Beside him sat his rival in municipal authority, the Methodist
preacher. He had a short upper lip and a square lower jaw, and a way
of glaring out of his convex glasses that gave a comical imitation of
a bullfrog in debate. This was the first occasion in the history of
the town when he and Mr. Moseley had met in friendly concord. For the
last few days the united war upon a common enemy had knitted their
souls in a bond of brotherly affection.

When the half-dozen preachers had assembled, Mr. Moseley rose with
dignity. "My dear brethren," he began impressively, "the occasion is
one which permits of no trifling. The dancing evil is one which has
menaced our community for generations--a viper to be seized and
throttled with a firm hand. The waltz, the--the Highland fling,
the--the--"

"German?" suggested some one faintly.

"Yes, the german--are all invasions of the Evil One. The crowded
rooms, the unholy excitement, are degenerating and debasing. I am glad
to report one young soul who has turned from temptation and told me
only to-day of his intention of refraining from partaking in the
unrighteous amusement of this evening. That, brethren, was the nephew
of my pastor."

The little Presbyterian preacher, thus thrust into the light cast from
the halo of his regenerate nephew, stirred uneasily. He was
contemplating the expediency of his youthful kinsman in making the
lack of a dress-suit serve as a means of lightening his coming
examinations at the academy.

Mr. Moseley, now fully launched upon a flood of eloquence, was just
concluding a brilliant argument. "Look at the round dance!" he cried.
"Who can behold and not shudder?"

Mr. Meech, who had not beheld and therefore could not shudder,
ventured a timid inquiry:

"Mr. Moseley, just what is a round dance?"

Mr. Moseley pushed back his chair and wheeled the table nearer the
window. "Will you just step forward, Mr. Meech?"

With difficulty Mr. Meech extricated himself from the corner to which
the pressure of so many guests had relegated him. He slipped
apologetically to the front and took his stand beneath the shadow of
Mr. Moseley's presence. Prayer-meeting being but a semi-official
occasion, he wore his second-best coat, and it had followed the
shrinking habit established by its predecessors.

"Now," commanded Mr. Moseley, "place your hand upon my shoulder."

Mr. Meech did so with self-conscious gravity and serious apprehensions
as to the revelations to