not. She laughed a reckless
little laugh.

"Thanks for helping teach me my trade, Mr. Ballou. 'Course I only been
at it over three years now, so I ain't got the hang of it yet."

He straightened up slowly, and as he did so he rested a hand on her
shoulder for a brief moment. She did not shrug it off.

That night, after supper, Tessie put on her hat and strolled down to
Park Avenue. It wasn't for the walk. Tessie had never been told to
exercise systematically for her body's good, or her mind's. She went
in a spirit of unwholesome brooding curiosity and a bitter resentment.
Going to France, was she? Lots of good she'd do there. Better stay
home and--and what? Tessie cast about in her mind for a fitting job
for Angie. Guess she might's well go, after all. Nobody'd miss her,
unless it was her father, and he didn't see her but about a third of
the time. But in Tessie's heart was a great envy of this girl who
could bridge the hideous waste of ocean that separated her from her
man. Bleeding France. Yeh! Joke!

The Hatton place, built and landscaped twenty years before, occupied a
square block in solitary grandeur, the show place of Chippewa. In
architectural style it was an impartial mixture of Norman castle,
French chateau, and Rhenish schloss, with a dash of Coney Island about
its facade. It represented Old Man Hatton's realized dream of landed
magnificence.

Tessie, walking slowly past it, and peering through the high iron
fence, could not help noting an air of unwonted excitement about the
place, usually so aloof, so coldly serene. Automobiles standing out in
front. People going up and down. They didn't look very cheerful.
Just as if it mattered whether anything happened to her or not!

Tessie walked around the block and stood a moment, uncertainly. Then
she struck off down Grand Avenue and past Donovan's pool shack. A
little group of after-supper idlers stood outside, smoking and
gossiping, as she knew there would be. As she turned the corner she
saw Nap Ballou among them. She had known that, too. As she passed she
looked straight ahead, without bowing. But just past the Burke House he
caught up with her. No half-shy "Can I walk home with you?" from Nap
Ballou. No. Instead: "Hello, sweetheart!"

"Hello, yourself."

"Somebody's looking mighty pretty this evening, all dolled up in pink."

"Think so?" She tried to be pertly indifferent, but it was good to
have someone following, some