"Why don't you pitch into Milt? He's got her now. He's the one y'd orto be dammin'."
"Oh, he don't mean nothin' by it. He don't care for her. I saw him down to town at the show with the girl he's after. He's jest makin' Ed mad."
A game of "Copenhagen" was going on as they entered. Bettie was in the midst of it, but Milton, in the corner, was looking on and talking with a group of those who had outgrown such games.
The ring of noisy, flushed and laughter-intoxicated young people filled the room nearly to the wall, and round and round the ring flew Bettie, pursued by Joe Yohe.
"Go it, Joe!" yelled Bill.
"You're good f'r 'im," yelled Shephard.
Milton laughed and clapped his hands. "Hot foot, Bettie!"
Like another Atalanta, the superb young girl sped, now dodging through the ring, now doubling as her pursuer tried to catch her by turning back. At last she made the third circuit, and, breathless and laughing, took her place in the line. But Joe rushed upon her, determined to steal a kiss anyhow.
"H'yare! H'yare! None o' that."
"That's no fair," cried the rest, and he was caught by a dozen hands.