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“Wal, chuss. I denk it will.” Shephard was looking round the room, where the old people were noisily eating supper, and the steaming oysters and the cold chicken’s savory smell went to his heart. One of the motherly managers of the feast bustled up to him.

“Shephard, you c’n run over t’ the house an’ tell the young folks that they can come over t’ supper about eight o’clock; that’ll be in a half an hour. You understand?”

“Oh, I’m so hungry! Can’t y’ give me a hunk o’ chicken t’ stay m’ stomach?”

Mrs. Councill laughed. “I’ll fish you out a drumstick,” she said. And he went away, gnawing upon it hungrily. Bill went with him, still belching forth against Blackler.

“Jim said he heard he said he’d slap my face f’r a cent. I wish he would. I’d lick the life out of ‘im in a minnit.”

“Why don’t you pitch into Milt? He’s got her now. He’s the one y’d orto be dammin’.”

“Oh, he don’t mean nothin’ by it. He don’t care for her. I saw him down to town at the show with the girl he’s after. He’s jest makin’ Ed mad.”

A game of “Copenhagen” was going on as they entered. Bettie was in the midst of it, but Milton, in the corner, was looking on and talking with a group of those who had outgrown such games.

The ring of noisy, flushed and laughter-intoxicated young people filled the room nearly to the wall, and round and round the ring flew Bettie, pursued by Joe Yohe.

“Go it, Joe!” yelled Bill.

“You’re good f’r’im,” yelled Shephard.

Milton laughed and clapped his hands. “Hot foot, Bettie!”

Like another Atalanta, the superb young girl sped, now dodging through the ring, now doubling as her pursuer tried to catch her by turning back. At last she made the third circuit, and, breathless and laughing, took her place in the line. But Joe rushed upon her, determined to steal a kiss anyhow.

“H’yare! H’yare! None o’ that.”

“That’s no fair,” cried the rest, and he was caught by a dozen hands.

“She didn’t go round three times,” he said.

“Yes, she did,” cried a dozen voices.

“You shut up,” he retorted, brutally, looking at Ed Blackler, who had not spoken at all. Ed glared back, but said nothing. Bettie ignored Ed, and the game went on.

“There’s going to be trouble here to-night,” said Milton to Shephard.

Shephard, as the ring dissolved, stepped into the middle of the room and flourished his chicken-leg as if it were a baton. After the burst of laughter, his sonorous voice made itself heard.

“Come to supper! Everybody take his girl if he can, and if he can’t–get the other feller’s girl.”

Bill Yohe sprang toward Bettie, but Milton had touched her on the arm.

“Not t’night, Bill,” he grinned.

Bill grinned in reply and made off toward another well-known belle, Ella Pratt, who accepted his escort. Ed Blackler, with gloomy desperation, took Maud Buttles, the most depressingly plain girl in the room, an action that did not escape Bettie’s eyes, and which softened her heart toward him; but she did not let him see it.

Supper was served on the desks, each couple seated in the drab-colored wooden seats as if they were at school. A very comfortable arrangement for those who occupied the back seats, but torture to the adults who were obliged to cramp their legs inside the desk where the primer class sat on school-days.

Bettie saw with tenderness how devotedly poor Ed served Maud. He could not have taken a better method of heaping coals of fire on her head.

Ed was entirely unconscious of her softening, however, for he could not look around from where he sat. He heard her laughing and believed she was happy. He had not taken poor Maud for the purpose of showing his penitence, for he had no such feeling in his heart; he was, on the contrary, rather gloomy and reckless. He was not in a mood to show a front of indifference.