decanter which happened to be nearest and which held sherry. He poured two wine glasses full and made peace offering.
"Here, Jo."
She took her glass and drank; he emptied his and proffered the decanter, and after she had said, "No, thanks," twice, he poured himself another glass and drank it. He extracted a cigarette from one of his gold gift boxes and tossed it to her.
She lit it and drew a few puffs, then she put it down.
"What brand you want?" he asked, watching her and reaching for another box.
"That was mine; but it hurts my throat to-night. Had to read back specifications, nearly steady, for three hours to Hoberg."
"Did you, kid?" Ket asked, with sympathy as ready as his previous crossness, and he drew appreciatively on his cigarette.
"What if I get tired or hoarse?" she retorted. "There's nothing in me. I can type and spell some and catch mistakes, when I make 'em, and read back specifications. I can hold my job or get another, if I want."
"You mean," said Ket, with quick suspicion, "Hoberg's getting fresher?"
"I didn't say so. I wasn't thinking about him. I was saying, there's nothing I can ever do that's ever going to matter in the world; but you, Ket, you—you can do anything with yourself! Anything, Ket! It's in you; in here," she tapped her breast. "And you can get it out, if you'd just really get to work—to work, Ket," she repeated and again she angered him.
"Me get to work!" he mocked her. "I'm a bum, I suppose. I just loaf all the time. No one ever sees me up or at anything. I manage my band in my sleep and write my music at meals, eh?"
