ge
and mysterious things to discuss, so I would appreciate it if you would
see us later instead of now." With this, I give her arm a playful pat,
and she blushes and takes the hint.

When we are alone, I ask Hotlips, now what is the trouble which he has.

"Like I tell you before," Hotlips says, "I have a problem. So here it
is." He takes a deep breath and lets fly all at once. "I am in love of
the thrush, Stella Starlight."

I am drinking my beer when he says this, and suddenly I get a snootful
and start coughing, and he whams me on the back with his big paw so I
stop, more in self-defense than in his curing me. Somehow, the idea of a
big bruiser like Hotlips Grogan in love of a sweet fluffy thing like
Stella Starlight seems funny.

"So?" I say.

"So that is why I play so bad tonight," he says. Seeing I do not quite
catch on to the full intent of his remarks, he continues. "I am a happy
man, Eddie. I got my trumpet, a paid-for suit of clothes, a one-room
apartment with green wallpaper. Could a man ask for much more?"

"Not unless he is greedy," I agree.

Hotlips Grogan is staring at his beer as though he sees a worm in it and
looking sadder than ever. "It is a strange and funny thing," he says,
dreamy-like. "There she is singing, and there I am giving with the
trumpet, and all of a great big sudden--whammo!--it hits me, and I feel
a funny feeling in my stomach, like maybe it is full of supersuds or
something, and my mouth is dry just like cotton candy."

"Indigestion," I suggest.

He shakes his big head. "No," he says, "it is worse than indigestion."
He points to his stomach and sighs. "It is love."

"Fine," I say, happy it is not worse. "All you got to do is tell her,
get married and have lots and lots of kids."

Hotlips Grogan's big eyebrows play hopscotch around his button nose, so
I can tell he does not think I solve all his troubles with my
suggestion.

"You are a good man, Eddie," he tells me, "but you are too intellectual.
This is an affair of the heart." He sighs again. "I am never in love of
a girl before," he goes on, more worried, "and I do not know how to act.
Besides, the thrush is with us only a day, and Frankie already is making
with the eyes."

"So what should I do, give you lessons?" The idea is so laughable I
laugh at it. "Anyway, Frankie always makes with the eyes at thrushes."

"Yes," Hotlips Grogan admits, "but never before have I been in love of
any of the thrushes Frankie has mad