“You ain’t eatin’ nothin’ yourse’f, Howard,” said Florette acidly.  “W’y don’ you have some oatmeal?”

“Tha’s right!” shouted Howard.  “Side with the kid against me!  Tha’s all the thanks I get for tryin’ to make a man out o’ the li’l sissy.  Oughta known better’n to marry a woman with a spoiled brat.”

“Sh-h-h!” whispered Florette.  “Don’t tell the whole resterunt about your fam’ly troubles.”

“Say,” hissed Howard, bending down toward her and thrusting out his jaw, “lay off o’ me, will yer?”

“Lay off yourse’f!” retorted Florette under her breath.  “If you wanna fight le’s go back to the hotel where it’s private.”

“I don’ min’ tellin’ the world I bin stung!” roared Howard.

Florette flushed up to the slightly darker roots of her too-blonde hair.

“You?” she gasped furiously.  “After all I’ve put up with!”

“Say, you ain’t got any kick comin’!  I treated you white, marryin’ you, an’ no questions asked.”

“What-ta you mean?” breathed Florette, growing deathly pale.

Freddy, alarmed, half rose from his chair.

“Sit down there you!” roared Howard.  “What-ta I mean, Miss Innocence?” he said, mimicking Florette’s tone.  “Oh, no, of course you ain’t no idea of what I mean!”

“Come on, Freddy,” Florette broke in quickly.  “It’s a katzenjammer.  He ain’t got over last night yet.”

She seized Freddy’s hand and walked rapidly toward the door.  Howard lurched after her, followed by the interested stares of the spectators.  On the street he caught up with her and the quarrel recommenced.

The act went badly that afternoon.  It must be hard to frolic in midair with a heavy heart.  Under cover of the gay music there were angry muttered words and reproaches.

“Yoo-hoo!  Yoo-hoo!” Florette would trill happily to the audience as she poised on one toe.  “What-ta you tryin’ to do—­shake me off’n the bar?” she would mutter under her breath to her partner.

“That’s right!  Leggo o’ me an’ lemme bus’ my bean, damn you!” snarled Howard.  And to the audience he sang, “Oh, ain’t it great to have a little girlie you can trust for—­life!”

They were still muttering angrily as they came off.  The handclapping had been faint.

“Aw, for God’s sake, stop your jawin’!” half screamed Florette.  “It ain’t no more my fault than it is yours.  If they don’ like us they don’ like us, tha’s all.”

She ran up the stairs, sobbing.  Howard followed her.  They shared a dressing room now.  It was small, and Freddy was in the way, although he tried to squeeze himself into the corner by the dingy stationary washstand.  Howard shoved Freddy.  Florette protested.  The quarrelling broke out afresh.  Howard tipped over a bottle of liquid white.  Florette screamed at him, and he raised his fist.  Freddy darted out of his corner.

“Say, ya big stiff, cut out that rough stuff, see?” cried little Freddy in the only language of chivalry that he knew.