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202 ball or the patter of running feet was most magically transformed.

Over in one corner, screened by a bank of palms, was the orchestra, the musicians of which were tuning their instruments in thrilling chords which always tell of joys to come.

The guests were arriving. Bewildering bevies of pretty girls floated in with their escorts, who showed the tan and bronze of the sporting field or the whiter hue of a "dig" who spent most of his time over his books. Then came the chaperons, grave, dignified, in rustling silks, a strange contrast to the light, fluffy garments worn by the younger set.

Tom felt rather lonesome as he strolled out on the waxed floor, for most of his chums had girls to whom they were attentive, and of course they could not be expected to look after him.

"Hello, Parsons!" called a voice, and he turned to see one of the Jersey twins. Which one it was he could not determine, for if Jerry and Joe Jackson looked alike when in their ball suits or ordinary clothes, there was even less of difference when they wore formal black, with the expanse of shirt showing.

"Hello!" responded Tom.

"I'm Jerry," went on the twin. "I thought I'd tell you. My brother and I are going to play a joke to-night."