There were shrill squeals and screams and bursts of heavier male
laughter as the everlasting skirmishing between the young men and
girls played on. Among some of the men the signs of drink were
already manifest. At a near table girls were calling out to
Billy. And Saxon, the sense of temporary possession already
strong on her, noted with jealous eyes that he was a favorite and
desired object to them.

"Ain't they awful?" Mary voiced her disapproval. "They got a
nerve. I know who they are. No respectable girl 'd have a thing
to do with them. Listen to that!"

"Oh, you Bill, you," one of them, a buxom young brunette, was
calling. "Hope you ain't forgotten me, Bill."

"Oh, you chicken," he called back gallantly.

Saxon flattered herself that he showed vexation, and she
conceived an immense dislike for the brunette.

"Goin' to dance?" the latter called.

"Mebbe," he answered, and turned abruptly to Saxon. "Say, we old
Americans oughta stick together, don't you think? They ain't many
of us left. The country's fillin' up with all kinds of
foreigners."

He talked on steadily, in a low, confidential voice, head close
to hers, as advertisement to the other girl that he was occupied.