“Come ’long, Mary. Now’s our chancet,” whispered the young Dunkard to his companion. “Oh, Beel, really I can’t. I never danced in puberlick afore.” “But you kin. It ain’t hard. All ye’ll hev to do is to keep yer feet a-movin’ an’ mind the felly thet’s callin’ figgers.” The girl hesitated. “One more couple,” roared the floor-master. William was getting excited. “You can dance with the best of ’em. Come ’long.” “Really now, Beel, jest a minute.” The twang of the fiddle commenced and the cracked, quavering notes of the horn arose above the buzz of conversation. “Bow yer corners--now yer own,” cried the leader. And the young man sat down on the stump in disgust. “We’ll hev to git in the next,” he said. “Why, it’s eesy. You see this here’s only a plain quadreel. Ye otter see one thet ain’t plain--one o’ them where they hes sech figgers ez ‘first lady on the war-dance,’ like they done at the big weddin’ up in Raccoon Walley th’ee year ago. These is plain. I never danced ’em afore meself, but I’ve seen ’em do it an’ I’ve ben practisin’. All ye’ll hev to do is to mind me.” So the following dance found them on the platform among the first. The girl was trembling, blushing and self-conscious; the young man self-conscious but triumphant and composed. “Bow yer partners,” cried the floor-master when the orchestra had started its scraping. Down went the gray poke bonnet. Down went the great derby, and a smile of joy overspread the broad face beneath it. “Swing yer partners!” The great arms went around the plump form, lifting it from its feet; their owner spun about, carefully replaced his burden on the floor, bowed, smiled and whispered, “Ain’t it grand?” “Corners!” The young woman in blue satin gave a slight scream that was metamorphosed into a giggle, as she felt herself swung through space in the arms of the muscular person toward whom she had careened. Her partner, one of the city men with silk hats, grinned and whispered in her ear, “Oatcake.” “Leads for’a’d an’ back!” William Larker seized his partner’s plump hand and bounded forward, bowing and twisting, his free arm gesticulating in unison with his legs and feet. He was in the thick of the dance now; in it with his whole heart. Whenever there was any “dozy-doughing” to be done, William did it. If a couple went “visitin’,” he was with them. When “ladies in the center” was called, he was there. In every grand chain he turned the wrong way. He gripped the women’s hands until they groaned inwardly. He tramped on and crushed the patent leather pumps of a young city man, and in response to a muttered something smiled his unconcern, bolted back to his corner, swung his partner and murmured, “Ain’t it grand?” The young women giggled and winked at their acquaintances in the next set; the forward youth in a bicycle suit talked about roadsweepers, and the city man said again, “Oatcake.”