writhed and
twisted and turned and jiggled. St. Vitus himself never imagined
contortions such as these. In the narrow side-street dance rooms of
Florence, and in the great avenue restaurants of Paris they were
performing exactly the same gyrations--wiggle, squirm, shake. And over
all the American jazz music boomed and whanged its syncopation. On the
music racks of violinists who had meant to be Elmans or Kreislers were
sheets entitled Jazz Baby Fox Trot. Drums, horns, cymbals, castanets,
sandpaper. So the mannequins and marionettes of Europe tried to whirl
themselves into forgetfulness.

The Americans thought Giddy was a Frenchman. The French knew him for an
American, dress as he would. Dancing became with him a profession--no, a
trade. He danced flawlessly, holding and guiding his partner
impersonally, firmly, expertly in spite of the weak right arm--it served
well enough. Gideon Gory had always been a naturally rhythmic dancer.
Then, too, he had been fond of dancing. Years of practise had perfected
him. He adopted now the manner and position of the professional. As he
danced he held his head rather stiffly to one side, and a little down,
the chin jutting out just a trifle. The effect was at the same time
stiff and chic. His footwork was infallible. The intricate and imbecilic
steps of the day he performed in flawless sequence. Under his masterly
guidance the feet of the least rhythmic were suddenly endowed with
deftness and grace. One swayed with him as naturally as with an
elemental force. He danced politely and almost wordlessly unless first
addressed, according to the code of his kind. His touch was firm, yet
remote. The dance concluded, he conducted his partner to her seat, bowed
stiffly from the waist, heels together, and departed. For these services
he was handed ten francs, twenty francs, thirty francs, or more, if
lucky, depending on the number of times he was called upon to dance with
a partner during the evening. Thus was dancing, the most spontaneous and
unartificial of the Muses, vulgarized, commercialized, prostituted.
Lower than Gideon Gory, of Winnebago, Wisconsin, had fallen, could no
man fall.

Sometimes he danced in Paris. During the high season he danced in Nice.
Afternoon and evening found him busy in the hot, perfumed, overcrowded
dance salons. The Negresco, the Ruhl, Maxim's, Belle Meuniere, the
Casina Municipale. He learned to make his face go a perfect
blank--pale, cryptic, expressionless. Be