"There you go again!" said Trampy. "Can't you see she's humbugging you?"

[Illustration: TRAMPY ENJOYED HIS LEISURE]

But he pulled himself up suddenly, if Lily arrived, for, in spite of his
big airs, he was all submission in her presence.

"Oh, really! Glass-Eye caught it instead of me, I suppose," said Lily,
drawing back her shoulder as though threatening to smack him, "when Pa
went for me with his leather belt. And I have witnesses. I've been through
the mill, if anybody has: that much I _can_ say!"

Lily, after this burst of pride, would lower her head, a trifle
embarrassed, like a dear little thing, all wrapped up in her duties as a
wife, a wife whom her husband would cause to break her back one of these
days, perhaps.

This created a circle of admirers around her: all, besides, agreed in
saying that you had to have the business "rubbed into your skin" to be as
clever as she was.

"'K you!" said Lily, with a stage bow.

It was certain that she made a hit. They wanted her everywhere. She was
asked to appear in tights. The engagements grew better and better. "Miss
Lily" was more and more talked about. It was no longer a Trampy Wheel-Pad
on a rusty bike: it was grace, youth ... and stage-smiles fit to turn the
heads in the front boxes. When Lily appeared on the stage, she transfixed
every white shirt-front, every opera-glass. She took a real delight in it
all. Her beauty captivated the audience. In her pink tights, Lily turned
and turned and turned, to the hum of the orchestra, against the "wood"
back-drop of purple and gold. Then she returned to the wings, all excited
by her show, received bouquets, chatted freely with the comrades. She met
old friends: the green-eyed female-impersonator, for instance, pressed her
closely. He, too, was touring Germany: a week here, a week there. Chance
brought them together again. He was enraptured by Lily: how lovely she had
grown! He would have liked to adopt her.... Lily threw her head back,
laughed and repelled him with a thump in the ribs when he tried to kiss
her.

Another time, she saw the Bambinis, who were playing, by a lucky accident,
at matinees only and by special permission, because of their age. She
larked with them like a child. Elsewhere, it was Nunkie Fuchs, on his way
to Vienna, where he was going to see to the building of his pigeon-house,
leaving the Three Graces for a few weeks on the Harrasford tour. He had
seen Lily's name on the posters and had com