"Work!" she repeated, stoutly. "If you went to work, you'd show 'em all up, Ket."
"I'll show up Irving Berlin with 'Teasing Tears.' That's what I'll call the new one, 'Teasing Tears.'"
"Irving Berlin!" she cried. "Ket, I mean, if you wanted to, you could get after musicians like—like—"
"Like who?"
"The ones the Chicago Orchestra plays and the papers talk about."
"Hmhm. Don't they talk about me?"
"Ket, I mean you might be like Mozart and Beethoven!"
"Mozart, bunk!" he retorted, but his face burned fiery red. "If Mozart was me, he'd look funny tryin' to pay my rent, wouldn't he? And keepin' a wife and a four-year-old in another flat. I'd be a bum, that's what I'd be. They was bums, broke all the time. I've read about them." He plumped himself down beside her on the couch and immediately she arose.
"Good night, Ket," she said.
"Where you goin'?"
"Up to bed."
"Why the rush?" he objected, jumping to grasp her, but she opened the door and was out before he could prevent her. However, he overtook her on the floor above.
"Come on back, Jo," he urged; but she unlocked her door and he followed her into her home.
The plan of the large room was identical with his. It was almost square and with a single, wide window set in a shallow bay overlooking the court. In addition to the entrance door, there was another to a coat closet and a third which opened upon a short passage to a bathroom and a bedroom beyond it and to a cubby of a kitchenette.
The door to the passage was open and the light from
