CHAPTER XII
CARMELITA DANCES EL SON
By custom the dance of El Son followed supper. Peons pared wax from candles and scattered the particles over the ballroom floor. Smooth as it had been before it must be made more so for the dance El Son. The Indian men and women worked the wax into the wood until the surface shone like the beams of a harvest moon.
"A little more wax by you there, Clotilda—not that side, the other!" ordered the peon in charge. "Now, be alive with your foot. Use judgment! Use judgment! Don't wear a hole in the floor. Now, more wax where your toes were digging!"
"Already as many candles are in the shavings, Tomaso, as would make a display for Holy Thursday," remonstrated a peona.
"What have we here? What have we here?" indignantly from Tomaso. "All masters, and no servants? Obey my word, and be quick about it! Move yourselves, every one of you! Make the floor glisten. The more it shines the more slippery it is. Did you not hear some of the company clamoring that our doña herself dance El Son to-night?"
Tomaso was Señor Mendoza's trusty man, an Indian of intelligence and fidelity. He was captain of the Señor's fighting peons and had been Carmelita's postilion at the merienda race. Under his rapid orders the servants made the floor ready. Mendoza, however, was not satisfied with it.
"The floor is not yet right for El Son. It needs a dance thereon. Friends, let us have a waltz!"
The caballeros sought partners, looking for their lady loves over grounds, reception rooms, and conservatory. Morando found Carmelita chatting vivaciously in the midst of a gay party.
"Will you favor me with this waltz, señorita doña?"