ker, sit down at the piano."

"On Sunday?" said Joe, startled out of his attitude.

"Don't worry, we're not going to dance. We're going to make a good
impression on father."

When Mr. Travers drew up ten minutes later he beheld eleven sheepish
young gentlemen huddled in a circle in the middle of the parlor intoning
from hymnbooks the measures which Joe Crocker pounded out from the piano
under the solemn inspection of Miss Dolly Travers.

"Great heavens! What's this?" said Mr. Travers, who was the most
unorthodox of men. "What in mischief are you up to now?"

"It's my Sunday School class," said the young lady, with difficult
seriousness. "We're meeting every week. It won't annoy you too much,
will it, father?"

CHAPTER XXIV

RESULT OF A BROTHER'S ADVICE

THE first dance of the summer took place the following Saturday, and the
entire feminine contingent immediately declared war on Miss Dolly
Travers, who entered escorted by four cavaliers and subdivided each
dance.

While others more fortunately endowed with rhythmic feet swayed and
circled about the ballroom with the little Dresden china blonde, Skippy,
who guarded in his arms a pink and white filmy scarf, glowered across
the vacant chair at Puffy Ellis, who had been favored with the
safekeeping of the favorite's fan.

"Jack, you're perfectly ridiculous," said Sister Clara, who did not
relish the competition. "The idea of making a fool of yourself over a
child of twelve that ought to be in bed long ago. Haven't you any
pride?"

"Kitty, kitty," said Skippy softly. He could not be bothered with such
things as sisters. His mind was made up. He glared over at Puffy and
said to himself: "To-night I'll give him his choice. Either he gets off
the horizon, or I tear the hide off him."

He would protect his rights in the good old-fashioned way, even if he
had to thrash a dozen of them!

"Why, Jack!" said Dolly, whirling up at this moment, and sinking back
into the scarf which he hurriedly draped about her. "You look like blood
and thunder. You're not jealous, are you?"

"Oh, no!"

"Well then?"

"Why did you give Puffy Ellis that fan?"

"Poor Puffy! He doesn't dance, either."

"Lord, I'll dance by next Saturday," said Skippy miserably, "or break a
leg."

"Foolish boy, of course you must dance! If I sit this out with you, will
it make you feel any better?"

"Will it!"

"We'll go on the porch and you'll try a one-step. Oh, no one will see.
Grac