partner a sudden whisk, which nearly landed both on the floor.
But they did not "get right by and by"; for Tom, in his frantic efforts to do his duty, nearly annihilated poor Polly. He tramped, he bobbed, he skated, he twirled her to the right, dragged her to the left, backed her up against people and furniture, trod on her feet, rumpled her dress, and made a spectacle of himself generally. Polly was much disturbed; but as every one else was flying about also, she bore it as long as she could, knowing that Tom had made a martyr of himself, and feeling grateful to him for the sacrifice.
"Oh, do stop now; this is dreadful!" cried Polly, breathlessly, after a few wild turns.
"Isn't it?"; said Tom, whiping his red face with such an air of intense relief, that Polly had not the heart to scold him, but said, "Thank you," and dropped into a chair exhausted.
"I know I've made a guy of myself; but Fan insisted on it, for fear you'd be offended if I didn't go the first dance with you," said Tom, remorsefully, watching Polly as she settled the bow of her crushed sash, which Tom had used as a sort of handle by which to turn and twist her; "I can do the Lancers tip-top; but you won't ever want to dance with me any more," he added, as he began to fan her so violently, that her hair flew about as if in a gale of wind.
"Yes I will. I'd like to; and you shall put your name down here on the sticks of my fan. That's the way, Trix says, when you don't have a ball-book."
