"She held the door open and I went in. I didn't know what to do then. Guess I'd have stood there till I took root, only Dr. Hardy himself come... came... through the hall. HE shook hands and showed me where to put my hat and coat and then he took me into the parlour to meet his wife. The floor was as slippery as ice... and just as I stepped on the rug inside the parlour door it went clean from under me and down I went and slid across the floor, feet foremost, right to Mrs. Hardy. I was on my back, not on my stomach, or it would have been quite the proper Oriental caper, wouldn't it?"
Emily couldn't laugh.
"Oh, PERRY!"
"Great snakes, Emily, it wasn't my fault. All the etiquette in the world couldn't have prevented it. Of course, I felt like a fool, but I got up and laughed. Nobody else laughed. They were all decent. Mrs. Hardy was smooth as wax... hoped I hadn't hurt myself, and Dr. Hardy said HE had slipped the same way more than once after they had given up their good old carpets and taken to rugs and hardwood. I was scared to move, so I sat down in the nearest chair, and there was a dog on it... Mrs. Hardy's Peke. Oh, I didn't kill it... I got the worst scare of the two. By the time I had made port in another chair the SW... perspiration was just pouring down my face. Some more folks arrived just then, so that kind of took the edge off me, and I had time to get my bearings. I found I had about ten pairs of hands and feet. And my boots were too big and coarse. Then I found myself with my hands in my pockets, WHISTLING."
Emily began to say, "Oh, Perry," but bit it off and swallowed it. What was the use of saying ANYTHING?
"I knew THAT wasn't proper, so I stopped and took my hands out... and began to bite my nails. Finally, I put my hands underneath me and sat on 'em. I doubled my feet back under my chair, and I sat like that till we went out to dinner... sat like that when a fat old lady waddled in and all the other fellows stood up. I didn't... didn't see any reason for it... there was plenty of chairs. But later on it occurred to me that it was some etiquette stunt and I ought to have got up, too. Should I?"
"Of course," said Emily, wearily. "Don't you remember how Ilse used to rag you about that very thing?"
"Oh, I'd forgotten... Ilse was always jawing about something. But live and learn. I won't forget again, you bet. There were three or four other boys there... the new French teacher and a couple of bankers... and some ladies. I got out to dinner without falling over the floor and got into a chair between Miss Hardy and the aforesaid old lady. I gave one look over that table... and then, Emily, I knew what it was to be afraid at last, all right. I never knew it before, honest. It's an awful feeling. I was in a regular funk. I used to think you carried fierce style at New Moon when you had company, but I never saw anything like that table... and everything so dazzling and glittering, and enough forks and spoons and things at one place to fit everybody out. There was a piece of bread folded in my napkin and it fell out and went skating over the floor. I could feel myself turning red all over my face and neck. I s'pose you call it blushing. I never blushed afore... before... that I remember. I didn't know whether I ought to get up and go and pick it up or not. Then the maid brought me another one. I used the wrong spoon to eat my soup with, but I tried to remember what your Aunt Laura said about the proper way to eat soup. I'd get on all right for a few spoonfuls... then I'd get interested in something somebody was saying... and go GULP."
"Did you tilt your plate to get the last spoonful?" asked Emily despairingly.
"No, I was just going to when I remembered it wasn't proper. I hated to lose it, too. It was awful good soup and I was hungry. The good old dowager next to me DID. I got on pretty well with the meat and vegetables, except once. I had packed a load of meat and potatoes on my fork and just as I lifted it I saw Mrs. Hardy eyeing it, and I remembered I oughtn't to have loaded up my fork like that... and I jumped... and it all fell off in my napkin. I didn't know whether it would be etiquette to scrape it up and put it back on my plate so I left it there. The pudding was all right... only I et it with a spoon... my soup spoon... and every one else et theirs with a fork. But it tasted just as good one way as another and I was getting reckless. You always use spoons at New Moon to eat pudding."
"Why didn't you watch what the others did and imitate them?"
"Too rattled. But I'll say this... for all the style, the eats weren't a bit better than you have at New Moon... no, nor as good, by a jugful. Your Aunt Elizabeth's cooking would knock the spots off the Hardys' every time... and they didn't give you too much of anything! After the dinner was over we went back to the parlour... THEY called it living-room... and things weren't so bad. I didn't do anything out of the way except knock over a bookcase."
"Perry!"
"Well, it was wobbly. I was leaning against it talking to Mr. Hardy, and I suppose I leaned too hard, for the blooming thing went over. But, righting it and getting the books back seemed to loosen me up and I wasn't so tongue-tied after that. I got on not too bad... only every once in a long while I'd let slip a bit of slang, before I could catch it. I tell you, I wished I'd taken your advice about talking slang. Once the fat old lady agreed with something I'd said... she had sense if she DID have three chins... and I was so tickled to find her on my side that I got excited and said to her, 'You bet your boots' before I thought. And I guess I bragged a bit. DO I brag too much, Emily?"
This question had never presented itself to Perry before.
"You DO," said Emily candidly, "and it's VERY bad form."
"Well, I felt kind of cheap after I'd done it. I guess I've got an awful lot to learn yet, Emily. I'm going to buy a book on etiquette and learn it off by heart. No more evenings like this for me. But it was better at the last. Jim Hardy took me off to the den and we played checkers and I licked him dizzy. Nothing wrong with my checker etiquette, I tell YOU. And Mrs. Hardy said my speech at the debate was the best she had ever heard for a boy of my age, and she wanted to know what I meant to go in for. She's a great little dame and has the social end of things down fine. That is one reason I want you to marry me when the times comes, Emily... I've got to have a wife with brains."
"Don't talk nonsense, Perry," said Emily, haughtily.
"'Tisn't nonsense," said Perry, stubbornly. "And it's time we settled SOMETHING. You needn't turn up your nose at me because you're a Murray. I'll be worth marrying some day... even for a Murray. Come, put me out of my misery."
Emily rose disdainfully. She had her dreams, as all girls have, the rose-red one of love among them, but Perry Miller had no share in those dreams.
"I'm NOT a Murray... and I'm going upstairs. Good night."
"Wait half a second," said Perry, with a grin. "When the clock strikes eleven I'm going to kiss you."
Emily did not for a moment believe that Perry had the slightest notion of doing anything of the kind... which was foolish of her, for Perry had a habit of always doing what he said he was going to do. But, then, he had never been sentimental. She ignored his remark, but lingered a moment to ask another question about the Hardy dinner. Perry did not answer the question: the clock began to strike eleven as she asked it... he flung his legs over the window- sill and stepped into the room. Emily realized too late that he meant what he said. She had only time to duck her head and Perry's hearty, energetic smack... there was nothing subtle about Perry's kisses... fell on her ear instead of her cheek.
At the very moment Perry kissed her and before her indignant protest could rush to her lips two things happened. A gust of wind swept in from the veranda and blew the little candle out, AND the dining-room door opened and Aunt Ruth appeared in the doorway, robed in a pink flannel nightgown and carrying another candle, the light of which struck upward with gruesome effect on her set face with its halo of crimping-pins.