But in the case of so large an affair as Miss Rennsdale's, the feeling that their parents would be sensitive outweighed fears of what Penrod and Sam might do at the party.

Reputation is indeed a bubble, but sometimes it is blown of sticky stuff.
The comrades set out for the fete in company, final maternal outpourings upon deportment and the duty of dancing with the hostess evaporating in their freshly cleaned ears.

Both boys, however, were in a state of mind, body, and decoration appropriate to the gala scene they were approaching.

Their collars were wide and white; inside the pockets of their overcoats were glistening dancing-pumps, wrapped in tissue-paper; inside their jacket pockets were pleasant-smelling new white gloves, and inside their heads solemn timidity commingled with glittering anticipations.

Before them, like a Christmas tree glimpsed through lace curtains, they beheld joy shimmering--music, ice-cream, macaroons, tinsel caps, and the starched ladies of their hearts Penrod and Sam walked demurely yet almost boundingly; their faces were shining but grave--they were on their way to the Party! "Look at there!" said Penrod.