"It has been awful here," said the Widow Weld. "Nothing to do but sew at the Red Cross shop; and no sugar or white bread." "It must have been," agreed Elizabeth. "They're giving a dance for you--and dinner--a week from Saturday, at the golf club. In your honour." "Dance!" Elizabeth closed her eyes, faintly. Then, "Who is?" "Well, Mr. Oakley's really giving it--that is, it was his idea. But the club wanted to tender some fitting--" "I won't go." "Oh, yes, you will." Elizabeth did not argue the point. She had two questions to ask. "Have the boys come back?" "What boys?" "The--the boys." "Some of them. You know about dear Harry Hatton, of course. Croix de--" "What have they done with the Khaki Club, where they used to give the dances?" "Closed. Long ago. There was some talk of keeping it open for a community centre, or something, but it fell through. Now, Betty, you'll have to have a dress for Saturday night, I wonder if that old chiffon, with a new--" * * * * * Chug Scaritt came home in September. The First National Bank Building seemed, somehow, to have shrunk. And his mother hadn't had all that gray hair when he left. He put eager questions about the garage. Rudie had made out, all right, hadn't he? Good old scout. "The boys down at the garage are giving some kind of a party for you. Old Rudie was telling me about it. I've got a grand supper for you to-night, Chug." "Where's this party? I don't want any party." "Woodman's Hall, I think they said. There was some girl called up yesterday. Wanda, her name sounded like. I couldn't--" "Don't they give dances any more at the Soldiers' Club down on Elm?" "Oh, that's closed, long. There was some talk of using it for what they called a community club. The _Eagle_ was boosting for a big new place. What they called a Community Memorial Centre. But I don't know. It kind of fell through, I guess." "I won't go," said Chug, suddenly. "Go where, Chug?" But instead of answering, Chug put his second question. "Have you seen--is that--I wonder if that Weld girl's back." "My, yes. Papers were full of it. Old Oakley gave her a big dance, and all, at the Country Club. They say--" A week later, his arm about Wanda's big, yielding waist, he was dancing at Woodman's Hall. There was about her a cheap, heavy scent. She had on a georgette blouse and high-heeled shoes. She clung to Chug and smiled up at him. Wanda had bad teeth--yellow, with a sort of scum over them. "I sure was lonesome for you, Chug. You're some dancer, I'll say. Honest, I could dance with you all night." A little pressure of her arm. Somewhere in the recesses of his brain a memory cell broke. Dimly he heard himself saying, "Oh, they all tell me that." "Crazy about yourself, ain't you!" "Not as crazy as I am about you," with tardy gallantry.