While the frivolous-minded of Clayton were bent upon the festivitiesof fair week, it must not be imagined that the grave and thoughtfulcontingent, which acts as ballast in every community, was idle.
Mr. Moseley was a self-constituted leader in a crusade againstdancing. At his earnest suggestion, every minister in town agreed topreach upon the subject at prayer-meeting the Wednesday evening of thehop.
They held a preliminary meeting before services in the study of theHard-Shell Baptist Church. Mr. Moseley occupied the chair, a Jove ofrighteousness dispensing thunderbolts of indignation to hissatellites. A fringe of scant hair retreated respectfully from theunadorned dome which crowned his personal edifice. His manner was mostserious and his every utterance freighted with importance.
Beside him sat his rival in municipal authority, the Methodistpreacher. He had a short upper lip and a square lower jaw, and a wayof glaring out of his convex glasses that gave a comical imitation ofa bullfrog in debate. This was the first occasion in the history ofthe town when he and Mr. Moseley had met in friendly concord. For thelast few days the united war upon a common enemy had knitted theirsouls in a bond of brotherly affection.
When the half-dozen preachers had assembled, Mr. Moseley rose withdignity. "My dear brethren," he began impressively, "the occasion isone which permits of no trifling. The dancing evil is one which hasmenaced our community for generations--a viper to be seized andthrottled with a firm hand. The waltz, the--the Highland fling,the--the--"
"German?" suggested some one faintly.
"Yes, the german--are all invasions of the Evil One. The crowdedrooms, the unholy excitement, are degenerating and debasing. I am gladto report one young soul who has turned from temptation and told meonly to-day of his intention of refraining from partaking in theunrighteous amusement of this evening. That, brethren, was the nephewof my pastor."
The little Presbyterian preacher, thus thrust into the light cast fromthe halo of his regenerate nephew, stirred uneasily. He wascontemplating the expediency of his youthful kinsman in making thelack of a dress-suit serve as a means of lightening his comingexaminations at the academy.
Mr. Moseley, now fully launched upon a flood of eloquence, was justconcluding a brilliant argument. "Look at the round dance!" he cried."Who can behold and not shudder?"
Mr. Meech, who had not beheld and therefore could not shudder,ventured a timid inquiry:
"Mr. Moseley, just what is a round dance?"
Mr. Moseley pushed back his chair and wheeled the table nearer thewindow. "Will you just step forward, Mr. Meech?"
With difficulty Mr. Meech extricated himself from the corner to whichthe pressure of so many guests had relegated him. He slippedapologetically to the front and took his stand beneath the shadow ofMr. Moseley's presence. Prayer-meeting being but a semi-officialoccasion, he wore his second-best coat, and it had followed theshrinking habit established by its predecessors.
"Now," commanded Mr. Moseley, "place your hand upon my shoulder."
Mr. Meech did so with self-conscious gravity and serious apprehensionsas to the revelations to follow.
"Now," continued Mr. Moseley, "I place my arm about your waist--thus."
"Surely not," objected Mr. Meech, in embarrassment.
But Mr. Moseley was relentless. "I assure you it is true. And theother hand--" He stopped in grave deliberation. The Methodist brother,who had been growing more and more overcharged with suppressedknowledge, could contain himself no longer.
"That's not right at all!" he burst forth irritably. "You don't hookyour arm around like that! You hold the left arm out and saw it up anddown--like this."
He snatched the bewildered Mr. Meech from Mr. Moseley's embrace, andhumming a waltz, stepped briskly about the limited space, to theconsternation of the onlookers, who hastened to tuck their feet undertheir chairs.
Mr. Meech, looking as if he were being backed into eternity, stumbledon the rug and clutched violently at the table-cover. In his downfallhe carried his instructor with him, and a deluge of tracts from thetable above followed.
In the midst of the confusion there was a sound from the church nextdoor. Mr. Meech sat up among the debris and listened. It was theopening hymn for prayer-meeting.