“Best party this town ever saw. Only——Don’t
cross your legs in that costume. Shows your knees
too plain.”
She was vexed. She resented his clumsiness.
She returned to Guy Pollock and talked of Chinese
religions—not that she knew anything whatever
about Chinese religions, but he had read a book on
the subject as, on lonely evenings in his office,
he had read at least one book on every subject in
the world. Guy’s thin maturity was changing
in her vision to flushed youth and they were roaming
an island in the yellow sea of chatter when she realized
that the guests were beginning that cough which indicated,
in the universal instinctive language, that they desired
to go home and go to bed.
While they asserted that it had been “the nicest
party they’d ever seen—my! so clever
and original,” she smiled tremendously, shook
hands, and cried many suitable things regarding children,
and being sure to wrap up warmly, and Raymie’s
singing and Juanita Haydock’s prowess at games.
Then she turned wearily to Kennicott in a house filled
with quiet and crumbs and shreds of Chinese costumes.
He was gurgling, “I tell you, Carrie, you certainly
are a wonder, and guess you’re right about waking
folks up. Now you’ve showed ’em how,
they won’t go on having the same old kind of
parties and stunts and everything. Here!
Don’t touch a thing! Done enough. Pop
up to bed, and I’ll clear up.”
His wise surgeon’s-hands stroked her shoulder,
and her irritation at his clumsiness was lost in his
strength.
From the Weekly Dauntless:
One of the most delightful social events of recent
months was held Wednesday evening in the housewarming
of Dr. and Mrs. Kennicott, who have completely redecorated
their charming home on Poplar Street, and is now extremely
nifty in modern color scheme. The doctor and his
bride were at home to their numerous friends and a
number of novelties in diversions were held, including
a Chinese orchestra in original and genuine Oriental
costumes, of which Ye Editor was leader. Dainty
refreshments were served in true Oriental style, and
one and all voted a delightful time.
The week after, the Chet Dashaways gave a party.
The circle of mourners kept its place all evening,
and Dave Dyer did the “stunt” of the Norwegian
and the hen.
Gopher prairie was digging in for the winter.
Through late November and all December it snowed daily;
the thermometer was at zero and might drop to twenty
below, or thirty. Winter is not a season in the
North Middlewest; it is an industry. Storm sheds
were erected at every door. In every block the
householders, Sam Clark, the wealthy Mr. Dawson, all
save asthmatic Ezra Stowbody who extravagantly hired
a boy, were seen perilously staggering up ladders,
carrying storm windows and screwing them to second-story
jambs. While Kennicott put up his windows Carol
danced inside the bedrooms and begged him not to swallow
the screws, which he held in his mouth like an extraordinary
set of external false teeth.
