the
little set-for-two table. The chops steamed from a blue-and-white plate.
Her husband, unburdened with subtleties, straddled his chair and
scraped up to the table; his collapsed collar, with two protruding ends
of red necktie, lay on the window-sill; the sleeves of his pink shirt
were rolled back to the elbow.
The meal opened in a silence broken only by the clat-clat of dishes and
the wail of suffering babies.
"Poor kiddies, they ain't got a chance in a hundred. Gee! If I had the
coin, wouldn't I give them a handout of fresh air and milk? I'd give
every one of the durn little things a Delmonico banquet. I'd jest as
soon get hit in the head as hear them kids bawl."
Suddenly he glanced up from his plate and pushed himself from the table;
his wife was making bread-crumbs out of her bread.
"Say, Lil, I ain't never seen you like this before! Ain't you feeling
good? Come on--tell a feller what's the matter with you."
He rose and came round to her chair, leaning over its back and taking
her cheeks between thumb and forefinger.
"Come on, Lil; what's the matter? You ain't sore at me, are you?"
"Can't a girl get tired once in a while?" she said.
"Poor little pussy!" He patted her hair and returned to his place.
"Guess what I got!" groping significantly in the direction of his
hip-pocket. "Something you been havin' your heart set on fer a long
time. Guess!"
"I dunno," she said.
"Aw, gwan, kiddo! Give a guess."
"I can't guess, Charley."
"Well, then, I'll give you three guesses."
"I dunno."
"Look--now can you?"
He showed her the top of a small, square box tied with blue cord. It
bore a jeweler's mark.
"Can you guess now, Lil? It's something you been aching fer."
"Lemme alone!" she said.
He looked at her in frank surprise, slowly replacing the box in his
hip-pocket.
"Durned if I know what's got you!" he muttered.
"Nothing ain't got me," she insisted.
He brightened.
"Poor little girl! Never mind; next summer I'm goin' to grab that
Atlantic City job I been tellin' you about. The old man said again
yesterday that, jest as sure as he opens his sheet-music bazar down
there next season, it's me fer the keyboard."
"His schemes don't ever turn out. I know his talk," his wife objected.
"Sure they will this time, Lil; he's got a feller to back it. He dropped
in special to hear me play the 'Louisanner Rusticanner Rag' to-day; an'
honest, Lil, he couldn't keep his feet still! I sprung
|