Willie got up and went over to the counter. "How much is your milk a glass?" "Three cents," the German lady said. Willie sighed, and turned sadly away. The German lady called him back. "By rights it's three cents, but I'll give it to you for two." Margery heard distinctly. Two cents for cakes, two cents for milk. Good! That left him one cent of his own money. Willie Jones leisurely finished the last crumb of cake and drained his glass. "Well, so long, Margery. I guess I better be going. I got to see a fella down in East Maplewood." "Give me my nickel, Willie, or I'll have to go with you. I told you I would." "Well, of course, Margery, you can come down to East Maplewood if you want to. But it's pretty far." He spoke as though the possible fatigue to Margery really concerned him. Margery straightened her lips, and fell into step. She told herself that she was getting mad. The state of her feelings, however, seemed to have no effect upon her companion. He continued exasperatingly bland and friendly. At street crossings he warned her of the danger of approaching vehicles; he begged her to step this way or that in order not to muddy her shoes; and along the flower beds of Boulevard Place he insisted upon her telling him which she preferred, red geraniums or pink, and why. As they came into East Maplewood his manner changed. A frown settled between his eyes, and he drew a long breath of rising indignation. He was deciding evidently that patience and forbearance had reached their limit. Stopping short in front of a little candy store, he turned upon Margery with a sudden grim threat in voice and eye. "Now, then, Margery, I've stood this foolin' long enough! Beat it!" But Margery gave him back look for look, and, instead of shrinking away at sight of his determined glance, answered emphatic scowl with scowl just as emphatic. "You've stood this fooling long enough, have you, Willie Jones? And what about me? There's just one thing I want to tell you: You'll never get rid of me until you give me my nickel!" "Aw, go on----" Willie Jones broke off as two little girls who were passing stopped to look inquiringly, not to say inquisitively, from him to Margery. They were both a few years older than Margery, poor children evidently, for one of them carried a parcel of afternoon papers that she seemed to be delivering. It was the other one who, after a moment's pause, addressed Margery: "What's the matter, little girl? Has he got a nickel of yours?"