d scrapes his hoof.

"Enough to wreck most any career, wasn't it?" goes on Millie. "Think of
it! Me, who'd come down to New York with my head so full of ambitions
there wasn't any room to catch cold, and then in a little over a year to
go and marry the first good-natured Irishman that asked me! You see, I'm
only half Irish myself,--Mother was Argentine Spanish,--which makes me
so different from Tim. Look at him! Would you dream he had a bit of
sense? But he's--oh, he's Tim, that's all. And not many of 'em come
better. Driving a motor truck, he was, and satisfied at that. It was up
at a Terrace Garden dance we got acquainted. No music at all in his
head; but in his feet--say, he just naturally has to let his toes follow
the tune, and if ragtime hadn't been invented he'd have walked slow all
his life. And me? Well, I ought to dance, with Father a born fiddler,
and Mother brought up with castanets in her hands. We danced twelve of
the fourteen numbers together that night, and I never even noticed he
had red hair. I'd been dying to dance for months. Some partner, Tim was
too. That began it. We joined a class and started learning the new
steps. And almost before I knew it I was Mrs. Moran. We'd been married
nearly a month before I woke up to what a fool thing I'd done. There I
was, tryin' to feed and clothe two people, besides payin' the rent and
furniture installments, all on sixteen per. I got a job as cashier in a
quick lunch place next day. Tim didn't like it a bit; did you, Tim?"

Mr. Moran grins good-natured.

"That's the way he stormed around at home," says Millie. "But I had a
scheme. We'd seen some of this dancing done on the stage, not much
better than we could do ourselves. 'Tim dear,' says I, 'we've been
dancing for the fun of it. It's the best thing you do. Now let's make it
pay.' He thought I was crazy. I believe he had an idea he was born to
drive a gasoline truck, and that it would be wicked to try anything
else. But I do the heavy thinking for the Moran family. I nearly starved
him until I'd saved out a tenspot. Then I went to the best tango
professor I could find and took an hour lesson. Next I taught Tim. We
cleared out our little dining room and had our meals off the gas range.
My next splurge was a music machine and some dance records. One Saturday
Tim brought home two dollars for overtime, and that night we watched
Maurice from the second balcony. Then we really began practicing. Why,
some nights I ke