and gobbled his bit of food
filched from pot or frying pan.

They had been a little surprised about Nettie. George was in the bond
business and she worked for the same firm. A plump, handsome,
eye-glassed woman with fine fresh colouring, a clear skin that old man
Minick called appetizing, and a great coil of smooth dark hair. She wore
plain tailored things and understood the bond business in a way that
might have led you to think hers a masculine mind if she hadn't been so
feminine, too, in her manner. Old man Minick had liked her better than
Ma Minick had.

Nettie had called him Pop and joked with him and almost flirted with him
in a daughterly sort of way. He liked to squeeze her plump arm and pinch
her soft cheek between thumb and forefinger. She would laugh up at him
and pat his shoulder and that shoulder would straighten spryly and he
would waggle his head doggishly.

"Look out there, George!" the others in the room would say. "Your dad'll
cut you out. First thing you know you'll lose your girl, that's all."

Nettie would smile. Her teeth were white and strong and even. Old man
Minick would laugh and wink, immensely pleased and flattered. "We
understand each other, don't we, Pop?" Nettie would say.

During the first years of their married life Nettie stayed home. She
fussed happily about her little flat, gave parties, went to parties,
played bridge. She seemed to love the ease, the relaxation, the small
luxuries. She and George were very much in love. Before her marriage she
had lived in a boarding house on Michigan Avenue. At mention of it now
she puckered up her face. She did not attempt to conceal her fondness
for these five rooms of hers, so neat, so quiet, so bright, so cosy.
Over-stuffed velvet in the living room, with silk lampshades, and small
tables holding books and magazines and little boxes containing
cigarettes or hard candies. Very modern. A gate-legged table in the
dining room. Caramel-coloured walnut in the bedroom, rich and dark and
smooth. She loved it. An orderly woman. Everything in its place. Before
eleven o'clock the little apartment was shining, spotless; cushions
plumped, crumbs brushed, vegetables in cold water. The telephone.
"Hello!... Oh, hello, Bess! Oh, hours ago ... Not a thing ... Well, if
George is willing ... I'll call him up and ask him. We haven't seen a
show in two weeks. I'll call you back within the next half hour ... No,
I haven't done my marketing yet.... Yes, and have