"Now, don't try to shine your shoes on your trousers. It always shows. Don't stumble or trip when you go in. Don't bump against the furniture. Don't stutter. Don't hold on to your hostess to keep from falling over. And don't, _don't_ shoot your cuffs."
McNab's malicious advice reduced Hungerford to a panic, while only the consciousness of his public importance prevented Stover from bolting as he saw McNab press the button.
"Stand up straight and keep your hands out of your pockets."
"Dopey, I'll wring your neck if you don't stop!"
"Say something interesting to every girl," continued McNab, in a solemn whisper. "Talk about art or literature."
The door opened, and they stumbled into the ante-room, from which escape was impossible.
"Don't ask twice for soup, and stop shooting that cuff."
The next moment Stover, who had been thrust forward by the other two, found himself crossing the perilous track of slippery rugs on slippery floors, and suddenly the cynosure of at least a hundred eyes.
Judge Story had him by the hand, patting him on the back, smiling up at him with a smile he never forgot--a little lithe man bristling with good humor and the genius of good cheer.
"Stover, I'm glad to shake your hand. We did all we could for you in those last rushes. We rooted hard. My wife assaulted a clergyman in front of her, and my daughter was found afterward weeping with her arms around the man next to her. I certainly am proud to shake your hand. I won't shake it too long, because"--here he looked up in a confidential whisper--"because the girls have been fidgeting at the window for an hour. Look them over and tell me which one you want to sit next to you, and I'll fix it."
"Dad, aren't you awful?" said a voice in only laughing disapproval.
"My daughter," said the judge, passing joyfully on to Hungerford.
He shook hands, a trifle embarrassed, with a young lady of quiet self-possession, gentle in voice and action, with somewhat of the thoughtful reserve of her brother.
He followed her, only half conscious of a certain floating grace and the pleasure of following her movements, bowing with cataleptic bobs of his head as the introductions ran on:
Then he straightened and allowed his chin to right itself over the brink of his mounting collar, smiling, but without hearing the outburst that went up from the equally agitated sex: