greater part of block, when,
their progress bringing them in sight of Miss Amy Rennsdale's place of
residence their attention was directed to a group of men bearing festal
burdens--encased violins, a shrouded harp and other beckoning shapes.
There were signs, too, that most of "those invited" intended to miss no
moment of this party; guests already indoors watched from the windows
the approach of the musicians. Washed boys in black and white, and girls
in tender colours converged from various directions, making gayly for
the thrilling gateway--and the most beautiful little girl in all the
world, Marjorie Jones, of the amber curls, jumped from a carriage step
to the curbstone as Penrod and Sam came up. She waved to them.

Sam responded heartily; but Penrod, feeling real emotion and seeking
to conceal it, muttered, "'Lo, Marjorie!" gruffly, offering no further
demonstration. Marjorie paused a moment, expectant, and then, as he did
not seize the opportunity to ask her for the first dance, she tried
not to look disappointed and ran into the house ahead of the two boys.
Penrod was scarlet; he wished to dance the first dance with Marjorie,
and the second and the third and all the other dances, and he strongly
desired to sit with her "at refreshments"; but he had been unable to ask
for a single one of these privileges. It would have been impossible for
him to state why he was thus dumb, although the reason was simple and
wholly complimentary to Marjorie: she had looked so overpoweringly
pretty that she had produced in the bosom of her admirer a severe case
of stage fright. That was "all the matter with him"; but it was the
beginning of his troubles, and he did not recover until he and Sam
reached the "gentlemen's dressing-room", whither they were directed by a
polite coloured man.

Here they found a cloud of acquaintances getting into pumps and gloves,
and, in a few extreme cases, readjusting hair before a mirror. Some even
went so far--after removing their shoes and putting on their pumps--as
to wash traces of blacking from their hands in the adjacent bathroom
before assuming their gloves. Penrod, being in a strange mood, was one
of these, sharing the basin with little Maurice Levy.

"Carrie Chitten's here," said Maurice, as they soaped their hands.

"I guess I know it," Penrod returned. "I bet he does sumpthing, too."

Maurice shook his head ominously. "Well, I'm gettin' tired of it. I know
he was the one stuck that cold