The Rival Pitchers Part 33

AT THE DANCE

It was the night of the junior dance, an annual affair second only in importance to commencement and a function attended, as Holly Cross used to say, "by all the beauty and chivalry of Haddonfield and all points north, south, east and west." On this occasion all strictly partisan college feelings were laid aside. Forgotten were the grudges engendered by hazings or the rivalries of the field. It was an evening devoted to pleasure, and, on the part of the juniors at least, to seeing that their girl friends and acquaintances danced to their hearts' content.

"Tom," cried Sid as they were dressing in their room, "does this dress suit seem to fit?"

"Well, it might be a little larger across the shoulders," was Tom's answer as he turned around from an attempt to get his tie just right and surveyed his chum.

"That's what I thought. I'm outgrowing it. I'm afraid it will split when I'm dancing, and I'll be a pretty sight, won't I? I'll disgrace the girl. Hang it all, I hate a dress suit. I always remind myself of some new specimen of a bug, and I think some entomological professor will come along, run a pin through me and impale me on a cork. In fact I'd just as soon he would as to go through this agony again."

"Nonsense. You'll enjoy it," ventured Tom.

"Maybe--after it's all over."

But he managed somehow to wiggle himself into the garments and then, having asked a girl to the affair, he set off after her in a coach he had hired. Tom had not invited any one, but he heard that Miss Tyler was to be there and from the same source of information he knew that Langridge was to escort her.

"In which case," reflected Tom, "I shall probably not have a chance to dance with her."

The gymnasium had been turned into a ballroom. Around the gallery, which contained the indoor running track, flags and bunting had been festooned, the colors of Randall being prominent. From the center electric chandelier long streamers of ribbon of the mingled hues of each cla.s.s were draped to the boxes that had been constructed on two sides of the room. There was a profusion of flowers and with the soft glow of the shaded lights the big apartment that was wont to resound to the blows of the punching bag, the bound of the medicine ball or the patter of running feet was most magically transformed.

Over in one corner, screened by a bank of palms, was the orchestra, the musicians of which were tuning their instruments in thrilling chords which always tell of joys to come.

The guests were arriving. Bewildering bevies of pretty girls floated in with their escorts, who showed the tan and bronze of the sporting field or the whiter hue of a "dig" who spent most of his time over his books.

Then came the chaperons, grave, dignified, in rustling silks, a strange contrast to the light, fluffy garments worn by the younger set.

Tom felt rather lonesome as he strolled out on the waxed floor, for most of his chums had girls to whom they were attentive, and of course they could not be expected to look after him.

"h.e.l.lo, Parsons!" called a voice, and he turned to see one of the Jersey twins. Which one it was he could not determine, for if Jerry and Joe Jackson looked alike when in their ball suits or ordinary clothes, there was even less of difference when they wore formal black, with the expanse of s.h.i.+rt showing.

"h.e.l.lo!" responded Tom.

"I'm Jerry," went on the twin. "I thought I'd tell you. My brother and I are going to play a joke to-night."

"What is it?"

"Joe's going to get talking to a girl and then he's going to excuse himself for a moment. I'll take his place and I'll pretend I don't know what she's talking about when the girl tries to continue the conversation. I'll make believe I've come back to the wrong girl. Great, isn't it?"

"Yes, except maybe for the girl."

"Oh, we'll beg her pardon afterward. Got to have some fun. I'm on the arrangement committee and I'm nearly crazy seeing that every one has a good time. Got your name down on all the cards you want?"

"I haven't it on any yet."

"No? That's a shame! Come on and I'll fix you up," and the good-natured Jerry dragged Tom about, introducing him to an entrancing quartet of pretty girls and then Tom knew enough to do the rest, which included scribbling his name down for a whole or a half dance as the case might be.

He had just finished this very satisfactory work when he heard his name called and turned to see Miss Tyler smiling at him.

"I'm awfully glad to see you," he exclaimed, starting impulsively toward her with outstretched hand. "May I have a dance?"

"Only one?" she asked with a laugh.

"All of them, if you can spare them," he said boldly.

"Greedy boy! I'm afraid you're too late. You may look," and she held out her card.

Tom, with regret, saw that it contained the initials "F. L." in many places. There was only one two-step vacant.

"Some one else has been greedy, too," he said as he filled in the s.p.a.ce.

"Let me see," she demanded, and she made a little pout. "How dare he think I'm going to give all those to him!" she exclaimed. "Here, Tom, let me have your pencil. I never can write with the ridiculous affairs they attach to dance programs."

She used the lead vigorously on the card and then let Tom see it again.

His name was in three places, and, to his surprise, on the last waltz he saw that the girl had written his initials under those of Langridge.

"What does that mean?" he asked.

"It means that I'm going to share the last dance with you," she almost whispered, "in memory of old times," and she nodded. "Don't forget now,"

and she shook her finger at him.

"As if I would!" exclaimed Tom.

The music began a march as the opening of the dance and the couples took their places, Langridge coming up almost on the run to claim Miss Tyler.

He looked sharply at Tom.

"How are you, dominie?" he asked with a nod, intended to be friendly, and then he led the girl away.

Tom had no partner for the march and he stood about disconsolately until the first dance. Then he went to claim his partner, whom Jerry Jackson had secured for him, a pretty little girl in a yellow dress who was a fine dancer.

"I wish you had another open date--I--er--I mean that you could give me another dance," he corrected himself quickly from the language of the ball field.

"I can," she said simply, and she gave him a quick glance, for Tom was a fine dancer.

He scribbled his name down and then had to relinquish her to another partner. Two dances after that, however, Tom was privileged to claim Miss Tyler. As he was leading her into the waltz Langridge came hurrying up.

"I thought this was my dance, Madge--Miss Tyler," he stammered.

"I wanted to vary the monotony," she said with a little laugh that had no malice in it.

"How is your arm, dominie?" she asked of Tom, looking up into his face and smiling as she gave him the nickname conferred on him by Langridge.

"Oh, much better," he answered. "How did you hear?"

"Oh, the proverbial bird, I suppose. You had to stay away from cla.s.s two weeks on account of it, didn't you?"

"No," exclaimed Tom quickly, "not on _that_ account."

"Oh!" she cried, struck by the change in Tom's voice. "I--I heard so."

"Did Langridge tell you that?"