Snuggling up to him blissfully, Vesta let him lead her into the crowd. She of course was a superb dancer; so much so that she made him think himself a much better dancer than he really was. After a few minutes, when he was beginning to relax, he felt an itchy, tickling touch—something almost impalpable was creeping up his naked back—the fine, soft fur of the extreme tip of Vesta’s ubiquitous tail! He grabbed for it, but, fast as he was, Vesta was faster, and she shrieked with glee as he missed the snatch. “See here, young lady,” he said, with mock sternness, “if you don’t keep your tail where it belongs I’m going to wrap it around your lovely neck and tie it into a bow-knot.” Vesta sobered instantly. “Oh . . . do you _really_ think I’m lovely, Captain Nealcloud—my neck, I mean?” “No doubt about it,” Cloud declared. “Not only your neck—all of you. You are most certainly one of the most beautiful things I ever saw.” “Oh, thanks . . . I hadn’t. . . .” she stared into his eyes for moments, as if trying to decide whether he really meant it or was merely being polite; then, deciding that he did mean it, she closed her eyes, let her head sink down onto his shoulder, and began to purr blissfully; still matching perfectly whatever motions he chose to make. In a few minutes, however, they heard a partially-stifled shriek and a soprano voice, struggling with laughter, rang out. “Vesta!” “Yes, Babs?” “What do you do about this tail-tickling business? I never had to cope with anything like _that_ before!” “Bite him!” Vesta called back, loudly enough for half the room to hear. “Bite him good and hard, on the end of the tail. If you can’t catch the tail, bite his ear. Bite it good.” “_Bite_ him? Why, I _couldn’t_—not _possibly_!” “Well, then give him the knee, or clout him a good, solid tunk on the nose. Or better yet; tell him you won’t dance with him any more—he’ll be good.” “_Now_ you tell us what to do about tail-ticklers,” Cloud said then. “S’pose I’d take a good bite at _your_ ear?” “I’d bite you right back,” said Vesta, gleefully, “and I bet you’d taste just as nice as you smell.” The dance went on, and Cloud finally, by the aid of both Vesta and Zamke, did finally manage to get one dance with Joan. And, as he had known he would, he enjoyed it immensely. So did she. “Having fun, chum? I never saw you looking so starry-eyed before.” “Oh, brother!” she breathed. “To say that I was never the belle of any ball in my schooldays is the understatement of the century, but here . . . can you imagine it, Storm, _me_ actually outshining Barbara Benton and Helen Worthington both at once?” “Sure I can. I told you. . . .” “Of course it’s probably because their own women are so big that I’m a sort of curiosity,” she rushed on, “but whatever the reason, this dance is going down in my memory book in great big letters in the reddest ink I can find!”