“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
