As he walked along Julia’s Street toward Julia’s Party, there was something in his mien and look more dramatic than mere sprightliness; and when he came within sight of the ineffable house and saw its many lights shining before him, he breathed with profundity, half halting.  Again he murmured: 

    “Oh, years so fair; oh, night so rare! 
    For life is but a golden dream so sweetly.”

At the gate he hesitated.  Perhaps—­perhaps he was a little early.  It might be better to walk round the block.

He executed this parade, and again hesitated at the gate.  He could see into the brightly lighted hall, beyond the open double doors; and it contained nothing except its usual furniture.  Once more he walked round the block.  The hall was again in the same condition.  Again he went on.

When he had been thrice round the block after that, he discovered human beings in the hall; they were Florence, in a gala costume, and Florence’s mother, evidently arrived to be assistants at the party, for, with the helpful advice of a coloured manservant, they were arranging some bunches of flowers on two hall tables.  Their leisurely manner somewhat emphasized the air of earliness that hung about the place, and Noble thought it better to continue to walk round the block.  The third time after that, when he completed his circuit, the musicians were just arriving, and their silhouettes, headed by that of the burdened bass fiddler, staggered against the light of the glowing doorway like a fantasia of giant beetles.  Noble felt that it would be better to let them get settled, and therefore walked round the block again.

Not far from the corner above Julia’s, as he passed, a hoarse and unctuous voice, issuing out of an undistinguishable lawn, called his name:  “Noble!  Noble Dill!” And when Noble paused, Julia’s Uncle Joseph came waddling forth from the dimness and rested his monstrous arms upon the top of the fence, where a street light revealed them as shirt-sleeved and equipped with a palm-leaf fan.

“What is the matter, Noble?” Mr. Atwater inquired earnestly.

“Matter?” Noble repeated.  “Matter?”

“We’re kind of upset,” said Mr. Atwater.  “My wife and I been just sittin’ out here in our front yard, not doing any harm to anybody, and here it’s nine times we’ve counted you passing the place—­always going the same way!” He spoke as with complaint, a man with a grievance.  “It’s kind of ghostlike,” he added.  “We’d give a good deal to know what you make of it.”

Noble was nonplussed.  “Why——­” he said.  “Why——­”

“How do you get back?  That’s the mystery!” said Mr. Atwater.  “You’re always walkin’ down street and never up.  You know my wife’s never been too strong a woman, Noble, and all this isn’t doing her any good.  Besides, we sort of figured out that you ought really to be at Julia’s dance this evening.”

“I am,” said Noble nervously.  “I mean that’s where I’m going.  I’m going there.  I’m going there.”