When Zada had completed her calisthenics she did not sit down with Mr. Devoe, but went back to the table where the lone smoker sat. Now that she looked at him again, Kedzie thought what an extraordinarily handsome, gloriously wicked-looking, swell-looking man he was. Yet the girl who had danced called him Peterkin--which didn't sound very swell to Kedzie. He had very little to say to Zada, who did most of the talking. He smiled at her now and then behind his cigar and gave her a queer look that Kedzie only vaguely understood. She thought little of him, though, because the next dance began, and she had a whole riot of costumes to study. There was a constant movement of new-comers past Kedzie's nook. Sometimes people halted to look the crowd over before they went up the steps, and asked two handsome gentlemen in full-dress suits if they could have a table. The gentlemen--managers, probably, who got up the party--usually said no. Sometimes they looked at papers in their hands and marked off something, and then the people got a table. By and by two men and an elderly woman dressed like a very youngerly woman paused near Kedzie. Both of the men were tall, but the one called Jim was so tall he could see over the rail, or over the moon, for all Kedzie knew. The elderly lady said, “Come along, boys; we're missing a love of a trot.” The less tall of the men said: “Now, mother, restrain yourself. Remember I've had a hard day and I'm only a young feller. How about you, Jim?” “I'll eat something, but I'm not dancing, if you'll pardon me, Mrs. Duane,” said Jim. “And I'm waiting for Charity Coe. She's in the cloak-room.” “Oh, come along,” said Mrs. Duane. “I've got a table and I don't want to lose it.” She started away, and her son started to follow, but paused as the other man caught his sleeve and growled: “I say, isn't that Pete Cheever--there, right there by the rail? Yes, it is--and with--!” Then Tom gave a start and said: “Ssh! Here's Charity Coe.” Both men looked confused; then they brightened and greeted a new batch of drifters, and there was a babble of: “Why, hello! How are you, Tom! How goes it, Jim? What's the good word, Mary? What you doing here, Charity, and all in black? Oh, I have to get out or go mad.” Kedzie, eavesdropping on the chatter, wondered at the commonplace names and the small-town conversation. With such costumes she must have expected at least blank verse. She was interested to see what the stern sentinels would do to this knot of Toms, Jims, and Marys. She peeked around the corner, and to her surprise saw them greeted with great cordiality. They smiled and chatted with the sentinels and were passed through the silken barrier.