” said the fellow, laying a detaining hand upon Ruth’s arm.
Then something very unexpected, but very welcome, happened. Mrs. Heard, seeing a hand’s breadth of cloud in the sky and fearing a thunder storm, had sent Neale O’Neil scurrying for the girls. He came to the spot before this affair could go any farther.
“Hullo!” he exclaimed, sharply. “What’s this?”
“This—this gentleman,” said Ruth, faintly, “offers to dance with me, but I tell him ‘no.’”
“What are you butting in for, kid?” demanded the freckled young fellow, thrusting his jaw forward in an ugly manner. But he took his hand from Ruth’s arm.