r
work had given her a vicarious fatigue. She surveyed the room proudly.
It was certainly beginning to look cosy. The pictures were up, the
carpet down, the furniture very neatly in order. For almost the first
time in her life she had the restful sensation of being at home. She had
always longed, during the past three years of boarding-house existence,
for a settled abode, a place where she could lock the door on herself
and be alone. The apartment was small, but it was undeniably a haven.
She looked about her and could see no flaw in it... except... She had a
sudden sense of something missing.

"Hullo!" she said. "Where's that photograph of me? I'm sure I put it on
the mantelpiece yesterday."

His exertions seemed to have brought the blood to Ginger's face. He was
a rich red. He inspected the mantelpiece narrowly.

"No. No photograph here."

"I know there isn't. But it was there yesterday. Or was it? I know I
meant to put it there. Perhaps I forgot. It's the most beautiful thing
you ever saw. Not a bit like me; but what of that? They touch 'em up in
the dark-room, you know. I value it because it looks the way I should
like to look if I could."

"I've never had a beautiful photograph taken of myself," said Ginger,
solemnly, with gentle regret.

"Cheer up!"

"Oh, I don't mind. I only mentioned..."

"Ginger," said Sally, "pardon my interrupting your remarks, which I know
are valuable, but this chair is--not--right! It ought to be where it was
at the beginning. Could you give your imitation of a pack-mule just
once more? And after that I'll make you some tea. If there's any tea--or
milk--or cups."

"There are cups all right. I know, because I smashed two the day before
yesterday. I'll nip round the corner for some milk, shall I?"

"Yes, please nip. All this hard work has taken it out of me terribly."

Over the tea-table Sally became inquisitive.

"What I can't understand about this job of yours. Ginger--which as you
are just about to observe, I was noble enough to secure for you--is the
amount of leisure that seems to go with it. How is it that you are able
to spend your valuable time--Fillmore's valuable time, rather--juggling
with my furniture every day?"

"Oh, I can usually get off."

"But oughtn't you to be at your post doing--whatever it is you do? What
do you do?"

Ginger stirred his tea thoughtfully and gave his mind to the question.

"Well, I sort of mess about, you know." He pondered. "I inter