hy I spent my best years down in Twenty-third
Street. What did I know about the _big_ little things!--the
carriage-call stunt and the sachet-bags in the lining and the blue and
gold labels, all _little_ things that get _big_ results. I never had a
head for the things that hold the rich trade, like the walking models,
or the French accent."

"You got the head for the big things, and that's what counts."

"That's why, when you say you can't line up alongside of me, it's no
excuse."

"I--I mean it."

"Just because I got a head for designing doesn't make me a nine days'
wonder. Why don't you--you come right out and say what you mean,
Phonzie?"

"Why, I--I don't even know how to talk to a woman like you, madam. La-La
girls have always been my pace."

"I know, Phonzie, and I--I ain't blaming you. A slick-looking fellow
like you can skylark around as he pleases and don't need to have time
for--the overworked, tired-out ones like me."

"Madam, I never dreamed--"

"Dreamed! Phonzie, I--I've got no shame if I tell you, but, God! how
many nights I--I've lain right here on this couch dreaming of--of--"

"Well?"

"Of you and me, Phonzie, hitting it off together."

"Madam!"

Her head burrowed deeper in her arms, her voice muffed in their depth.

"Madam!"

"How many times I've dreamed, Phonzie. You and me, real partners in the
business and--and in everything. Us in a little home together, one of
the five-room flats down on the next floor, with a life-size kitchen and
a life-size dining-room and--and a life-size--Aw, Phonzie, you--you'll
think I'm crazy."

"Madam, why, madam, I just don't know."

"Them's the dreams a silly old thing like me, that never had nothing
but work and--and nothing else in her life, can lay right here on this
couch, night after night, and--Gawd! I--I bet you think I--I'm just
crazy, Phonzie."

For answer he leaned over and took her small figure in his arms, wiping
away with his sheer untried handkerchief the tears; but fresh ones
sashayed down her face and flowed over her words.

"Phonzie, tell me, do you--do you--think--"

He held her closer. "Sure, madam, I do."

* * * * *

On the wings of a twelvemonth, spring had come around again and the
taste of summer was like poppy-leaves between the teeth, and the
perennial open shirtwaists and open street-cars bloomed, even as the
distant larkspur in the distant field. At six o'clock with darkness
came a spa