of his ill-at-easeness steadied Reba. She understood. She knew.
"Let's sit down the way some of the others are doing," she suggested.
"I'd like to," he replied.
"Here are two chairs," said Reba, and she led the way to two empty places.
As "Number four" folded up to sit down in the chair beside Reba, he was very careful not to allow his rough coat to as much as brush one of her snowy ruffles. Afterward he produced a brand new handkerchief—white, with a dark blue polka-dotted border—and wiped the perspiration that threatened to become running torrents in a moment, from his brow.
"There are a great many people here, aren't there?" said Reba brightly.
"There appear to be, miss," her partner murmured, clumsily groping for his coat pocket, and finally shoving his handkerchief out of sight in it. "There appear to be," he said again, and laid his two long arms horizontally along his long thighs, his big red hands pitifully apparent, as they rested upon each knee.
Reba, glancing down, saw now that the customary white cuff-line at the edge of the coat-sleeves was lacking. She saw, too, that something else was lacking—something more essential—half of the fingers, in fact, from her partner's left hand!
He seemed to be conscious of her glance, and her discovery too, for he shifted uneasily, and folded his arms, hiding completely both his red monstrosities.
"I don't believe I'm much of a partner for you," he apologized.
"Oh, yes, you are," Reba assured him, forgetting
