his lips had felt the swift sharp bruising contact of hers and her teeth had pushed aside his yielding lips and had met his.
"I'm sorry—" she suddenly had cried. "This will spoil everything now."
He had felt the need for frankness and had said quietly: "I don't see why."
"Go home," she had cried. "Hurry—please, before it's too late."
The next morning, she had had a headache. He had wondered if she had been drinking. She was fond of him, he decided. And he was fond of her. They would be very successful together, he had thought. They had dined together that night and he had tried to explain that he earnestly wanted to laugh and to play and to be gay with her. But how could he? His money was nearly gone. If they did not get an engagement soon, he would go home to Selma. And a return to Selma could destroy him utterly, now that he had tasted the joys of life in Hollywood.
She had apparently misunderstood him. She had thought that he felt it was her duty to get an engagement and that she had failed.
"We'll be working by the week after next," she had said harshly.
How she had obtained the booking at San Bernardino, he did not know. She merely had told him that she had taken three days at the valley town, five dollars a day and bus fare.
"We won't make a cent," she had added. "But you'll find out if you are a dancer or not. I'm betting you are."
"I'm a dancer all right."
"And not much more. Listen to me, youngster. I've
