Betty
and the camel joined the crowd, her brown hand resting lightly on
his shoulder, defiantly symbolizing her complete adoption of him.
When they entered, the couples were already seating themselves at
tables round the walls, and Mrs. Townsend, resplendent as a super
bareback rider with rather too rotund calves, was standing in the
centre with the ringmaster who was in charge of arrangements. At a
signal to the band everyone rose and began to dance.
"Isn't it just slick!" breathed Betty.
"You bet!" said the camel.
"Do you think you can possibly dance?"
Perry nodded enthusiastically. He felt suddenly exuberant. After all,
he was here incognito talking to his girl--he felt like winking
patronizingly at the world.
"I think it's the best idea," cried Betty, "to give a party like this!
I don't see how they ever thought of it. Come on, let's dance!"
So Perry danced the cotillion. I say danced, but that is stretching
the word far beyond the wildest dreams of the jazziest terpsichorean.
He suffered his partner to put her hands on his helpless shoulders
and pull him here and there gently over the floor while he hung his
huge head docilely over her shoulder and made futile dummy motions
with his feet.
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