"G'-night."
"Walter! It doesn't begin till about nine o'clock at the
earliest."
He paused, mystified. "What doesn't?"
"The dance."
"What dance?"
"Why, Mildred Palmer's dance, of course."
Walter laughed briefly. "What's that to me?"
"Why, you haven't forgotten it's TO-NIGHT, have you?" Mrs. Adams
cried. "What a boy!"
"I told you a week ago I wasn't going to that ole dance," he
returned, frowning. "You heard me."
"Walter!" she exclaimed. "Of COURSE you're going. I got your
clothes all out this afternoon, and brushed them for you.
They'll look very nice, and----"
"They won't look nice on ME," he interrupted. "Got date
down-town, I tell you."
"But of course you'll----"
"See here!" Walter said, decisively. "Don't get any wrong ideas
in your head. I'm just as liable to go up to that ole dance at
the Palmers' as I am to eat a couple of barrels of broken glass."
"But, Walter----"
Walter was beginning to be seriously annoyed. "Don't 'Walter'
me! I'm no s'ciety snake. I wouldn't jazz with that Palmer
crowd if they coaxed me with diamonds."
"Walter----"
"Didn't I tell you it's no use to 'Walter' me?" he demanded.
"My dear child----"
"Oh, Glory!"
At this Mrs. Adams abandoned her air of amusement, looked hurt,
and glanced at the demure Miss Perry across the table.
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