Part 13 (1/2)

”To think,” meditated Pen presently as she deftly cut out a waist, ”that the thief should be making evening clothes, when it was only but yesterday she was booked for bars instead of b.a.l.l.s.”

CHAPTER V

The two fiddlers were tuning their instruments when the party from the house entered the rosy-lighted mess-hall. Jo started forward with an air of a.s.surance to claim Pen. When he beheld her, he stopped abruptly, lost in admiration of the daintily clad young person whose Castle-cut locks had been lured to a coiffure from which little tendrils escaped in babyish rings.

Jakey Fourr, second violin, glimpsed her at the same time and noticed Jo's hesitating halt.

”Ladies' Choice!” he shouted with a grin.

Jo looked at her expectantly but vainly; for she gladdened the pride of Francis by choosing him as her partner. Betty and Billy mutually chose each other. Mrs. Kingdon selected a newcomer. Agatha and the ”other girl”

asked their particular friends, and the cook spitefully ”sat it out.” Pen had to follow the prim little steps learned by Francis at a city dancing school the winter before, and Sleepy Sandy thoughtfully timed his tune thereto and shortened the number. Then Jo started for the belle of the ball, but a youth in combination attire of hunter, cowboy and soldier was ahead of him.

”Would you honor me, ma'am?” he asked.

She would and did, but she never learned the name of the wonderful dance with which she ”honored” him. It had been a case of ”whither thou goest, I will go.”

Again Sleepy Sandy was considerate and cut this number short also.

Then Betty came running breathlessly up to Pen.

”Jo says if you don't dance with him this next time like you promised, he'll drown the kittens. Please, Aunt Pen!”

Jo was promptly on hand this time.

”This is mine,” he a.s.serted, ”unless you're danced out by that gink.”

”My dancing blood isn't up yet,” she said, slipping into his arms. She didn't care to know the name of the dance. All she knew was the ecstasy of the moment in the flowing, melting rhythm. Jo had the easy a.s.surance of the dancer born, and she went where he willed, as if she were floating on silver wires. Finally, Sleepy Sandy, watching them in envious admiration, was aware that he had played as long as the law of limit allowed.

”Isn't this better than Reilly's?” she asked demurely.

”There will never in the world be to me a night like the one at Reilly's,”

he replied.

”Jo, why don't you go into vaudeville? Your dancing would bring you twice what your work here must.”

”Mine is a man's job,” he retorted. ”I'd rather dance horseback than on any stage. I have to go over to Farley with a lot of cattle to-morrow. It will take me three days. You will arrange to see me again when I come back?”

”I surely will, Jo,” she promised.

”Don't let Jo monopolize you,” said Kingdon, coming up to them at the close of the dance. ”We try to give the boys plenty of recreation, and they don't get many girls to dance with. None like you.”

Pen dutifully promised to do penance with the rank and file.

”I'll go and ask the cook,” said Jo mournfully, ”else I won't get half rations. Then I'll come back for you.”

Reluctantly he gave way to Gene and approached the cook.