Lucile Triumphant Part 12

"Where's Jessie? I promised to wait for her," said Lucile, half turning round. "She's lost in the crowd, I guess."

"Probably," said Jack, perfectly satisfied with this solution. "You needn't worry about her. Phil will see that she finds her way to the dining-room all right."

"I shouldn't wonder," laughed Lucile, and so the matter was settled, to their satisfaction at least.

After dinner the last few dances pa.s.sed rapidly--far too quickly for the happy young folks. As the last notes of "Home, Sweet Home" died away, Jack turned to his radiant little partner.

"It seems to me they cut that dance mighty short," said he. "I wish they would give us an encore."

"Yes, aren't they stingy?" Lucile agreed, as the frantic applause brought no response from the bored musicians, who were already putting away their music. "It must be pretty hard for them," she added, as Jack started to pilot her toward the door. "They have to do all the work while we have the fun."

"Yes, but they have the fun of getting paid for it," Jack suggested, practically.

Lucile laughed. "I never thought of it in that light before," she said, and then added, with a sigh, "Well, I suppose it's all over now."

"Sorry?" whispered Jack.

"Of course; aren't you?" she countered, with a quick upward glance, that fell before his steady gaze.

Jack answered softly, as several of the girls and boys approached "More sorry than I can make you understand--now."

Lucile thrilled with a new, strange emotion that she could not a.n.a.lyze; she only knew it was absurdly hard to look at Jack, and that she was immensely relieved when Evelyn greeted her with a merry, "Don't you wish it were beginning all over again, Lucy? I don't feel a bit like going home."

"That seems to be the general cry," broke in Marjorie. "And to think that you girls are going away to-morrow!" she added. "You'll be tired out after to-night."

"Oh, we're not going till late in the afternoon, so we can sleep all we want to in the morning. All the packing is done," said Jessie, rea.s.suringly.

"But who speaks of sleep?" broke in Lucile, gaily. "I never felt so far from it in all my life."

"No, but you'll feel mighty near it about two o'clock to-morrow afternoon, if I'm any judge," Phil prophesied, grimly.

"Well, everybody knows you're not," said Lucile, running lightly up the stairs and stopping to make a laughing face at her brother over the banister. "Come on, girls," she cried. "Everybody's going and we haven't even started yet."

The girls followed her, laughing merrily, and Phil grinned at the fellows. "You can't get the best of Lucy," he said.

An hour later Lucile put out the light and crept into bed with a sigh.

"Such a wonderful time," she breathed, "and he _is_ good looking.

Jack----" Then she smiled whimsically into the dark. "It must run in the name," she said.

CHAPTER IX

HURRAH, FOR EUROPE!

Lucile opened one sleepy eye upon the busily ticking little clock on the table. As she looked, her gaze became fixed and she sat up in bed with a startled exclamation.

"Eleven o'clock!" she cried. "Oh, it can't be!" she added, with sudden inspiration, which was clouded with disappointment the next minute as the steady ticking continued.

"How silly!" she said, laughing at herself. "Since it's still going, it's certain that it hasn't stopped." With which profound remark she slipped out of bed and into her dressing gown.

"Oh, how could I waste so much time on sleep," she marveled, "when to-day means--Europe? Oh, I can never wait to get dressed!"

She did wait, however, and when she had donned her dress and tucked her unruly curls into place, she looked as fresh and sweet as a flower. She finished her toilet in breathless haste, and as she flung open the door of her room she nearly ran into Phil, who was tearing down the hall toward her.

"h.e.l.lo, Sis; it's about time you were up," was his greeting. "Mother said to call you if you weren't. Do you know what time it is?" he queried, regarding her severely.

"Yes, I know what time it is, Grandad," she mimicked, and, catching him about the neck, she began to do a series of steps not standardized in the Vernon Castle repertoire. "Come on, old sobersides," she laughed; "dance for your life. I'll be the orchestra."

Phil was nothing if not a "sport," so he grasped his sister around the waist and away they went down the hall at a great rate, Lucile singing like mad, until the sounds of merriment reached Mr. Payton in the library and out he came, paper in hand, to have his share of the fun.

He was greeted by a peal of laughter, and Lucile cried, "Stop stepping on my toes, Phil, for goodness' sakes! See, it goes like this."

"What's all the rumpus about?" thundered Mr. Payton, in his hearty voice, and Lucile poked her bright face over the banister to smile impishly and threw him a kiss.

"Dancing, Dad; don't you want to try?" she challenged.

"Sure," was the unexpected reply, "only leave a little of the stairs, please," as they came down two steps at a time and landed right side up with care.

Then Mr. Payton was hugged and kissed and called a "dear" and dragged into the library, where the rugs were rolled up and full preparations made for the first dancing lesson. They were in full swing, with the Victrola going and Lucile counting "One-two-three, one-two-three," when Mrs. Payton came in.

She looked her disapproval of the disorderly room, but when her glance rested on her husband, who proved surprisingly light on his feet for so heavy a man, her eyes filled with interest and she sat down to watch.

When the record stopped, Lucile turned s.h.i.+ning eyes on her mother.

"Wasn't that fine, Mother?" while Phil burst out with, "Bravo, Dad! I had no idea you could do it."

"All due to my very able teacher," said Mr. Payton, modestly. "Don't you want to try it, Nell?" he asked. "It's more fun than you can imagine. I remember that when I first met you there was no better dancer on the floor, dear. Come on and try."

"I always used to love to dance," Mrs. Payton admitted, and that admission was enough for Lucile.

"I tell you what we'll do," she said. "You take Mother, Phil, and I'll take Dad. Oh, what a lark!"

It was half an hour before the Paytons could bring themselves down to a consideration of the sober and substantial things of life, and then it took Mrs. Payton to do it.

"Lucile," she cried, stopping in the middle of a dance to gaze upon her daughter, "I don't believe you've had a mouthful of anything to eat since you got up, and it's after twelve o'clock."

"Oh, I forgot," said Lucy, and then added naively, "Now I come to think of it, though, I am hungry."

"Of course you are. Run along and tell Mary to make you some toast. That will last you till we all have lunch, which will be pretty soon now."

"I hope so," said Phil, who was always ready for his three good meals a day. "I begin to feel the ravages of famine," he groaned.

"If you are real good, I may give you a piece of my toast," Lucile promised.

"No, don't, Lucy; it will only spoil his dinner," said Mrs. Payton.

"Dancing does give you an appet.i.te, though, doesn't it?" she added, at which Lucile smiled to herself, for it was very, very long since she had seen her mother unbend so far.