questioning, insistent. Then
a silence.

Lilly darted into the kitchen and stooped absorbed over the burbling
coffee. A key rattled the front-room lock, and she bent lower over the
stove. She heard her name called sharply; a door slammed, and her
husband bounded into the kitchen, his face streaming perspiration and
his collar like a rag about his neck.

"Hello, honey! Gee! You gimme a scare there fer a minute. I thought the
heat might 'a' got you."

He gathered her in his arms, pushed back her head, and looked into her
reluctant eyes.

"What's the matter, hon? You ain't sick, are you?"

She wriggled herself free of his arms and turned to the stove.

"No," she said, in a monotone, "I ain't sick."

He regarded her with a worried pucker between his eyes.

"Aw, come on, Lil--tell a fellow what's the matter, can't you? It ain't
like you to be like this."

"Nothin'!" she insisted.

"You gimme a swell turn there fer a minute. They're droppin' like flies
to-day--hottest day in five summers."

Silence.

"Whew!" He peeled off his coat and hung it, with his imitation Panama
hat, behind the door; his pink shirt showed dark streaks of
perspiration; and he tugged at the rear button of his limp collar.

"Be-e-lieve me, the pianner business ain't what it's cracked up to be!
There ain't a picture house in town got the Gem beat when it comes to
heat. Had to take off the Flyin' Papinta act to-day and run in an extry
picture because two of the kids give out with the heat. I've played to
over ten thousand feet o' films to-day; and be-e-lieve me, it was some
stunt!"

He sluiced his face with cold water at the sink, and slush-slushed his
head in a roller-towel, talking the while.

"I never seen the--extry picture--they--run in to cover the--Papinta
act; and before I--could keep up--with the film--I was givin' ragtime
fer a funeral. You oughta heard Joe squeal!" He laughed and threw his
arms affectionately across his wife's shoulder. "Eh--ragtime fer a
funeral! Fine pianner-player you got fer a husband, honey!"

Given a checked suit, a slender bamboo cane, and a straw Katy slightly
askew, Charley might have epitomized vaudeville. He had once won a
silver watch-fob for pre-eminent buck-dancing at a Coney Island
informal, and could sing "Oh, You Great Big Beautiful Doll!" with nasal
perfection.

"Yes, sirree, Lil; you got a fine pianner-player fer a husband!"

She squirmed away from his touch and carried the coffee-pot to