each other’s hands and allow the undisciplined joy of motion to express itself with their feet.  Among these are Jokubas Szedvilas and his wife, Lucija, who together keep the delicatessen store, and consume nearly as much as they sell; they are too fat to dance, but they stand in the middle of the floor, holding each other fast in their arms, rocking slowly from side to side and grinning seraphically, a picture of toothless and perspiring ecstasy.

Of these older people many wear clothing reminiscent in some detail of home—­an embroidered waistcoat or stomacher, or a gaily colored handkerchief, or a coat with large cuffs and fancy buttons.  All these things are carefully avoided by the young, most of whom have learned to speak English and to affect the latest style of clothing.  The girls wear ready-made dresses or shirt waists, and some of them look quite pretty.  Some of the young men you would take to be Americans, of the type of clerks, but for the fact that they wear their hats in the room.  Each of these younger couples affects a style of its own in dancing.  Some hold each other tightly, some at a cautious distance.  Some hold their hands out stiffly, some drop them loosely at their sides.  Some dance springily, some glide softly, some move with grave dignity.  There are boisterous couples, who tear wildly about the room, knocking every one out of their way.  There are nervous couples, whom these frighten, and who cry, “Nusfok!  Kas yra?” at them as they pass.  Each couple is paired for the evening—­you will never see them change about.  There is Alena Jasaityte, for instance, who has danced unending hours with Juozas Raczius, to whom she is engaged.  Alena is the beauty of the evening, and she would be really beautiful if she were not so proud.  She wears a white shirtwaist, which represents, perhaps, half a week’s labor painting cans.  She holds her skirt with her hand as she dances, with stately precision, after the manner of the grandes dames.  Juozas is driving one of Durham’s wagons, and is making big wages.  He affects a “tough” aspect, wearing his hat on one side and keeping a cigarette in his mouth all the evening.  Then there is Jadvyga Marcinkus, who is also beautiful, but humble.  Jadvyga likewise paints cans, but then she has an invalid mother and three little sisters to support by it, and so she does not spend her wages for shirtwaists.  Jadvyga is small and delicate, with jet-black eyes and hair, the latter twisted into a little knot and tied on the top of her head.  She wears an old white dress which she has made herself and worn to parties for the past five years; it is high-waisted—­almost under her arms, and not very becoming,—­but that does not trouble Jadvyga, who is dancing with her Mikolas.  She is small, while he is big and powerful; she nestles in his arms as if she would hide herself from view, and leans her head upon his shoulder.  He in turn has clasped his arms tightly around her, as if he would carry her away; and so