powder of the dust from the
shining patent leathers, which in the fashion of the day extended in
long pointed toes, shot back his cuffs for the twentieth time, felt
surreptitiously to assure himself that his part was functioning properly
and slid behind Snorky Green as he entered the parlor.

Something that was neither prim nor stiff nor in the least resembled a
cart-horse bore down on them with a swish of ruffled skirts.

"Hello, Arthur, how nice of you to come. Dad and Mumsy are out so we're
all to ourselves," said Miss Vivi Balou. "Mr. Bedelle? Oh I've heard a
lot about _you_!"

"Really now, what do you mean?" said Skippy, with a long breath of
relief.

Miss Balou held his hand just an extra minute as she said this, looking
up into his face with an expression of the greatest interest. She was
just over five feet, of the dreaded species of brunettes, with a thin,
upward pointing little nose and the brightest of eyes.

"Oh I know a terrible lot," she said, giving to her mischievous glance
just the slightest, most complimentary shade of apprehension.

Mr. Skippy Bedelle grew two inches toward the ceiling and looked for a
mirror.

Two strictly plain young ladies, roommates of Miss Balou's from
Farmington, with large black sash bows in their hair, were introduced as
Miss Barrons and Miss Cantillon.

"Elsa Barrons is perfectly wonderful with the dumb-bells, look at her
forearm, and Fanny isn't good looking but awfully clever," said Miss
Balou in a whisper which was already confidential.

Brother Charles now sauntered in and shook hands with the magnificent
condescension of a sophomore.

"Have a cigarette before dinner?"

He flashed a silver case and tendered it to Snorky, who being
unprepared, hesitated, and took one.

"Cigarette?"

"Love to but I'm in training," said Skippy.

Charles, having arrived at the age when everything should weigh heavily
upon a sophisticated appetite, bored with his sister, bored with
sister's plain looking friends and bored with sister's beaux, retired to
the fireplace, where he draped himself on the mantelpiece and looked
properly bored with himself, an illusion of greatness which was
peculiarly impressive to tadpole imaginations.

The arduities of the opening conversation were fortunately interrupted
by the announcement of dinner and Skippy, with Maude Adams in reserve,
found himself at table between Miss Balou and the swinger of dumb-bells.

"You're a Princeton man?" said