Part 15 (1/2)

As for Ferdie, he just sits there and blinks, followin' 'em through his spare panes. Course I could guess he wa'n't hep to any facts about Skeet. He was just a strange young gent to him, and it wa'n't up to me to add any details. So I settles back and watches 'em too.

And, say, you know how surprised you'd be to see any fat friend of yours buckle on a pair of ice skates and do the double grapevine up and down the rink? Well, that's the identical kind of jar I got when Marjorie begins that willowy bendy figure. It ain't any waddly caricature of it, either. It's the real thing. Honest, she's as light on her feet as if her middle name was Pavlowa!

At the same time it's lucky Skeet has arms, long enough to reach 'way round when he's steerin' her. If they'd been an inch or so shorter, he'd have had to break his clinch in some of them whirls, and then there'd been a big dent in the floor. He seems just built for the job, though.

In and out, round and round, through the Parisienne, the flirtation, and all the other frills, he pilots her safe, bendin' and swayin' to the music, his number ten feet glidin' easy, and kind of a smirky, satisfied look on that sappy mug of his; while Marjorie, she simply lets herself go for all she's worth, her eyes sparklin', and the pink and white in her cheeks showin' clear and fresh.

Take it from me too, it's some swell exhibit! There was four or five other couples on at the same time, the girls all slender, wispy young things, that never split out a waist seam in their lives; but Marjorie and her partner had the gallery right with 'em. Two or three times durin' the dance they got scatterin' applause, and when the music fin'lly stops, leavin' 'em alone in the middle of the floor, they got a reg'lar big hand.

”I take it all back,” says I to Ferdie. ”That was real cla.s.sy spielin'.

Now wa'n't it?.”

”No doubt,” he grunts. ”And I suppose I should be thankful that Marjorie didn't try to jump through a paper hoop. I trust, however, that this concludes the performance.”

It did not! Next on the card was a onestep, with Marjorie and her unknown goin' to it like professionals; and if they omitted any fancy waves, you couldn't prove it by me. By this time too, Ferdie was sittin'

up and takin' notice. ”Oh, I say,” says he, ”isn't that the same fellow she danced with before?”

”You don't think a bunch of works like that could be twins, do you?”

says I.

”But--but I'm sure I don't remember having met him, you know,” says Ferdie, rubbin' his chin thoughtful.

”Then maybe you ain't,” says I.

When they comes on for a third time, though, and prances through about as flossy a half-and-half as I've ever seen pulled at a private dance, Ferdie is some agitated in the mind. He ain't exactly green-eyed, but he's some disturbed. Yes, all of that!

”I--I think I'd best speak to Marjorie,” says he.

”You'll have plenty of compet.i.tion,” says I. ”Look!”

For the young chappies are crowdin' around her two deep, makin' dates for the next numbers. ”Ferdie stares at the spectacle puzzled. He's a persistent messer, though.

”But really,” he goes on, ”I think I ought to meet that young fellow and find out who he is.”

”Ah, bottle it up until afterwards!” says I. ”Don't rock the skiff.”

But there's a streak of mule in Ferdie a foot wide. ”People will be asking me who he is!” he insists, ”and if I don't know, what will they think? See, isn't that he, standing just over there?”

And then Mr. Robert has to drift along and complicate matters by jos.h.i.+n'

brother-in-law a little. ”Congratulations on your subst.i.tute, Ferdie,”

says he. ”Where did he come from?”

Which brings a ruddy tint into Ferdie's ears. ”Ask Marjorie,” says he.

”I'm sure he's an utter stranger to me.”

”Wha-a-at?” says Mr. Robert, and when he's had the full situation mapped out for him blamed if he don't begin to take it serious too.

”To be sure, Ferdie,” says he. ”Everyone seems to think he must be a guest of yours; but as he isn't--well, it's quite time someone discovered. Let's go over and introduce ourselves.”