e a dress for Saturday night, I wonder if that old chiffon,
with a new--"

* * * * *

Chug Scaritt came home in September. The First National Bank Building
seemed, somehow, to have shrunk. And his mother hadn't had all that gray
hair when he left. He put eager questions about the garage. Rudie had
made out, all right, hadn't he? Good old scout.

"The boys down at the garage are giving some kind of a party for you.
Old Rudie was telling me about it. I've got a grand supper for you
to-night, Chug."

"Where's this party? I don't want any party."

"Woodman's Hall, I think they said. There was some girl called up
yesterday. Wanda, her name sounded like. I couldn't--"

"Don't they give dances any more at the Soldiers' Club down on Elm?"

"Oh, that's closed, long. There was some talk of using it for what they
called a community club. The _Eagle_ was boosting for a big new place.
What they called a Community Memorial Centre. But I don't know. It kind
of fell through, I guess."

"I won't go," said Chug, suddenly.

"Go where, Chug?"

But instead of answering, Chug put his second question.

"Have you seen--is that--I wonder if that Weld girl's back."

"My, yes. Papers were full of it. Old Oakley gave her a big dance, and
all, at the Country Club. They say--"

A week later, his arm about Wanda's big, yielding waist, he was dancing
at Woodman's Hall. There was about her a cheap, heavy scent. She had on
a georgette blouse and high-heeled shoes. She clung to Chug and smiled
up at him. Wanda had bad teeth--yellow, with a sort of scum over them.

"I sure was lonesome for you, Chug. You're some dancer, I'll say.
Honest, I could dance with you all night." A little pressure of her arm.

Somewhere in the recesses of his brain a memory cell broke. Dimly he
heard himself saying, "Oh, they all tell me that."

"Crazy about yourself, ain't you!"

"Not as crazy as I am about you," with tardy gallantry.

Then, suddenly, Chug stopped dancing. He stopped, and stepped back from
Wanda's arms. Bergstrom's two-piece orchestra was in the throes of its
jazziest fox-trot number. Chug stood there a moment, in the centre of
the floor, staring at Wanda's face that was staring back at him in
vacuous surprise. He turned, without a word, and crossed the crowded
floor, bumping couples blindly as he went. And so down the rickety
wooden stairs, into the street, and out into the decent darkness of
Chippewa's night