You of the classes, peering through lorgnettes into the strange world of the masses, spare that shrug. True, when Charley Chubb's hand closed over Sara Juke's she experienced a flash of goose flesh; but, you of the classes, what of the Van Ness ball last night? Your gown was low, so that your neck rose out from it like white ivory. The conservatory, where trained clematis vines met over your heads, was like a bower of stars; music, his hand, the white glove off, over yours; the suffocating sweetness of clematis blossoms; a fountain throwing fine spray; your neck white as ivory, and--what of the Van Ness ball last night? Only Sara Juke played her poor little game frankly, and the cards of her heart lay on the counter. "Charley!" Her voice lay in a veil. "Was you getting sore, Sweetness?" "All day you didn't come over." "Couldn't, Sweetness. Did you hear me let up on the new hit for a minute?" "It's swell, though, Charley; all the girls was humming it. You play it like lightning, too." "It must have been written for you, Sweetness. That's what you are, Up to Snuff, eh, Queenie?" He leaned closer, and above his tall, narrow collar dull red flowed beneath the sallow, and his long, white teeth and slick-brushed hair shone in the arc-light. "Eh, Queenie?" "I gotta go now, Charley. Hattie's waiting home for me." She attempted to pass him and to slip into the outgoing stream of the store, but with a hesitation that belied her. "I--I gotta go, Charley." He laughed, clapped his hat slightly askew on his polished hair, and slid his arm into hers. "Forget it! But I had you going, didn't I, sister? Thought I'd forgot about to-night, didn't you, and didn't have the nerve to pipe up? Like fun I forgot!" "I didn't know, Charley; you not coming over all day and all. I thought maybe your friend didn't give you the tickets like he promised." "Didn't he? Look! See if he didn't!" He produced a square of pink cardboard from his waistcoat pocket and she read it, with a sudden lightness underlying her voice: HIBERNIAN MASQUE AND HOP SUPPER WARDROBE FREE ADMIT GENT AND LADY FIFTY CENTS "Oh, gee, Charley! And me such a sight in this old waist and all. I didn't know there was supper, too." "Sure! Hurry, Sweetness, and we'll catch a Sixth Avenue car. We wanna get in on it while the tamales are hot." She grasped his arm closer, and straightening her velveteen poke-bonnet so that the curls lay pat, together they wormed through the sidewalk crush; once or twice she coughed, with the hollow resonance of a chain drawn upward from a deep well. "Gee! I bet there'll be a jam!" "Sure! There's some live crowd down there." They were in the street-car, swaying, swinging, clutching; hemmed in by frantic, home-going New York, nose to nose, eye to eye, tooth to tooth. Around Sara Juke's slim waist lay Charley Chubb's saving arm, and with each lurch they laughed immoderately, except when she coughed.