mewhere brought his chin up, and a red tide flooded into his cheeks.
The soft and dusty hat which he clasped in his hand was crumpled under
the pressure of his tightening fingers.

Then Boone Wellver's voice carried audibly over the hall and into the
rooms at the side.

"I heered tell thet thar war a dancin' party goin' forward hyar," he
announced simply, "an' I 'lowed I'd jest as lieve as not fare over fer a
spell."

Boone had intended no comedy effect. He spoke in decorous gravity, and
he knew of no reason why an outburst of laughter should sweep the place
as he finished. Prince caught an unidentified voice from his back. It
was low pitched, but it fell on the silence that succeeded the laugh,
and he feared that the boy must have caught it too.

"One of the tobacco-yaps from the back of the place, I expect."

At once General Prince stepped forward and laid his hand on Boone's
shoulder. Under his palm he felt a tremor of anger and hurt pride, and
he spoke clearly.

"This young gentleman," he said--and though his eyes were twinkling with
a whimsical light, his voice carried entire and calculated gravity--"is
a friend of mine, Mr. Boone Wellver of Marlin County. I've enjoyed the
hospitality of his people." There was a puzzled pause, and the General,
whose standing here was as secure as that of Petronius at Nero's court,
continued.

"In the mountains when a party is given no invitations are issued. Word
simply goes out as to time and location, and whoever cares to
come--comes."

The explanation was meant for those inside, but the boy in the doorway
caught from it a clarifying of matters for his own understanding as
well. Obviously here one did _not_ come without being bidden, and that
left him in the mortifying attitude of a trespasser. It came with a
flash of realization and chagrin.

He yearned to blot himself into the kindly void of the night behind
him--yet that rude type of dignity which was bred in him forbade the
humiliation of unexplained flight. Such a course would indeed stamp him
as a "yap," and however shaggy and unkempt his appearance might be in
this ensemble of silk and broadcloth he was as proud as Lucifer.

Heretofore a "dancing-party" had meant to him, shuffling brogans where
shadows leaped with firelight and strings of fiddle and "dulcimore"
quavered out the strains of "Turkey-in-the-straw" or "I've got a gal at
the head of the hollow."

He had expected this to be different, but not _so_ d