“Well, what shouldn't I be doin' in Marjorie's?” Mr. Levy returned indignantly. “I was inviting her for my partner in the cotillon--what you s'pose?” “You haven't got any right to!” Penrod protested hotly. “You can't do it yet.” “I did do it yet!” said Maurice. “You can't!” insisted Penrod. “You got to allow them time first. He said the ladies had to be allowed time to prepare.” “Well, ain't she had time to prepare?” “When?” Penrod demanded, stepping close to his rival threateningly. “I'd like to know when----” “When?” echoed the other with shrill triumph. “When? Why, in mamma's sixty-horse powder limousine automobile, what Marjorie came home with me in! I guess that's when!” An impulse in the direction of violence became visible upon the countenance of Penrod. “I expect you need some wiping down,” he began dangerously. “I'll give you sumpthing to remem----” “Oh, you will!” Maurice cried with astonishing truculence, contorting himself into what he may have considered a posture of defense. “Let's see you try it, you--you itcher!” For the moment, defiance from such a source was dumfounding. Then, luckily, Penrod recollected something and glanced at the automobile. Perceiving therein not only the alert chauffeur but the magnificent outlines of Mrs. Levy, his enemy's mother, he manoeuvred his lifted hand so that it seemed he had but meant to scratch his ear. “Well, I guess I better be goin',” he said casually. “See you tomorrow!” Maurice mounted to the lap of luxury, and Penrod strolled away with an assumption of careless ease which was put to a severe strain when, from the rear window of the car, a sudden protuberance in the nature of a small, dark, curly head shrieked scornfully: “Go on--you big stiff!” The cotillon loomed dismally before Penrod now; but it was his duty to secure a partner and he set about it with a dreary heart. The delay occasioned by his fruitless attempt on Marjorie and the altercation with his enemy at her gate had allowed other ladies ample time to prepare for callers--and to receive them. Sadly he went from house to house, finding that he had been preceded in one after the other. Altogether his hand for the cotillon was declined eleven times that afternoon on the legitimate ground of previous engagement. This, with Marjorie, scored off all except five of the seventeen possible partners; and four of the five were also sealed away from him, as he learned in chance encounters with other boys upon the street. One lady alone remained; he bowed to the inevitable and entered this lorn damsel's gate at twilight with an air of great discouragement. The lorn damsel was Miss Rennsdale, aged eight.