Part 36 (1/2)
”Ah, wake up, pop!” said Horace. ”It's a sensation here, too.”
”In Carthage? They're dancing the tango in our home town?”
”Surest thing you know, pop. The whole burg's goin' bug over it.”
”How is it done? What is it like?”
”Something like this,” said Horace, and, rising, he indulged in the prehistoric turkey-trot of a year ago, with burlesque hip-snaps and poultry-yard sc.r.a.pings of the foot.
”Stop it!” papa thundered. ”It's loathsome! Do you mean to tell me that my daughter does that sort of thing?”
”Sure! She's a wonder at it.”
”What scoundrel taught my poor child such--such--Who taught her, I say?”
”Gos.h.!.+” sniffed Horace, ”sis don't need teachin'. She's teachin' the rest of 'em. They're crazy about her.”
”Teaching others! My g-g-goodness! Where did she learn?”
”Chicago, I guess.”
”Oh, the wickedness of these cities and the foreigners that are dragging our American homes down to their own level!”
”I guess the foreigners got nothin' on us,” said Horace. ”It's a Namerican dance.”
”What are we coming to? Go tell Prue to come here at once. I'll put a stop to that right here and now.”
Serina gave him one searing glance, and he understood that he could not deliver his edict to Prue yet awhile. He heard her singing even more barbaric strains. The chandelier danced with a peculiar savagery, then the dance was evidently quenched and subdued. Awestruck yowls from above indicated that Prue was in hot water.
”This is the last straw!” groaned papa, with all the wretchedness of a father learning that his daughter was gone to the bad.
IV
Prue did not appear below-stairs for so long that her father had lost his magnificent running start by the time she sauntered in all sleek and s.h.i.+ny and asked for her food. She brought a radiant grace into the dull gray room; and Serina whispered to Will to let her have her breakfast first.
She and Ollie waited on Prue, while the father paced the floor, stealing sidelong glances at her, and wondering if it were possible that so sweet a thing should be as vicious as she would have to be to tango.
When she had scoured her plate and licked her spoon with a child-like charm her father began to crank up his throat for a tirade. He began with the reluctant horror of a young attorney cross-examining his first murderer:
”Prue--I want to--to--er--Prue, do you--did you--ever--This--er--this tango business--Prue--have you--do you--er--What do you know about it?”
”Well, of course, papa, they change it so fast on you it's hard to keep up with it, but I was about three days ahead of Chicago when I left there. I met with a man who had just stepped off the twenty-hour train and I learned all he knew before I turned him loose.”
In a strangled tone the father croaked, ”You dance it, then?”
”You bet! Papa, stand up and I'll show you the very newest roll. It's a peach. Put your weight on your right leg. Say, it's a shame we haven't a phonograph! Don't you suppose you could afford a little one? I could have you all in fine form in no time. And it would be so good for mamma.”
Papa fell back into a chair with just strength enough to murmur, ”I want you to promise me never to dance it again.”
”Don't be foolish, you dear old b.u.mp-on-a-log!”