by Mr. Terriberry who, while
playfully endeavoring to snatch his wife from the editor's encircling
arms, accidentally stepped on the train of her black satin skirt. There
was a popping, ripping sound! In the brief but awful second while this
handsome creation slid to the floor, Mrs. Terriberry stood
panic-stricken in a short, red-flannel petticoat. She screamed
piercingly and with the sound of her own voice recovered her presence of
mind. Swooping, she picked up the garment and bounded out of the room,
thereby revealing upon her plump calves the encircling stripes of a pair
of white and black stockings.

The milliner, who was clairvoyant, covered her face with her gauze fan,
while Pearline and Planchette Starr asked to be taken into the air, and
left the room each leaning heavily upon an arm of the "Sheep King of
Poison Crick."

The remittance man from Devonshire removed the crash towel from its
roller in the wash-room off the hotel office, and spread it carefully on
the floor in a corner to protect his clothing while he refreshed himself
with a short nap.

A Roumanian prince who had that day returned from a big game hunt in the
mountains and who had been cordially urged by Symes to honor his
wedding, adjusted his monocle and stood on a chair under a kerosene
wall-lamp that he might the better inspect the fig "filling" of Mrs.
Terriberry's layer cake which he seemed to regard with some suspicion.

Mrs. Abe Tutts, who was reputed to have histrionic ability, of her own
accord recited in a voice which made the welkin ring: "Shoot if you will
this old gray head, But spare my country's flag." Whereupon "Baby"
Briggs, six foot two in his cowboy boots, produced a six-shooter and
humorously pretended to be about to take her at her word. Mrs. Tutts was
revived from a fainting condition by a drink while "Baby" Briggs was
relieved of his weapon.

"Take your pardners for a quadrille!" yelled Curly, the camp cook,
rising from his chair.

The guests scrambled for places in the quickly formed sets.

"Swing your pardner!" he whooped.

Andy P. Symes slipped his arm about Essie Tisdale's waist and the dance
moved fast and furious.

"Join your hands and circle to the left!"

Around they went in a giddy whirl and starched petticoats stood out like
hoopskirts.

"First lady swing with the right hand round with the right hand gent!"

The train of Mrs. Abe Tutts's diaphanous "tea-gown" laid out on the
breeze, thereby revealing