“Hold on tight, and we ‘ll get through somehow.”
The music struck up, and away they went; Tom hopping one way
and Polly the other, in a most ungraceful manner.
“Keep time to the music,” gasped Polly.
“Can’t; never could,” returned Tom.
“Keep step with me, then, and don’t tread on my toes,” pleaded
Polly.
“Never mind; keep bobbing, and we ‘ll come right by and by,”
muttered Tom, giving his unfortunate partner a sudden whisk,
which nearly landed both on the floor.
But they did not “get right by and by”; for Tom, In his frantic
efforts to do his duty, nearly annihilated poor Polly. He tramped,
he bobbed, he skated, he twirled her to the right, dragged her to the
left, backed her up against people and furniture, trod on her feet,
rumpled her dress, and made a spectacle of himself generally.
Polly was much disturbed; but as everyone else was flying about
also, she bore it as long as she could, knowing that Tom had made
a martyr of himself, and feeling grateful to him for the sacrifice.
“Oh, do stop now; this is dreadful!” cried Polly, breathlessly, after
a few wild turns.
“Is n’t it?” said Tom, wiping his red face with such an air of intense
relief, that Polly had not the heart to scold him, but said, “Thank
you,” and dropped into a chair exhausted.
“I know I ‘ve made a guy of myself; but Fan insisted on it, for fear
you ‘d be offended if I did n’t go the first dance with you,” said
Tom, remorsefully, watching Polly as she settled the bow of her
crushed sash, which Tom had used as a sort of handle by which to
turn and twist her; “I can do the Lancers tip-top; but you won’t ever
want to dance with me any more,” he added, as he began to fan her
so violently, that her hair flew about as if in a gale of wind.
“Yes, I will. I ‘d like to; and you shall put your name down here on
the sticks of my fan. That ‘s the way, Trix says, when you don’t
have a ball-book.”
Looking much gratified, Tom produced the stump of a lead-pencil,
and wrote his name with a flourish, saying, as he gave it back,
“Now I ‘m going to get Sherry, or some of the fellows that do the
redowa well, so you can have a real good go before the music
stops.”
Off went Tom; but before he could catch any eligible partner,
Polly was provided with the best dancer in the room. Mr. Sydney
had seen and heard the whole thing; and though he had laughed
quietly, he liked honest Tom and good-natured Polly all the better
for their simplicity. Polly’s foot was keeping time to the lively
music, and her eyes were fixed wistfully on the smoothly-gliding
couples before her, when Mr. Sydney came to her, saying, in the
pleasant yet respectful way she liked so much, “Miss Polly, can
you give me a turn?”
“Oh, yes; I ‘m dying for another.” And Polly jumped up, with both
hands out, and such a grateful face, that Mr. Sydney resolved she
should have as many turns as she liked.
This time all went well; and Tom, returning from an unsuccessful
search, was amazed to behold Polly circling gracefully about the
room, guided by a most accomplished partner.
“Ah, that ‘s something like,” he thought, as he watched the bronze
boots retreating and advancing in perfect time to the music. “Don’t
see how Sydney does the steering so well; but it must be fun; and,
by Jupiter! I ‘ll learn it!” added Shaw, Jr., with an emphatic gesture
which burst the last button off his gloves.
Polly enjoyed herself till the music stopped; and before she had
time to thank Mr, Sydney as warmly as she wished, Tom came up
to say, with his most lordly air, “You dance splendidly, Polly.
Now, you just show me any one you like the looks of, and I ‘ll get
him for you, no matter who he is.”
“I don’t want any of the gentlemen; they are so stiff, and don’t care