Betty blushed a little, to her disgust, but smiled warmly at Jack’s father. Perhaps he was nicer than he looked. Anyhow, it was pleasant to be liked. The rooms were furnished with taste. A baby grand piano and the very latest in radios were part of the equipment. Oriental rugs were on the floor. Betty appreciated all that since she had learned about values and beauty in such things. A few of them, in her own simple home, however, satisfied Betty Lee.
One after another the young guests arrived. This was to be a real dinner party, many as there were to be served. Dinner at the Lees had long since been over, but dinner here was served at eight o’clock—and such a dinner! Betty enjoyed it thoroughly, especially as she was Jack’s companion, though Jack’s cousin from away was the guest of honor. Dainty courses and more substantial food, prepared in the most appetizing way, were offered. But Betty noticed wine glasses by their plates and wondered. Would wine be used at Jack’s?
But in the midst of conversation and consumption of food Betty did not disturb herself over what the future might bring. Nevertheless, she was disturbed when the butler filled the glasses. She would be polite, and said nothing. Immediately, however, some of the boys grew a little hilarious, talking about their “prohibition beer.” Jack nodded to the butler, who went around putting something else in some of the glasses.
Betty gave a questioning look toward Jack, who turned to her at that moment. “That won’t hurt you, Betty,” said he. But he pulled something from his pocket and laughingly, teasingly, poured some sort of liquid into the glass of his cousin.
“Any good, Jack?” asked she.
“The best my bootlegger can get,” laughed he in return.
Betty felt sick at the thought. Perhaps he was only joking. He must be. But other boys were doing the same thing, adding something from odd bottles around the table. There were scarcely any boys and girls that she had known in school, though she had met some of them at Lucia’s. Perhaps it was a good thing that Lucia had not been able to come. Mathilde, Betty saw, was enjoying herself thoroughly and did not refuse any of the liquor. Jack turning away from his cousin again, told Betty that she was just a “little prude, but a very sweet one,” “You’ll get over it, Betty. Try a little, just to please me.”
“I’m sorry, Jack, but I can’t,” said Betty. “I’m wishing you just as many happy returns, you know.”
“All right this time,” returned Jack, for he was in a happy mood and the stimulating drink made him only more affable so far. It was not the first that day.
This was the beginning. No one seemed to be the worse for anything at dinner. There were some games and then the dancing began a la victrola, though Jack apologized for not having an orchestra. “Nobody could come,” said he—“previous engagements. It was my fault for letting it go until too late.”