The orchestra dashed off into a rollicking movement.

The two lines were formed.

In a second of time the dance was under way again; the guests still wearing the Phrygian bonnets and liberty caps of pink and blue tissue paper.
But the group of men once more adjourned to the harness room.

Fresh boxes of cigars were opened; the seventh bowl of fertiliser was mixed.
Osterman poured the dregs of a glass of it upon his bald head, declaring that he could feel the hair beginning to grow.
But suddenly old Broderson rose to his feet.
"Aha," he cackled, "I'M going to have a dance, I am.

Think I'm too old?
I'll show you young fellows.