I said, “I can hoof it a little; though, at that, I guess I’m a good deal of a busher at it. Anyway, I haven’t ever heard of any scouts for the Russian Ballet hanging round and looking me over. But what I mean is, I’m not so strong for it—this dance stuff.
“I’d rather go to a good show any time; or maybe a fight or something. But this bunch of Miss Nancys—these tough birds that make a regular business of stepping round in these cabarets and everywhere—they give me a pain. Mind you, I’m not saying anything against you. You’re different. You’re one of these jazz-nuts, anyway, and that lets you out. But—”
“Thanks,” said Johnny. “Never mind me. But what do you say—take it or leave it. And don’t forget: it’s going to be some little time!”
I thought it over.
“I’ll take a chance,” I said finally.
And I was certainly taking one—a big one—though I didn’t know it.
Well, Johnny and I went to the party. You remember it was one of those masquerade affairs. Johnny went dressed as a clown. I wore a dress-suit. It was my first dress-suit, and this was the first time I had ever worn it. So I went feeling the way Johnny looked.
Of course I wore a mask, and that helped some. It helped quite a lot. If every fellow could wear a mask the first time he busts right out into public in a dress-suit maybe these soup-and-fish things would get to be more popular. Anyway, I was glad I had that mask on.
No doubt it was some considerable ball; but I won’t attempt to describe it. It wasn’t a whole lot different from the Grand Annual Masquerade Ball of Lodge No. 34. F. and A. M., that they have every Christmas week up there in the old home town, only bigger—bigger all round. I hadn’t been inside the place three minutes when I lost Johnny—or Johnny lost me—and then—well, there I was.
Of course these masquerade dances are sort of free-for-alls, and I might have grabbed off most anybody and danced with her, but somehow I didn’t have the nerve. It never makes any difference to me whether there’s three on and the batter has me in a hole or not: I’m there with the old confeedience just the same. But just the minute I hit into one of these society plays—right off the bat I begin wishing they’d take me out.
I’ll admit it. I feel like a cat in a strange garret, or Kaiser Bill in Holland. I don’t feel at home, and I want to go away from there.
So that’s the way I felt then, and I guess if I hadn’t happened to notice an empty seat on the side-lines I’d have beat it for the clubhouse without losing a man or a minute—the way that German general retreated. But I spotted that seat and did a hook-slide into it—and then I sat there.
I sat there and sat there; and I kept right on sitting there. I guess I must have sat there for most two hours. The place kept getting hotter and hotter, and that dress-suit kept getting more uncomfortable all the time. Say, what I wouldn’t have given for a good cold shower! And this was Johnny Harrir’s idea of a good time!
Not for me! After working at it for about half an hour, I had finally got up my nerve and was going to make a break for liberty or death, when a young lady sat down beside me. So then, of course, that settled it. I would have to wait a while before pulling that exit I had in mind.
If I got up and walked off now she would think I was trying to insult her, or that maybe I was insulted or fussed or some-thing—though of course I wasn’t either one of those things. So I would have to stick until she went away, or for a while, anyhow. I was pretty sore.
But pretty soon I sort of snitched a kind of sidewise look at her, and then. I began to get over it—feeling sore. There didn’t seem to be any particular reason for it—for feeling that way. On the contrary, there seemed to be quite a number of reasons for feeling just the opposite. No, maybe you might feel sort of put out if she was sitting beside somebody else, but not if she was sitting beside you. No doubt you set the idea.
Of course she was wearing a mask: but it was only a little thing, not much bigger than a postage-stamp, and it simply made her look all the prettier. And—but I guess I’ve said it: though it’s a sort of feeble word—pretty. It doesn’t begin to describe her—and maybe it will be just as well if I don’t, because I couldn’t finish the job anyway, not and came anywhere near doing it justice. So I’ll merely say that she began where most of our very best-lookers leave off, and let it go at that.
She was dressed as a shepherdess, or a gipsy, or something. I don’t seem to exactly recollect exactly what. Probably I didn’t notice. I was mostly interested in the general effect. Anyway, she hadn’t been sitting beside me for more than a minute, and I had only stolen a couple or more looks at her, when I began to feel it coming over me—that feeling. There were different sorts of symptoms; but—well, all of a sudden something seemed to tell me that I had a new object in life.
Something told me that, and I believed it. I knew it, I could swear to it. And I hadn’t had a word to say about it, either. It was all arranged for me—when I wasn’t looking. It was a mighty curious sort of feeling, and if you ever have one like it let me give you a little piece of advice: start saving up your money.
Anyway, I knew that I had to get acquainted with this young lady right away
—there wasn’t any help for it. I simply had to do it; there wasn’t any getting around it. So I took my foot in my hand, and said “It’s warm, isn’t it?”
“Yes, isn’t it?” she said. “Some hot!” I said.
She didn’t say anything.
“Nice little dance, isn’t it?” I said. “Yes, isn’t it?” she said.
“Some dance!” I said. She didn’t say anything. “Great music, isn’t it?” I said. “Yes, isn’t it?” she said. “Some music!” I said.
She didn’t say anything.
“Listen,” I said. “I suppose I’ve got a nerve, but do you think you could dance this one with me?”
“I’ll try,” she said.
We got up and started in—or off. But we didn’t get very far. We stopped. After a couple of couples had bumped into us, I said; “I guess I must be a little out of practice or something—that was pretty fierce, wasn’t it? But never mind: a bad beginning makes a good ending. What was my trouble, anyway? What was I doing?”
“I think you were trying to dance a one-step,” she said, “and the orchestra is playing a fox-trot.”
“Oh,” I said, “is there an orchestra? I had forgotten all about it”
Believe me it was the truth and I guess she knew what I meant.
After that I guess I must have done pretty fair stepping, considering: anyway, we danced four or five dances and sat out two or three more. In the mean time it had come time to unmask; and—I take back what I said about that mask simply making her look all the prettier.
You see, when I said that, I hadn’t seen her with it off. I tried to find out what her name was, and so forth, but there was nothing doing; she kept stalling me off. So I didn’t tell her who I was, or anything; two could play at that game. But just the same, I made up my mind that before we said good- night there was going to be a show-down. Anything else was out of the question.
But
