She rose, gathered a pyramid of dishes, and clattered them into the dish-pan as he talked. He followed after her. "Aw, quit your foolin', Lil, can't you? Don't treat a feller like this when he comes home at night. I'll get Shorty to take the piano next Saturday, and we'll do Coney from one end to the other. We only live once, anyway. Come on, Lil; be nice and see what I got fer you, too." "Don't treat me like I was a kid! When I was in the gloves I didn't think nothin' of goin' to Coney every other night, and you know it, all right." The red surged back into his face. "Yes, you had a swell time shooting gloves! You used to tell me yourself you was ready to drop at night." "Ain't I ready to drop here?" she flashed back at him. "Am I any better off here doin' my work in the hottest flat on Third Avenue?" "Things'll come out all right, honey. Come on and kiss me before I go." She submitted to his embrace passively enough, and at his request retied his necktie round a fresh collar for him. "Good night, pussy! I'll come in soft so as not to wake you--there ain't goin' to be no more of this two-o'clock business. I'm goin' to cut out the cafe. Put a glass of milk out fer me, honey. I'm near dead when I get in." He struggled into his coat before the little dressing-table mirror of their bedroom and with a sly smile slipped the blue-corded box into a top drawer. "I got a surprise fer you, Lil--only you ain't in no mood fer it right now." "I ain't in no humor for nothin'," she said. "It's going to be a scorcher. You take it easy and get rid of these blues you been gettin' here lately. You ain't got no better friend than your old man or any one who wants to do more of the right thing by you." "I'll take a car-ride over to Loo's to cool off," she said, apathetically. He opened his lips to speak; instead he nodded and kissed her twice. Then he hurried out. After he left her she sank down on the little divan of highly magnetized red plush and stared into space. Face to face with her weeks-old resolve, her courage fainted, and a shudder like ague passed over her. She could hear herself wheeze in her throat; and her petal-like skin, unrelieved by moisture, was alternately hot and cold. The low-ceiled room, dark except for a reflected slant of yellow gas-light coming in from the kitchen, closed down like an inverted bowl. She went to the window. On the fire-escape opposite, the child still slept, one little ghost of a bare foot extending over the rail. As she watched, a woman's voice from within the apartment cried out sharply--a panicky cry filled with terror; then a silence--more pregnant than the call itself. Lily knew, with a dull tugging at her heartstrings, that the babe had died. Only a week before she and Charley had seen a little life snuffed out in the apartment above, and she knew the mother-cry. Charley had dressed the child and cried hot, unashamed tears; then, as now, her own eyes were dry, but her throat ached.