The other participants in the cotillon gained no praise from the spectators, for every eye was upon their unexpected guest. They applauded his successes and smiled encouragingly upon his mistakes. They admired his good looks in pleased undertones, and secretly urged Alf to prolong the dance and their pleasure until it seemed to Friedrich that he had been on the floor for hours.
When at last the music stopped, Bud's voice was heard calling, loudly,—
"Come in yere, boys, 'n get yo' pokes."
The girls found seats for themselves, while the men crowded into the other room.
"Hit's supper," said Melissa, giving Friedrich a little shove towards the door. "You'll see now."
"May I have the honor of bringing yours to you?"
"No, Ah thank ye, Mr. Baron. Ah always eats mine with Bud. But you-all go in an' get some, an' you'll fin' somebody to eat hit with when ye come back."
In the other room the men crowded before a table upon which were piled paper bags of different sizes. Each man was taking two, one for himself and one for his partner.
"This size poke is ten cents," insisted Bud, in the uproar, "'n this size is fifteen. They's good things in 'em all. The quality's the same, hit's the quantity makes the difference. Yes, they's devil ham san'wich. Ah know they is, 'cos Ah cut mah finger openin' a can fo' M'lissy this mo'nin'. Yes, they's cake, too. You, Hamp, that size is fifteen!"
As Friedrich approached, a laugh went up at the expense of 'Gene Frady, who had taken a bag of each size.