And I'll take you home, too. Be sure an' keep plenty of round
dances open fer me. That's right. Get mad. It makes you look
fine."



CHAPTER VIII

The music stopped at the end of the waltz, leaving Billy and
Saxon at the big entrance doorway of the ballroom. Her hand
rested lightly on his arm, and they were promenading on to find
seats, when Charley Long, evidently just arrived, thrust his way
in front of them.

"So you're the buttinsky, eh?" he demanded, his face malignant
with passion and menace.

"Who?--me?" Billy queried gently. "Some mistake, sport. I never
butt in."

"You're goin' to get your head beaten off if you don't make
yourself scarce pretty lively."

"I wouldn't want that to happen for the world," Billy drawled.
"Come on, Saxon. This neighborhood's unhealthy for us."

He started to go on with her, but Long thrust in front again.

"You're too fresh to keep, young fellow," he snarled. "You need
saltin' down. D'ye get me?"