the front room penetrated to the bedroom and through its open door and showed that a bed within was occupied.
"They're in," Ket complained, as he observed this. "Come down stairs again."
"Just mother," Jo said and quietly closed the bedroom door. "She won't wake."
"The old man'll be drilling in any minute."
"He won't bother."
"He will me," Ket declared. "Come on downstairs; I want to talk to you."
"We can talk here, Ket."
"We can't. Come on, kid. I'm crazy about you and you are about me. Then what's the matter. . . ."
She turned from him deliberately. Of course she was fully aware of what he wanted but she let it arouse no offense within her. She opened the coat-closet and stood in the doorway with her back to him, raised both her hands to her hat, and, carefully taking it off, laid it upon a shelf.
He caught his breath as he watched her hands and discerned the pretty slenderness of her body when her arms were outstretched and raised.
"I'm crazy about you, kid; and I'm so lonely!" he cried, appealingly.
She laughed and was glad for his ridiculous word, lonely! He, with women everywhere, lonely! She thought of the clutter of pictures on his wall and her shoulders shook.
"What you laughing at?" he demanded.
"You, Ket; you're so funny," she replied, without turning about.
"What's so funny?"
"Why, you feeling lonely, Ket."
He jerked down the window blind. "I am lonely," he stuck to his declaration. "I'm lonely as hell."
