"There's another corset sale advertised for to-morrow, ain't there? Gee! They don't care how many sales they spring on the girls down there, do they? Didn't you just have your semi-annual clearin'?" "Yes; but they got a batch of Queenly shapes--two-ninety-eight--they want to get rid of. They're goin' to discontinue the line and put in the Straight-Front Flexibles." Angie sipped her coffee in long draughts. Her black flannel wrapper fell away at the neck to reveal her unbleached throat, with two knobs for neck-bones. "Let the dishes be, Angie--I'll do 'em in the morning. I wonder if it's raining yet? It's sure too cold to wear my old black. I'll have to wear my tan." Rain beat a fine tattoo against the windows. Tillie crossed and peered anxiously out, cupping her eyes in her hand and straining through the reflecting window-pane at the undistinguishable sky; her little wren-like movements and eyes were full of nerves. "It'll be all right with an umbrella," she urged--"eh, Angie?" "Yes." Tillie hurried to the little one-window room. There were two carmine spots high on her cheek-bones; as she dressed herself before a wavy mirror her lips were open and parted like a child's, and the breath came warm and fast between them. "I'll be home early to-night, Angie. You sleep on the davenport. I don't mind the lumps in the cot." She frizzed her front hair with a curling-iron she heated in the fan of the gas-flame, and combed out the little spring-tight curls until they framed her face like a fuzzy halo. Her pink lawn waist came high up about her neck in a trig, tight-fitting collar; and when she finally pressed on her sailor hat, and slid into her warm-looking tan jacket the small magenta bow on her left coat-lapel heaved up and down with her bosom. "Say," she called through the open doorway, "I wish you'd see those seventy-nine-cent gloves, Angie--already split! How'd yours wear, huh?" Silence. "You care if I wear yours to-night, Angie?" Silence. "Aw, Angie, if you're sick why don't you say so and not go spoilin' my evening? Gee! If a girl would listen to you she'd have a swell time of it--she would! A girl's gotta have life." She fastened a slender gold chain with a dangling blue-enamel heart round her neck. "Aw, I guess I'll stay home. There ain't no fun in anything, with you poutin' round like this." Tillie appeared in the doorway, gloves in hand. Angie was still at the uncleared table; her cheek lay on the red-and-white table-cloth, and her face was turned away. "Angie!" The room was quiet with the ear-pressing silence of vacuum. Tillie crossed and, with hands that trembled a bit, shook the figure at the table. The limp arms slumped deeper, and the waist-line collapsed like a meal-sack tied in the middle. "Angie, honey!" Tillie's hand touched a cheek that was cold, but not with the chill of autumn.