'Ladies this way,' and 'gentlemen that.'

When he reached the house the gas-jets had just been turned up, and
every window was ablaze with light from the attic to the basement.

'My eye! ain't it swell!' Harold said to himself, as he stood a moment,
looking at the brilliantly lighted rooms. 'Don't I wish I was rich and
could burn all that gas, and maybe I shall be. Grandma says Mr. Arthur
Tracy was once a poor boy like me; only he had an uncle and I haven't.
I've got do earn my money, and I mean to, and sometimes, maybe, I'll
have a house us big as this, and just such a party, with a boy up stairs
to tell 'em where to go. I wonder now if I'm expected to go into the
kitchen door. Of course not, I've got on my Sunday clothes, and am
invited to the party. I shall ring,'

And he did ring--a sharp, loud ring, which made Mrs. Tracy, who had not
yet left her room, start nervously as she wondered who had come so
early.

'Old Peterkin, of course. Those whom you care for least always come
first.'

Peering over the banister Tom Tracy saw Harold when the door was opened,
and screaming to his mother at the top of his voice, 'It ain't old
Peterkin, mother; it's Hall Hastings, come to the front door,' he ran
down the stairs, and confronting the intruder just as he was crossing
the threshold, exclaimed:

'Go 'long; go back. You hain't no business ringin' the bell as if you
was a gentleman. Go to the kitchen door with the other servants!'