Jim got into a frolicsome mood and went through the crowded kitchen and
into the dining room where the guests were assembled. At the moment the
rather riotous laughter and story telling had ceased and everything
was quiet. He was worried. “Things aren't going well. Clara's party
is becoming a frost,” he thought resentfully. He began to dance a
heavy-footed jig on a little open place by the kitchen door and the
guests stopped talking to watch. They shouted and clapped their hands. A
thunder of applause arose. The guests who were seated in the parlor and
who could not see the performance got up and crowded into the doorway
that connected the two rooms. Jim became extraordinarily bold, and as
one of the young women Tom had hired as waitresses at that moment went
past bearing a large dish of food, he swung himself quickly about and
took her into his arms. The dish flew across the floor and broke against
a table leg and the young woman screamed. A farm dog that had found
its way into the kitchen rushed into the room and barked loudly. Henry
Heller's orchestra, concealed under a stairway that led to the upper
part of the house, began to play furiously. A strange animal fervor
swept over Jim. His legs flew rapidly about and his heavy feet made a
great clatter on the floor. The young woman in his arms screamed and
laughed. Jim closed his eyes and shouted. He felt that the wedding party
had until that moment been a failure and that he was transforming it
into a success. Rising to their feet the men shouted, clapped their
hands and beat with their fists on the table. When the orchestra came
to the end of the dance, Jim stood flushed and triumphant before the
guests, holding the woman in his arms. In spite of her struggles he held
her tightly against his breast and kissed her eyes, cheeks, and mouth.
Then releasing her he winked and made a gesture for silence. “On
a wedding night some one's got to have the nerve to do a little
love-making,” he said, looking pointedly toward the place where Hugh sat
with head bent and with his eyes staring at a glass of wine that sat at
his elbow.
* * * * *
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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