The less tall of the men said: “Now, mother, restrain yourself. Remember I've had a hard day and I'm only a young feller. How about you, Jim?”
“I'll eat something, but I'm not dancing, if you'll pardon me, Mrs. Duane,” said Jim. “And I'm waiting for Charity Coe. She's in the cloak-room.”
“Oh, come along,” said Mrs. Duane. “I've got a table and I don't want to lose it.”
She started away, and her son started to follow, but paused as the other man caught his sleeve and growled:
“I say, isn't that Pete Cheever—there, right there by the rail? Yes, it is—and with—!”
Then Tom gave a start and said: “Ssh! Here's Charity Coe.”
Both men looked confused; then they brightened and greeted a new batch of drifters, and there was a babble of:
“Why, hello! How are you, Tom! How goes it, Jim? What's the good word, Mary? What you doing here, Charity, and all in black? Oh, I have to get out or go mad.”
Kedzie, eavesdropping on the chatter, wondered at the commonplace names and the small-town conversation. With such costumes she must have expected at least blank verse.
She was interested to see what the stern sentinels would do to this knot of Toms, Jims, and Marys. She peeked around the corner, and to her surprise saw them greeted with great cordiality. They smiled and chatted with the sentinels and were passed through the silken barrier.