thed her waist, looked
cheerful, rocked, and spoke; embroidered, patted her hair, smoothed
her sleeve, looked amiable, rocked, and spoke--embroidered, pat----

At a quarter to ten Carl gave himself permission to go. Said he: "I'll
have to get on the job pretty early to-morrow. Not much taking it easy
here in New York, the way you can in Joralemon, eh? So I guess I'd
better----"

"I'm sorry you have to go so early." Gertie carefully stuck her
embroidery needle into her doily, rolled up the doily meticulously,
laid it down on the center-table, straightened the pile of magazines
which Carl had deranged, and rose. "But I'm glad you could drop up
this evening. Come up any time you haven't anything better to do.
Oh--what about our tramp? If you know some place that is better than
Bronx Park, we might try it."

"Why--uh--yes--why, sure; we'll have to, some time."

"And, Carl, you're coming up to have your Christmas turkey with us,
aren't you?"

"I'd like to, a lot, but darn it, I've accepted 'nother invitation."

That was absolutely untrue, and Carl was wondering why he had lied,
when the storm broke.

Gertie's right arm, affectedly held out from the elbow, the hand
drooping, in the attitude of a refined hostess saying good-by, dropped
stiffly to her side. Slowly she thrust out both arms, shoulder-high on
either side, with her fists clenched; her head back and slightly on
one side; her lips open in agony--the position of crucifixion. Her
eyes looked up, unseeing; then closed tight. She drew a long breath,
like a sigh that was too weary for sound, and her plump, placid left
hand clutched her panting breast, while her right arm dropped again.
All the passion of tragedy seemed to shriek in her hopeless gesture,
and her silence was a wail muffled and despairing.

Carl stared, twisting his watch-chain with nervous fingers, wanting to
flee.

It was raw woman, with all the proprieties of Joralemon and St.
Orgul's cut away, who spoke, her voice constantly rising:

"Oh, Carl--Carl! Oh, why, why, why! Oh, why don't you want me to go
walking with you, now? Why don't you want to go anywhere with me any
more? Have I displeased you? Oh, I didn't mean to! Why do I bore you
so?"

"Oh--Gertie--oh--gee!--thunder!" whimpered a dismayed youth. A more
mature Hawk Ericson struggled to life and soothed her: "Gertie, honey,
I didn't mean----Listen----"

But she moaned on, standing rigid, her left hand on her breast, her
eyes red, moi