y went for shoes and blouses and lingerie and silk
stockings. She was forever buying a vivid necktie for her father and
dressing up her protesting mother in gay colors that went ill with the
drab, wrinkled face. "If it wasn't for me, you'd go round looking like
one of those Polack women down by the tracks," Tessie would scold.
"It's a wonder you don't wear a shawl!"

That was the Tessie of six months ago, gay, carefree, holding the reins
of her life in her own two capable hands. Three nights a week, and
Sunday, she saw Chuck Mory. When she went downtown on Saturday night
it was frankly to meet Chuck, who was waiting for her on Schroeder's
drugstore corner. He knew it, and she knew it. Yet they always went
through a little ceremony. She and Cora, turning into Grand from
Winnebago Street, would make for the post office. Then down the length
of Grand with a leaping glance at Schroeder's corner before they
reached it. Yes, there they were, very clean-shaven, clean-shirted,
slick-looking. Tessie would have known Chuck's blond head among a
thousand. An air of studied hauteur and indifference as they
approached the corner. Heads turned the other way. A low whistle from
the boys.

"Oh, how do!"

"Good evening!"

Both greetings done with careful surprise. Then on down the street.
On the way back you took the inside of the walk, and your hauteur was
now stony to the point of insult. Schroeder's corner simply did not
exist. On as far as Megan's, which you entered and inspected, up one
brightly lighted aisle and down the next. At the dress-goods counter
there was a neat little stack of pamphlets entitled "In the World of
Fashion." You took one and sauntered out leisurely. Down Winnebago
Street now, homeward bound, talking animatedly and seemingly
unconscious of quick footsteps sounding nearer and nearer. Just past
the Burke House, where the residential district began, and where the
trees cast their kindly shadows: "Can I see you home?" A hand slipped
through her arm; a little tingling thrill.

"Oh, why, how do, Chuck! Hello, Scotty. Sure, if you're going our
way."

At every turn Chuck left her side and dashed around behind her in order
to place himself at her right again, according to the rigid rule of
Chippewa etiquette. He took her arm only at street crossings until
they reached the tracks, which perilous spot seemed to justify him in
retaining his hold throughout the remainder of the stroll. Usua