Carolyn lost no time. "It's fine of you," she said eagerly. "Yes, I'm sure you can do it. Not one person in fifty will know whether the tunes you play are national or not. Something quaint and queer for the Hungarian, and jigsy and gay for the Irish. Castanets in the Spanish dance--have you them?"
"Young Randolph Peyton can work those," began Just, looking at Lucy.
She frowned. "Really, I don't believe you'd better have him in it," she said, with such an air that Carolyn glanced at her in amazement, and Chester coughed and turned away.
"Oh, very well!" Just answered, instantly. "You can do 'em yourself, then, Ches."
"All right," said Chester. "There is a big screen of palms and ferns for the orchestra," he explained, with satisfaction, to Lucy. "Nobody'll know who's performing, anyhow."
"Oh!" said Lucy.
Carolyn had soon convinced Just that the little home orchestra could undertake the music without much fear of failure.
"Of course there's a chance that the change may put the dancers out, yet I don't think so. I noticed it was rather simple music, and they're so well drilled they're not very dependent on the music. Anyhow, people will be too interested in the costumes and the steps to notice whether the music is strictly appropriate. As long as you give them something in precisely the right time, I don't believe the change will bother them. I can coach you on that."
"All right," and Just hurried back to the telephone.
Within three-quarters of an hour he had them all there, a laughing crew, ready for what struck them as a frolic for themselves. Chester Agnew carried the instruments behind the screen, and managed to slip the members of the new orchestra one by one from the dining-room doorway to the shelter of the palms without anybody's being the wiser. In ten minutes more soft music began to steal through the crowded rooms.