“Aw, Mr. Blaney!  Ain’t you killing!” She hurried down the room, laughing.

* * * * *

At Sharkey’s on Saturday night the entire basement cafe and dance-hall assumed a hebdomadal air of expectancy; extra marble-topped tables were crowded about the polished square of dancing-space; the odor of hops and sawdust and cookery hung in visible mists over the bar.

Girls, with white faces and red lips and bare throats, sat alone at tables or tete-a-tete with men too old or too young, and ate; but drank with keener appetite.

A self-playing piano performed beneath a large painting of an undraped Psyche; a youth with yellow fingers sang of Love.  A woman whose shame was gone acquired a sudden hysteria at her lone table over her milky-green drink, and a waiter hustled her out none too gently.

In the foyer at seven o’clock Sara Juke met Charley Chubb, and he slid up quite frankly behind her and kissed her on the lips.  At Sharkey’s a miss is as good as her kiss!

“You—­you quit!  You mustn’t!”

She sprang back, quivering, her face cold-looking and blue; and he regarded her with his mouth quirking.

“Huh!  Hoity-toity, ain’t you?  Hoity-toity and white-faced and late, all at once, ain’t you?  Say, them airs don’t get across with me.  Come on!  I’m hungry.”

“I didn’t mean to yell, Charley—­only you scared me.  I thought maybe it was one of them fresh guys that hang round here; all of ’em look so dopey and all.  I—­You know I never was strong for this place, Charley.”

“Beginning to nag, are you?”

“No, no, Charley.  No, no!”

They drew up at a small table.

“No fancy keeling act to-night, kiddo.  I ain’t taking out a hospital ward, you know.  Gad!  I like you, though, when you’re white-looking like this!  Why’d you dodge me at noon to-day and to-night after closing?  New guy?  I won’t stand for it, you know, you little white-faced Sweetness, you!”

“I hadda go somewheres, Charley.  I came near not coming to-night, neither, Charley.”

“What’ll you eat?”

“I ain’t hungry.”

“Thirsty, eh?”

“No.”

He regarded her over the rim of the smirchy bill of fare.  “What are you, then, you little white-faced, big-eyed devil?”

“Charley, I—­I got something to—­to tell you.  I—­”

“Bring me a lamb stew and a beer, light.  What’ll you have, little white-face?”

“Some milk and—­”

“She means with suds on, waiter.”

“No—­no; milk, I said—­milk over toast.  Milk toast—­I gotta eat it.  Why don’t you lemme talk, Charley?  I gotta tell you.”

He was suddenly sober.  “What’s hurting you?  One milk toast, waiter.  Tell them in the kitchen the lady’s teeth hurt her.  What’s up, Sweetness?” And he leaned across the table to imprint a fresh kiss on her lips.

“Don’t—­don’t—­don’t!  For Gawd’s sake, don’t!”