Anita Richmond had accepted the druggist's challenge.

She was approaching--in a stranger-like manner--a ticket of some sort held before her.
"Pardon me," she began, "but would you care to buy a ticket ?" "To--to what ?" It was all Fairchild could think of to say.
"To the Old Timers' Dance.

It's a sort of municipal thing, gotten up by the bureau of mines--to celebrate the return of silver mining." "But--but I 'm afraid I 'm not much on dancing." "You don't have to be.

Nobody 'll dance much--except the old-fashioned affairs.

You see, everybody 's supposed to represent people of the days when things were booming around here.