He said hardily, “You see it has done.”
“And if it wouldn’t do,” she gasped, “why didn’t you bring me the other partners?”
“Because I didn’t know any,” I said; and this seemed to amuse them both so much that I was afraid they would never get their breath.
She looked by and by at her dancing-card, and as soon as she could wipe the tears from her eyes she said, “No; there is no other name there”; and this seemed even a better joke than the other from the way they joined in laughing at it.
“Well, now,” I said, when they were quiet again, “this won’t do, my young friends. It’s all very well for you, and you seem to like it; but I am responsible for your having passed a proper evening under my chaperonage, and something has got to be done to prove it.” They saw the reasonableness of this, and they immediately became sober. “Kendricks,” I asked, “can’t you think of something?”
No, he said, he couldn’t; and then he began to laugh again.
I applied to her in the same terms; but she only answered, “Oh, don’t ask me,” and she went off laughing too.
“Very well, then,” I said; “I shall have to do something desperate, and I shall expect you both to bear me out in it, and I don’t want any miserable subterfuges when it comes to the point with Mrs. March. Will you let me have your dancing-card Miss Gage?” She detached it, and handed it to me. “It’s very fortunate that Mr. Kendricks wrote his name for the first dance only, and didn’t go on and fill it up.”
“Why, we didn’t think it was worth while!” she innocently explained.
“And that’s what makes it so perfectly providential, as Mrs. March says. Now then,” I went on, as I wrote in the name of a rising young politician, who happened just then to have been announced as arriving in Saratoga to join some other leaders in arranging the slate of his party for the convention to meet a month later, “we will begin with a good American.”