"Oh, Lord, Bloss, lemme whistle it, maybe you can catch on the. Brains, honey, little Hal's brains is what got that letter there written. I seen this coming from the minute conscription was in the air. Little Hal seen it coming, and got out his little hatchet. Try to prove that I ain't the sole one to take charge of my mother's affairs. Try to prove it. That's what I been fixing for myself these two months, try to--" "Sh-h-h-h, Charley--" "Brains is what done it,--every little thing of my mother's is in my care. I fixed it. Now little Blossy-blossum will you be good?" He regarded her with cocked head and face receptive for her approval. "Now will you be good!" She sat loosely, meeting his gaze, but her face as relaxed as her attitude. A wintry stare had set in. "Oh," she said, "I see." And turned away her head. He reached closer across the table, regardless of the conglomerate diners about, felt for her hand which lay limp and cold beside her plate, and which she withdrew. "Darling," he said, straining for her gaze. "Don't, Hal." "Darling, don't you see? It's fate knocking at our door. There's not a chance rover can get exemption. He ain't eve got a fifth cousin or a flat-foot!" "Maybe he could claim exemption on dandruff." "I'm serious, honey. It's going to be one of those cases where an understudy wakes up to find himself famous. I can't fail if I get this chance, Bloss. It's the moment I have been drudging for, for five solid years. I never was in such voice as now, I never was so fit. Not an ounce of fat. Not a song in the part I don't know backwards. I tell you it's the hand of fate, Bloss, giving us a hand-out. I can afford now, darling, to make good with you. On three fifty a week I can ask a little queen like you to double up with me. From thirty-five to three fifty! I tell you honey, we're made. I'm going to dress my little dolly in cloth of gold and silver fox. I'm going to perch her in the suite de luxe of the swellest hotel in town. I'm--" She pushed back from the table, turning more broadly from him. "Don't," she said pressing her kerchief against her lips. "Why--why what's the matter, Bloss? Why--why, what's the matter?" "Don't talk to me for a minute," she said, still in profile; "I'll be all right, only don't talk." "Why, Bloss, you--sick?" She shook her head. "No. No." "You ain't getting cold feet now that we got the thing before us--in our hand?" "I dunno. I dunno. I--don't want nothing. That's all, nothing but to be left alone." He sucked his lips inward, biting at them. "Don't--don't think I ain't noticed, Bloss, that you--you ain't been the same--that you been different--for weeks. Sometimes I think maybe you're going cold on--on this long engagement stuff. That's why this thing is breaking just right for us, honey. I felt you slippin' a little. I'm ready now, Peaches, we can't go taxi-cabbing down for that license none too soon to suit me."