In the interval of music Tommy was introduced to the privates of the stag-line, remembering mismated fragments of names, and receiving the bone-crushing grip which is every youth’s obsession, until his own shoulders sagged, and his throat became dry with repeating “How do you do.”
“I’d better introduce you to some girls, now,” Carl decided mercifully.
A couple brushed past, engrossed in the intricacies of a new dance. The girl caught Tommy’s interest.
“Who’s that?” he asked.
Carl laughed softly. “So soon?” he said. “That’s Millicent Grant, for whom the party’s being given. She goes to Dobbs; as a relaxation, I guess. Her real business is the Male; making men fall for her, dangle a while, and then dropping them. Thinks she’s wasted on the small field this town offers. Look out for her. She’s shallow as the deuce, but hard to get away from.”
“No danger,” said Tommy. “I didn’t appear so interested as to get all this biography, I hope!”
“You’ll hear it soon enough. She enjoys being the talk of the town; local Barbara Neave, as it were. Come and meet her.”
Followed by Tommy, Carl threaded his way through the dancers, stepped with nonchalant expertness on the toes of a stag about to precede him, and cut in.
“Hello, Millicent! Come and be introduced to Tommy Squire, coming Big Man at school, who does me the honor of being my roommate for the exclusive right of wearing my ties.”
Tommy smiled formally at his friend’s brilliance, made an inward notation that he liked her eyes when she smiled, and acknowledged the presentation.