Meantime I was in the hands of Miss Bumpschus discussing the needs of the aged ticket-choppers, and covertly watching Miss Veal down the table having an awfully good time. She was seated between old Mr. Bumpschus and Dewberry Lamb, talking out to them a few thoughts that I had talked into her the day before concerning the great novel of the week. Mr. Bumpschus showed his deep interest by eying her over the top of his upraised glass and exclaiming, "Ah! Indeed!" at proper intervals, and when she had exhausted him she turned to Dewberry Lamb and said, "I was just telling Mr. Bumpschus," etc. "How intensely interesting!" exclaimed Mr. Lamb. "Indeed!" Blessed is the tobacco habit at times like this! When the women had gone, I had an opportunity to soothe my nerves with a strong cigar and relieve the pressure of thought upon my brain by discussing stocks and real-estate with Madison Mudison. He also talked entertainingly about the invasion of upper Fifth Avenue by tradesmen. It was with regret that I left him to get down to the business of dancing. Dancing is the strangest of diversions. It is a curious relic of barbarity. To glide over a glassy floor, a beautiful girl on your arm, to the strains of some dreamy waltz, sweeping around and around, free and fearless, that is one thing, but not the real. To go bumping and thumping through a maze of a hundred hopping and skipping and kicking men and women, to have your feet tramped on, to tangle them up in meshy trains, to have elbows poked into your eye, to strain your sight hunting for vacant places--is that pleasure? I waited in line a half-hour for the opportunity to take Miss Veal twice around the room. My collar was gone, my shirt front caved in, but waiting had given me rest. When she came staggering up she was on the point of collapse, her hair was awry, she was panting for air, and seemed to be wobbling on her legs, but when I handed her a paper parasol she said "Whew!" long drawn, and away we went. Miss Bumpschus stepped on my heel, Bobbie Williegilt's toe caught in the lace trimming of Miss Veal's gown and we had to stop in the most dangerous spot while I gathered up the trailing yards of it, at the peril of being bowled over at any minute. Miss Speechless rammed a paper parasol into my ear, and a near-sighted stag rushing onto the floor for the hand of Miss Mint jumped heavily on my partner's foot, crushing her diamond buckle. But we got twice around. She said it was lovely. "I am almost dead," she gasped. "I've been having such an awfully good time." With that she passed into the hands of the next man in that devoted row awaiting her, and was whirled from sight in the dancing maelstrom. Yet man prides himself on being a reasoning creature. CHAPTER XII _We Inspect the New House_