The noise and clatter of a dance caller bellowed forth as he shouted for everybody to grab their "podners one an' all, do-se-do, promenade th' hall!" and Fairchild, as he watched, saw that his lack of dancing ability would not be a serious handicap.

There were many others who did not know the old numbers.

And those who did had worn their hobnailed boots, sufficient to take the spring out of any one's feet.

The women were doing most of the leading, the men clattered along somewhere in the rear, laughing and shouting and inadvertently kicking one another on the shins.

The old times had come back, boisterously, happily,--and every one was living in those days when the hills gushed wealth, and when poverty to-day might mean riches tomorrow.
Again and again Fairchild's eyes searched the crowds, the multicolored, overdressed costumes of the women, the old-fashioned affairs with which many of the men had arrayed themselves, ranging all the way from high leather boots to frock suits and stovepipe beaver hats.