n the middle of the kitchen floor--as the door opened and Barber
appeared, his coat on his arm.

Face to face, with the roses between them, Cis and Johnnie stayed where
they were, as if stricken into helplessness by the sight of the
longshoreman, toward him turning their beseeching, anxious look. Each
reached blindly to touch the other, for strength and sympathy. And the
roses, lifted to the level of their lips, swayed to their hard
breathing.

Barber lumbered closer. "What y' got there?" he demanded. He flung his
coat from him, to light upon the table, where it covered those other
flowers which were of cotton.

"R--roses," faltered Cis, her voice scarcely audible.

Now the longshoreman came to loom over them. "Where 'd y' git 'em?" he
asked next, staring at the bouquet almost wildly. ("He'll jerk it,"
thought Johnnie.)

"You--you remember the--the Mr. Perkins?" Cis began, not taking her eyes
from Big Tom's face.

Barber did not "jerk" the roses. Instead, he pointed one of those long
arms toward the window. "Walk over there," he commanded, "and pitch 'em
out!" His arm stayed outstretched.

Cis tried to speak, made as if to plead, but could only swallow. As for
Johnnie, he was petrified, mesmerized, and remained in her path,
watching those eyes which were bulging so furiously, while that white
flash in the left one darted into sight and disappeared, then came and
went again.

"_Out!_" repeated Barber.

Cis lowered her look to her roses, as if she were seeing them for the
last time. Even in the dusk of the kitchen their bright color was
reflected upon her face, which, but for the flowers, would have been a
ghastly white. A quick catching of the breath, like a sob. Then, her
chin sunk among the blossoms, she half-circled Johnnie, and slowly
started windowward.

"Git a move on!" Barber spoke low.

At that, she turned, holding the roses toward him. "Oh, Mr. Barber!" she
begged. "Don't make me! Don't! The first roses I've ever had! The first!
Oh, don't hurt 'em!"

The wheel chair began to swing around. It was curious how quickly a note
of dissension could rouse the old soldier from sleep, though with any
amount of excitement of the happy kind he napped undisturbed. "Johnnie?
Johnnie?" he called. The faded, weak eyes peered about.

Barber acted quickly. With a muttered curse, he lunged across the room
to Cis, snarled into her face as he reached her, and wrenched the roses
out of her hand. "I'll hurt 'em all r