." He spoke in a quietly reminiscent tone.

She turned and looked at him curiously. "But I said, 'What are _you_
doing _now_ at the Works?'"

"I know," he continued, in the same tone. "That's what I'm doing at
the Plow Factory. Keeping the water running."

She smiled, just a flash of a smile. "Doesn't sound so bad, even if
you are secretive about it. How did the nigger take care of his job?"

Joe looked up quickly. "Oh--he? He fell asleep. And then he fell in
the creek."

Mary Louise was watching him, waiting for him to finish. At last he
seemed to have got her entire attention. "And then?"

"Then he got pneumonia--and died."

They crossed the street. Up ahead the lights of the theatre gleamed
dazzling white. The crowd was getting almost too thick to permit
conversation.

"You don't like your job then?"

He flared into sudden unexpected defense of it. "Well, I haven't gone
to sleep on it yet."

They said no more, for the task of passing the ticket chopper and then
of getting settled in their seats was all absorbing. And then directly
the curtain rose and Joe found himself slipping into a delightfully
relaxed forgetfulness. He was being amused. His good humour was
returning. He got an occasional glance at Mary Louise, sometimes
during contagious gales of laughter that would sweep the audience, and
saw her smiling slightly, mostly with her eyes; and was puzzled, for
the humour was not that sort. Had he stopped to think, or had he been
more experienced, he would not have been thus puzzled, for he would
have realized that the sudden putting on of sophistication is always a
puzzling thing.

But he banished the question and gave himself up entirely to
enjoyment. And when the final curtain fell he rose to his feet with a
faint inner sigh of regret. It was with high good humour that he
gained his companion's side outside the theatre.

"We'll get a bite to eat down in the Rathskeller," he suggested gaily.

"No, Joe, let's not. This is enough for one evening." She turned as if
to start southward, toward home, but he seized her arm, laughing:

"Maybe it's enough for you, but it's not enough for me. Come on. Be a
sport. You've been dodging me long enough."

"Dodging you?" She was all hurt surprise as he hurried her along.

Joe's method was improving. "Well, come along, then--if you don't want
me to think so."

Mary Louise let it go at that. She came.

A revolving door that swept outward musty and yet alluring