“Nor do I, Nellie,” said Ardmore; “unless they sprint for the door, and the one who gets through first takes the head of the table. Still, that would be undignified, particularly if the kings were old and fat, and if they bumped going through the door and took a header it would jar the divine right.”
“Here in democratic America,” said Griswold, joining them, “there can be no such preposterous idea of precedence.”
“I should think better of that notion, Professor Griswold,” laughed Mrs. Atchison, “if I had never seen the goats carefully shepherded to keep them away from the lambs at functions in Washington. Democracy may be a political triumph, but it is certainly deficient socially. Personally I have always wished to bring myself in touch with the poor. Ardy is quite right that our own kind are distinctly uninteresting.”
“You ought to remember, Nellie, that your idea of going slumming in a purple coupé and dressed up in your best rags is not well calculated to inspire confidence and affection among the submerged. But how to handle two governors has me fussed. You are the hostess, and it’s for you to decide which excellency shall take you in. I see no way out but to match for it.”
“That will be unnecessary,” said Mrs. Atchison, “for the doors and the hall are broad enough for a dozen governors to march in abreast.”
“That would never do, Nellie! You don’t understand these things. You can’t hitch up a brace of American governors in a team and drive them like a pair of horses. At least, speaking for the Old North State, I will say that we can never consent to any such compromise.”
“And I, speaking for the great Palmetto Commonwealth, not less emphatically reject the idea!” declared Griswold.
“Then,” said Mrs. Atchison, “there is only one possible solution. When the rest of us have entered the dining-room and taken our places, a bugle will sound; the governor of North Carolina shall enter from the north door; the governor of South Carolina from the south door, and advance to seats facing each other midway of the table. Professor Griswold, you are an old friend of the family, and you shall yourself take me in to dinner.”
The members of Mrs. Atchison’s house party, well distributed among the official guests, were still somewhat at a loss to know what had happened, but it seemed to be in the air that Tommy Ardmore had at last done something, though just what was not wholly clear. It was sufficiently obvious, however, that the little girl with blue eyes who had the drollest possible way of talking, and whom one never seemed able to take off guard, had seized strong hold upon the master of Ardsley; and she, on her part, treated him with the most provoking condescension. It was agreed by all that Miss Osborne was distinguished and lovely and that Professor Griswold did not seem out of place at her side.
The talk grew general after the first restraint was over, and Mrs. Atchison dropped just the right word here and there to keep the ball rolling. Governor Osborne had generously forgotten and forgiven his painful incarceration in the corn-crib, and he and Governor Dangerfield vied with each other in avowing their determination to live up to the high standards that had been set for them by their daughters.