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
