“Hold on there!” shouted the manager. The crowd, more from surprise than respect, stopped short.
“Now, boys,” he went on firmly but calmly, “no rowdyism! Have a good time, but have it decently.”
“Huh!” sneered Dick, “he’s gettin’ fresh. Let’s show him what a rough house means.” His hand dropped to his hip to execute the thought he had suggested; but just then he caught the eyes of Alta Morgan. The look she gave stopped him from carrying out his purpose, but it did not check his smartness. Instead of sending a shot through the ceiling, he stepped up to her and said, “Come on, let’s dance.”
Alta hesitated a second before taking his arm; then, ignoring the offense, she accepted, and the next moment they were dancing gracefully to Uncle Toby’s lively tune.
When the dance was announced, Jim drew Fred out of the corner where he had half hid himself during the speech, and took him across the room to a group of girls.
“Oh, don’t, Jim,” he half protested, “I’d rather not.”
“Come now, no backing down,” returned Jim; “Miss Willis, meet Mr. Benton.”
A rosy-cheeked girl smilingly acknowledged the introduction, and Fred made bold to invite her to dance. They fell into the line of couples promenading around the room, and then the tune struck up. Fred found trouble at first to catch the steps, but very soon he caught them, and with them came the spirit of the fun. The dance put him more at ease. Bowing his partner to her seat with thanks at the close, Fred turned to find Jim, and met Alta Morgan, her pretty face aglow to blend with the spray of wild roses on her dainty dress.
Both stopped in surprise.
“Why, it’s Fred; I’m so glad to see you!”