d, and I know just what it was
about. Oh, I don't mean the very thing it was about; but the kind of
thing. I'm going to do something for you, Terry, that I wouldn't take
the trouble to do for most women. But I guess I ain't had all the
softness knocked out of me yet, though it's a wonder. And I guess I
remember too plain the decent kid you was in the old days. What was
the name of that little small-time house me and Jim used to play?
Bijou, that's it; Bijou."

The band struck up a new tune. Leon Sammett--slim, sleek, lithe in his
evening clothes--appeared with a little fair girl in pink chiffon. The
woman reached across the table and put one pudgy, jeweled hand on
Terry's arm. "He'll be through in ten minutes. Now listen to me. I
left Jim four years ago, and there hasn't been a minute since then, day
or night, when I wouldn't have crawled back to him on my hands and
knees if I could. But I couldn't. He wouldn't have me now. How could
he? How do I know you've quarreled? I can see it in your eyes. They
look just the way mine have felt for four years, that's how. I met up
with this boy, and there wasn't anybody to do the turn for me that I'm
trying to do for you. Now get this. I left Jim because when he ate
corn on the cob he always closed his eyes and it drove me wild. Don't
laugh."

"I'm not laughing," said Terry.

"Women are like that. One night--we was playing Fond du Lac; I
remember just as plain--we was eating supper before the show and Jim
reached for one of those big yellow ears, and buttered and salted it,
and me kind of hanging on to the edge of the table with my nails.
Seemed to me if he shut his eyes when he put his teeth into that ear of
corn I'd scream. And he did. And I screamed. And that's all."

Terry sat staring at her with a wide-eyed stare, like a sleepwalker.
Then she wet her lips slowly. "But that's almost the very----"

"Kid, go on back home. I don't know whether it's too late or not, but
go anyway. If you've lost him I suppose it ain't any more than you
deserve; but I hope to God you don't get your deserts this time. He's
almost through. If he sees you going he can't quit in the middle of
his song to stop you. He'll know I put you wise, and he'll prob'ly
half kill me for it. But it's worth it. You get."

And Terry--dazed, shaking, but grateful--fled. Down the noisy aisle,
up the stairs, to the street. Back to her rooming house. Out again,
with her suitcase, an