place himself in a
position to attract Julia's attention, this back moved, too, and Noble's
nose but pressed black cloth. And the noise everybody made was so
baffling that, in order to be heard, Julia herself was shouting. Finally
Noble contrived to squirm round the obtrusive back, and protruded his
strained face among all the flushed and laughing ones.

"Julia, I got to----" he began.

But this was just at the climax of a story that three people were
telling at the same time, Julia being one of them, and he received
little attention.

"Julia," he said hoarsely; "I got something I want to _tell_ you
about----"

He raised his voice: "Julia, come on! Let's go out on the _porch_!"

Nobody even knew that he was there. Nevertheless, the tall and solid
Clairdyce was conscious of him, but only, it proved, as one is conscious
of something to rest upon. His elbow, a little elevated, was at the
height of Noble's shoulder, and this heavy elbow, without its owner's
direct or active cognizance, found for itself a comfortable support.
Then, as the story reached its conclusion, this old Clairdyce joined the
general mirth so heartily as to find himself quite overcome, and he
allowed most of his weight to depend upon the supported elbow. Noble
sank like feathers.

"Here! What you doin'?" he said hotly. "I'll thank you to keep off o'
me!"

Old Baldy recovered his balance without being aware what had threatened
it, while his elbow, apparently of its own volition, groped for its
former pedestal. Noble evaded it, and pushed forward.

"Julia," he said. "I _got_ to say some----"

But the accursed music began again, and horn-rimmed Newland Sanders
already had his arm about her waist. They disappeared into the ruck of
dancers.

"Well, by George!" said Noble. "By George, I'm goin' to _do_
something!"

CHAPTER TWELVE

He went outdoors and smoked Orduma cigarettes, one after the other.
Dances and intermissions succeeded each other but Noble had "enough of
_that_, for one while!" So he muttered.

And remembering how Julia had told him that he was killing himself with
cigarettes, "All right," he said now, as he bitterly lighted his fifth
at the spark of the fourth;--"I hope I will!"

"Lot o' difference it'd make!" he said, as he lighted the eighth of a
series that must, all told, have contained nearly as much tobacco as a
cigar. And, leaning back against the trunk of one of the big old walnut
trees in the yard, he gazed t