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.