Champagne straight and a dash of brandy." The druggist's wife and sister retired to the feed room, where a bureau with a swinging mirror had been placed for the convenience of the women.
The druggist stood awkwardly outside the door of the feed room, his coat collar turned up against the draughts that drifted through the barn, his face troubled, debating anxiously as to the propriety of putting on his gloves.

The Spanish-Mexican family, a father, mother and five children and sister-in-law, sat rigid on the edges of the hired chairs, silent, constrained, their eyes lowered, their elbows in at their sides, glancing furtively from under their eyebrows at the decorations or watching with intense absorption young Vacca, son of one of the division superintendents, who wore a checked coat and white thread gloves and who paced up and down the length of the barn, frowning, very important, whittling a wax candle over the floor to make it slippery for dancing.
The musicians arrived, the City Band of Bonneville--Annixter having managed to offend the leader of the "Dirigo" Club orchestra, at the very last moment, to such a point that he had refused his services.

These members of the City Band repaired at once to their platform in the corner.

At every instant they laughed uproariously among themselves, joshing one of their number, a Frenchman, whom they called "Skeezicks." Their hilarity reverberated in a hollow, metallic roll among the rafters overhead.

The druggist observed to young Vacca as he passed by that he thought them pretty fresh, just the same.
"I'm busy, I'm very busy," returned the young man, continuing on his way, still frowning and paring the stump of candle.
"Two quarts 'n' a half.