CHAPTER XII MISS RENNSDALE ACCEPTS.
"One-two-three; one-two-three--glide!" said Professor Bartet, emphasizing his instructions by a brisk collision of his palms at "glide." "One-two-three; one-two-three--glide!" The school week was over, at last, but Penrod's troubles were not.
Round and round the ballroom went the seventeen struggling little couples of the Friday Afternoon Dancing Class.

Round and round went their reflections with them, swimming rhythmically in the polished, dark floor--white and blue and pink for the girls; black, with dabs of white, for the white-collared, white-gloved boys; and sparks and slivers of high light everywhere as the glistening pumps flickered along the surface like a school of flying fish.

Every small pink face--with one exception--was painstaking and set for duty.

It was a conscientious little merry-go-round.
"One-two-three; one-two-three--glide! One-two-three; one-two-three--glide! One-two-th--Ha! Mister Penrod Schofield, you lose the step.

Your left foot! No, no! This is the left! See--like me! Now again! One-two-three; one-two-three--glide! Better! Much better! Again! One-two-three; one-two-three--gl--Stop! Mr.Penrod Schofield, this dancing class is provided by the kind parents of the pupilses as much to learn the mannerss of good societies as to dance.