dance "Les Papillons" together. He was the further embittered.

Carlie made a false step, recovering himself with some
difficulty, whereupon a loud, jeering squawk of laughter was
heard from the insurgent cluster, which had been awed to
temporary quiet but still maintained its base in the
drawing-room doorway. There was a general "SH!" followed by a
shocked whispering, as well as a general turning of eyes toward
Penrod. But it was not Penrod who had laughed, though no one
would have credited him with an alibi. The laughter came from two
throats that breathed as one with such perfect simultaneousness
that only one was credited with the disturbance. These two
throats belonged respectively to Samuel Williams and Maurice
Levy, who were standing in a strikingly
Rosencrantz-and-Guildenstern attitude.

"He got me with his ole tin-box needle, too," Maurice muttered
to Sam. "He was goin' to do it to Marjorie, and I told her to
look out, and he says, 'Here, YOU take it!' all of a sudden, and
he stuck it in my hand so quick I never thought. And then, BIM!
his ole needle shot out and perty near went through my
thumb-bone or sumpthing. He'll be sorry before this day's over!"

"Well," said Sam darkly, "he's goin' to be sorry he stuck ME,
anyway!" Neither Sam nor Maurice had even the vaguest plan for
causing the desired regret in the breast of Master Chitten; but
both derived a little consolation from these prophecies. And
they, too, had aligned themselves with the insurgents. Their
motives were personal--Carlie Chitten had wronged both of them,
and Carlie was conspicuously in high favour with the Authorities.