"Hit's a poke party, but there'll be dancin', too."
"A poke party! What is that?"
"Don't you-all know what a poke party is?"
"Poke? That is what I do with my finger at the baby."
Melissa laughed aloud.
"You wait 'n see, then. Ah reckon hit'll be a surprise party fo' you as well as a poke party."
It was clear that Melissa had imparted to her friends the Baron's guess as to the probable nature of a poke party, for he was greeted with broad smiles as he made his way through the crowd of men and boys about Mrs. Lance's door into the room where dancing was going on. Melissa came to him and proposed a seat beside Mrs. 'Gene Frady until the cotillon should be ended, but von Rittenheim preferred to go about the room as dexterously as he might in avoidance of the dancers, speaking to his acquaintances among the women and girls who lined its walls. There was space upon the floor for only two sets, and the lookers-on gossiped patiently, until such time as Alf Lance, the fiddler, should grow weary and let fall his bow.
"They's fo' blue waistes here to-night. Ollie Warson looks mahty sweet in her's."
"Do you think so? Hit seems like she favored her paw too much."
"Well, Bill Warson 'lows that if they's any good looks in the family, they come from him."