ownstairs, getting my supper ready.'

"And then he'd come tiptoeing over to my bed, and stoop down, and kiss
me, and his face would be all cold, and rough, and his mustache would be
wet, and he'd smell out-doorsy and smoky, the way husbands do when they
come in. And I'd reach up and pat his cheek and say, 'You need a shave,
old man.'

"'I know it,' he'd say, rubbing his cheek up against mine.

"'Hurry up and wash, now. Supper'll be ready.'

"'Where are the kids?' he'd ask. 'The house is as quiet as the grave.
Hurry up and get well, kid. It's darn lonesome without you at the table,
and the children's manners are getting something awful, and I never can
find my shirts. Lordy, I guess we won't celebrate when you get up!
Can't you eat a little something nourishing for supper--beefsteak, or a
good plate of soup, or something?'

"Men are like that, you know. So I'd say then: 'Run along, you old
goose! You'll be suggesting sauerkraut and wieners next. Don't you let
Millie have any marmalade to-night. She's got a spoiled stomach.'

"And then he'd pound off down the hall to wash up, and I'd shut my eyes,
and smile to myself, and everything would be all right, because he was
home."

There was a long silence. Effie's eyes were closed. But two great tears
stole out from beneath each lid and coursed their slow way down her thin
cheeks. She did not raise her hand to wipe them away.

Gabie's other hand reached over and met the one that already clasped
Effie's.

"Effie," he said, in a voice that was as hoarse as it was gentle.

"H'm?" said Effie.

"Will you marry me?"

"I shouldn't wonder," replied Effie, opening her eyes. "No, don't kiss
me. You might catch something. But say, reach up and smooth my hair
away from my forehead, will you, and call me a couple of fool names. I
don't care how clumsy you are about it. I could stand an awful fuss
being made over me, without being spoiled any."

Three weeks later Effie was back at the store. Her skirt didn't fit in
the back, and the little hollow places in her cheeks did not take the
customary dash of rouge as well as when they had been plumper. She held
a little impromptu reception that extended down as far as the lingeries
and up as far as the rugs. The old sparkle came back to Effie's eye.
The old assurance and vigor seemed to return. By the time that Miss
Weinstein, of the French lingeries, arrived, breathless, to greet her
Effie was herself again.