"Maybe not, but I'm obleeged to you all the same for fixin' it right. Is it time to go in?"
"Of course, if you want to."
He passed out at the back door and through the yard into the street. He was bashful and did not like to face such a bevy of girls alone; at the thought of addressing one of their number in especial—Mildred Keith—he felt himself grow hot and uncomfortable. He had been admiring her from a distance all these weeks, but had never met her, and much as he desired an acquaintance, his courage seemed hardly equal to seeking it now.
How rough and boorish, how awkward and ill-bred he would appear to one so delicate and refined.
He waited about a little, till joined by a fellow mechanic, Nicholas Ransquattle, when they went in together.
This was a wiser step than Gotobed knew; for his well-made, stalwart figure showed to good advantage beside that of Nicholas, who was short and thick-set, had scarcely any neck, moved like a wooden man, and carried his head thrown back on his shoulders; he had a wooden face, too; large featured and stolid in expression.
But he was not troubled with bashfulness or any fear that his society would be other than most acceptable to any one upon whom he might see fit to bestow it.
"Good evening, ladies; I'm happy to meet you all," he said, making a sweeping bow to the company as he entered, hat in hand. "And I hope I see you well."
"Good evening," responded several voices. "Good-evening, Mr. Lightcap."
"Find yourselves seats and we'll give you employment, threading our needles for us."