still fresh in his mind. He was tired; he had eaten nothing since morning. And upstairs in that bare room his girl-wife was sitting alone, waiting for him. What he needed was to be in the twilight with her, and there to pour out his profound discouragement and his fears. And to be comforted. Oh, certainly to be comforted.
Kay was waiting for him. She had done what she could to make the bare shabby room comfortable. The gold fittings of her dressing case lay on the bureau, the sagging double bed was neatly made. She asked him no questions, gave him a quick glance as he kissed her and then looked away.
"Well, don't you want to know what he said?"
"I didn't like to ask, Tom. Besides, I think I know."
He wandered to the bureau and absently picked up one of the gold trinkets there. Suddenly his bitterness welled up again.
"Why don't you go home? Back to this sort of thing? I've been telling you all along that I'm through, but you won't believe it."
"Certainly you're not through, Tom. And I'm strong, I can work."
"And keep me? I'll cut my throat first."
At eight o'clock he went to thirty-four. Kay, listening to the tap-tap of his stick, was too filled with love and pity to feel any resentment. Maybe these men could do for him what she could not, cheer him, encourage him. But as time went on the nature of that cheering was only too obvious; voices rose, Tom's among them. George, the shirt-sleeved colored boy, was carrying trays and glasses past her room, a traveling salesman stuck his head out and shouted for quiet.
Then—at eleven o'clock it was—the door to thirty-four opened, and the crowd emerged into the hall. She could hear loud talking.
"Aw, get back, Tom. Jush a little shong to make her welcome!"
"Come on now, fellows, all together!"
There was a shuffling, restrained laughter, and suddenly
