The ladies could scarcely get people enough to fill the tables, and pay their quarter apiece for ice-cream and cake, or for smoking baked beans and brownbread. The Elder (who preached “temperance in all things” but never seemed to consider that it might apply to eating) left the table to see what was attracting the crowd to the broad veranda.
His amazement and rage can be better imagined than explained when he saw Annette and her brother Frank (she having discarded the salesman for the benefit of Maggie Price) giving exhibition steps of the fox-trot, the dip, and various other terpsichorean athletics.
The Elder was, after all, a gentleman; this was a private place offered to the women of the Ladies’ Aid by the courtesy of the host and hostess. He could say nothing; but he strode away in unspeakable indignation, refusing his third dish of ice-cream, and afterward favored poor Mr. Middler with a diatribe against all intemperate living and dressing.
“The town is being cursed by it!” he declared, having cornered the little pastor and laying down the law to him in his usual dogmatic fashion. “The women and young girls have gone crazy over fashions and furbelows. This girl from the city that her brother’s brought here is stirring up the whole community to vanity and foolishness.
“Such a disgraceful scene as is being enacted on the porch our town council would not have allowed exhibited on the ungodly stage of the Opera House. Our people are becoming contaminated, Mr. Middler, with the bacilli of the modern craze for amusement. I tell you, our church is in danger. Were I once more the occupant of that pulpit,” added the Elder, with angry desire, “I would thunder forth such a denunciation of these goings-on as would rock Polktown to its foundations, sir.”
“I am not sure,” rejoined mild Mr. Middler, “that denunciations count for much in these days, Elder. The people have learned to think and to choose for themselves. As for this silly wave of overdressing among the younger women, to oppose it would be like trying to stop water from seeking its level.”
“Hah!” snorted the Elder, his head high and his eyes glowing.
“The rage for vain adornment will run its course—it is bound to,” proceeded Mr. Middle, “like the scarlet fever. Nothing that is not fatal can stop it. Our girls are not wicked even if they are silly. And perhaps all is not even silliness. Polktown is growing; we are advancing in many ways——”
“Tut, tut!” exploded the Elder. “I am tired of that ‘progress’ idea. We have had too much of it. I am sorry I ever countenanced the first new thing.”
“You surely would not say the Public Library is not a good thing, Elder?” cried Mr. Middler.