“Think you’ll have any trouble in getting in?” asked Ed Kerr.
“Not a bit. I bribed one of the doorkeepers. Be on hand outside to listen to the fun.”
A little before the first arrivals at the freshman dance had reached the hall, a figure might have been seen moving quickly about the ballroom in the dim illumination from the half-turned-down lights. The figure went about in circles, with curious motions of the hands, and then, after a survey of the place and a silent laugh, withdrew.
The music began a dreamy waltz, following the opening march. Freshmen led their fair partners out on the floor, and began whirling them about. The lights twinkled, there was the sweet smell of flowers, fair faces of the girls looked up into the proud, flushed ones of the youths. Chaperons looked on approvingly. The music became a trifle faster. The dance was in full swing.
Suddenly a girl gave a frightened little cry.
“What’s the matter?” asked her partner.
“My shoes! They—they seem to be sticking to the floor. I—I can’t dance!”
From all over the room arose similar cries of dismay from the girls and exclamations of disgust from the boys. The dancers went slower and slower. It was an effort to glide about, and some could scarcely lift their feet. The floor seemed to hold them as a magnet does a bit of iron. Garvey Gerhart, releasing his pretty partner, leaned over and touched the floor.
“It’s as sticky as molasses!” he cried in dismay.