reunion later. What I want to know is can you play by ear?"

"Yes, but--"

He leaned far over the counter. "I knew it the minute I heard you play.
You've got the touch. Now listen. See if you can get this, and fake the
bass."

He fixed his sombre and hypnotic eyes on Terry. His mouth screwed up
into a whistle. The tune--a tawdry but haunting little melody--came
through his lips. And Terry's quick ear sensed that every note was flat.
She turned back to the piano. "Of course you know you flatted every
note," she said.

This time it was the blonde woman who laughed, and the man who flushed.
Terry cocked her head just a little to one side, like a knowing bird,
looked up into space beyond the piano top, and played the lilting little
melody with charm and fidelity. The dark young man followed her with a
wagging of the head and little jerks of both outspread hands. His
expression was beatific, enraptured. He hummed a little under his breath
and any one who was music wise would have known that he was just a
half-beat behind her all the way.

When she had finished he sighed deeply, ecstatically. He bent his lean
frame over the counter and, despite his swart colouring, seemed to
glitter upon her--his eyes, his teeth, his very finger-nails.

"Something led me here. I never come up on Tuesdays. But something--"

"You was going to complain," put in his lady, heavily, "about that Teddy
Sykes at the Palace Gardens singing the same songs this week that you
been boosting at the Inn."

He put up a vibrant, peremptory hand. "Bah! What does that matter now!
What does anything matter now! Listen Miss--ah--Miss?--"

"Pl--Sheehan. Terry Sheehan."

He gazed off a moment into space. "H'm. 'Leon Sammett in Songs. Miss
Terry Sheehan at the Piano.' That doesn't sound bad. Now listen, Miss
Sheehan. I'm singing down at the University Inn. The Gottschalk song
hits. I guess you know my work. But I want to talk to you, private. It's
something to your interest. I go on down at the Inn at six. Will you
come and have a little something with Ruby and me? Now?"

"Now?" faltered Terry, somewhat helplessly. Things seemed to be moving
rather swiftly for her, accustomed as she was to the peaceful routine of
the past four years.

"Get your hat. It's your life chance. Wait till you see your name in
two-foot electrics over the front of every big-time house in the
country. You've got music in you. Tie to me and you're made." He turned
to the woman be