--she was a shy little conservatory
student, who evidently regarded conversation as against the rules--and I
found the usual complications that had to be sorted out at the beginning
of every class party. Stiffy Short was sore. He was short five dances
for his girl--had been working on her program for a week--and he accused
the fellows of dodging because she couldn't dance; and was threatening
to be taken sick and spend the evening in the dressing room smoking
cigarettes. Miss Worthington, one of our Class A girls, didn't have a
dance, because Tullings, who had drawn her, had presumed that she was to
sit and talk with him all evening. Petey Simmons was in even worse. His
girl couldn't dance, but insisted on doing so. She had done it the year
before, too. Petey had been training up for two weeks by tugging his
dresser around the room. Then there was Glenallen. We always had to form
a committee of national defense against Glenallen. He couldn't dance,
either, and he would insist on hitching his chair out towards the middle
of the room. I've seen him throw as many as four couples in a night. And
there was a telephone call from Miss Morse, class secretary and
first-magnitude star. Her escort hadn't shown up. He never did show up.
When we went around to lynch him the next day he explained desperately
that at the last minute he found he had forgotten to get a lawn necktie.
You know how a little thing like a lawn necktie that ain't can wreck an
evening dress, unless you are an old enough head to cut up a
handkerchief and fold the ends under.

We had gotten things pretty well straightened out before we discovered
that Ole was missing. That would never do. If Miss Spencer needed
rescuing we were the boys to do it. Three of us rushed down the stairs
to send a carriage over to Browning Hall, and that minute Ole arrived at
the party.

He had worn his very best--the suit he was proudest of and the one he
knew couldn't be duplicated. It was his lumber-camp rig--corduroy
trousers, big boots and overshoes, red flannel shirt, canvas pea-jacket
and fur cap. He came marching up the walk like the hero in a
moving-picture show and we thought he was alone till he reached the
door. Then we saw Miss Spencer. She was seated in state behind him on
one of those hand-sledges the farmers use for hauling cordwood. There
were evergreen boughs behind her and all around her, and she was so
wrapped up in a huge camp blanket that all we could see of her