The Child Sir Lancelot found himself in a large anteroom behind the
stage--a room crowded with excited children, all about equally medieval
and artistic. Penrod was less conspicuous than he thought himself, but
he was so preoccupied with his own shame, steeling his nerves to meet
the first inevitable taunting reference to his sister's stockings,
that he failed to perceive there were others present in much of his own
unmanned condition. Retiring to a corner, immediately upon his entrance,
he managed to unfasten the mantle at the shoulders, and, drawing it
round him, pinned it again at his throat so that it concealed the rest
of his costume. This permitted a temporary relief, but increased his
horror of the moment when, in pursuance of the action of the "pageant,"
the sheltering garment must be cast aside.

Some of the other child knights were also keeping their mantles close
about them. A few of the envied opulent swung brilliant fabrics
from their shoulders, airily, showing off hired splendours from a
professional costumer's stock, while one or two were insulting examples
of parental indulgence, particularly little Maurice Levy, the Child Sir
Galahad. This shrinking person went clamorously about, making it known
everywhere that the best tailor in town had been dazzled by a great
sum into constructing his costume. It consisted of blue velvet
knickerbockers, a white satin waistcoat, and a beautifully cut little
swallow-tailed coat with pearl buttons. The medieval and artistic
triumph was completed by a mantle of yellow velvet, and little white
boots, sporting gold tassels.

All this radiance paused in a brilliant career and addressed the Child
Sir Lancelot, gathering an immediately formed semicircular audience of
little girls. Woman was ever the trailer of magnificence.